#ignore my categorizing its a fault

[wartornrequiem]

🖤🖤 my top albums of 2023 🖤🖤

[citygirlyuno305]

Haruka

Yikes. Poor kid. I never “liked” Haruka as a character (by which I mean I was not extraordinarily invested in his character, not that I disliked him or anything like that) but I do feel sad reading the recent release.

Sometimes a parent can do everything right and still their child ends up doing something horrible. Sometimes its genuinely not the parents’ fault. but I’ve found that’s honestly a less common scenario; most children that commit extremely violent offenses are like Haruka in a way, where their parents materially failed them in some capacity. I’d say 95% of any juvenile defendant I see had parents who perpetrated, ignored, or encouraged some very serious problems that led to the crime itself.

Its not to say that a child has NO agency; they are capable of moving, thinking, talking, breathing, killing on their own without any influence by their parents or in spite of a parent’s attempts to curtail bad behavior. But, it’s overly myopic to assume a child’s misconduct MUST, categorically, be because of their own intrinsic traits. Haruka’s killing of animals in secret was stated to be because he was happy to find something inferior to himself- but that inferiority complex stemmed from the way he was mistreated. In that way, Haruka’s parents had given him attention after the pet killings, it likely wouldnt have changed anything, because he was excited by the newfound attention; it is their original lack of interest which spurred his self loathing and desire to regain their attention. If they had put him somewhere where he could seek targeted therapy, maybe that girl would still be alive. Nurture can be more powerful than nature. It is entirely possible that he could have been a normal child with a normal life absent that neglect, and that he’d just need targeted help for whatever developmental disability he suffered from.

Having parents neglect to address or flat out ignore a developmental disability is not a novel idea even in the USA. Actually, if you look at cases that are similar to Gabriel Fernandez or Anthony Avalos, you’ll find many people abuse/torture one child to death because of a special hatred for just one of their children based on something trivial- for those two it was perceived homosexuality, but once you dive deeper, you find parents doing the same for children who have developmental delays. So although Harukas treatment seems cabined to neglect, and not physical beatings (unless I misread), he does remind me of those cases in a roundabout way. To discard or reject a child because of a perceived negative trait.

I feel very sad for the parents of his first victim as well, to never know who killed my child; or if they did, eventually, to know my child was murdered by another child who promptly murdered a second victim because neither the system nor Haruka’s parents were willing to accept the reality of Haruka’s situation. Killing animals is a warning sign that cannot be ignored. But, once again, at that point he needed more than just corrected behavior by his parents. He needed true and genuine psychological help.

It is very sad all around. While I cannot stand the thought of a child murdering my pet just because my screams of anguish made him feel connected to the world, and while I cannot myself fathom how someone can feel even temporary joy that they murdered someone they knew was weaker and less physically able, I can simultaneously feel sad that Haruka was so monumentally failed by his parents.

He was on his way to becoming a serial killer, and he could’ve been a perfectly functioning member of society.

To that end, his reaction during T2 and his ultimatum parallel, to me, his excitement when he was getting attention from his parents after being caught killing animals in his neighborhood. Giving him T1 innocent and then T2 guilty was basically us neglecting to address his psychological issues in T1 and then only turning to give him that attention in T2, like how his parents neglected him until he was brought in by police. Hindsight is 20/20. Maybe if he were guilty T1 it would have been better. Then again, it would perhaps affirm his belief that he is inferior and he maybe would have attempted to kill a physically inferior inmate.

It’s unclear. In any case, its sad and feels somewhat preventable. Were I prosecuting Haruka, though I’d have to argue he be put in prison for the safety of others, I would nonetheless seek simultaneous and required therapeutic treatment as well as targeted educational support. Because I think if he had that in the first place, he wouldnt be the danger to society that he is at all.

[lostintransist]

Death is Not Always Kind | Part 3

Part 1 here.

CW: Asking for death, implied threats, men (derogatory)

AO3 | Death Masterlist

They have gone. Leaving you alone with instructions that food will be delivered to the door and to not wander. K left you an empty notebook and a series of pens. N nodded once to his bed and shut the door behind him. They shut you in this new cage but left the door unlocked.

You take your days; lining the empty pages with lines a hint of a breath between them as you fill one side diagonal and then the other horizontally. Six pages front and back filled with nothing but lines, a prison for the ink you have wasted. The pounding at the door becomes near constant. You have ignored the food. They are not here to force you.

The words begin to crawl out of you, filling the larger spaces you leave between your lines. You think yourself a dragon, breathing out poison and setting the world ablaze with the hate in your soul. You would say the fires of hell but you have found hell is cold, sterile, white and leached of color.

Exhaustion steals you into sleep more often as your weary body cries for nutrients again. On the fourth day someone opens the door. This man is large. Tall, not as tall as K, but broader by half. A dark hood with bleached weeping eyes stare at you.

“Come.”

He turns and walks from the room. Something about the command pulls you forward. This is a man that will end you. No morals, twisted even as they sat in N and K, would prevent him from granting you release.

He walks silently, massive boots landing without even a puff of air as he displaces the atoms that live between his foot and his next step. You cannot match his silence despite the slight existence of your body. The slap of your feet against the cool laminate follows you as you follow him.

Men drift to one side as they move to and fro, all with some unknown destination. They nod and murmur a quick 'Colonel', eyes categorizing you as not a threat before they pass. Some eyes linger though, the lascivious thoughts clear. Boys, failed by society, found release only in the stolen space within bodies that could not be human. For if they were human, if they were real, men would have to grapple with the baseless violence that marked them as beasts and not as men in fact.

The doors change. Where once the spread out openings were closed tight with solid pieces now windows peaked out at you between the walls and built into the doors. At a door like all the others the man stopped, and you behind him.

A key appeared from a pocket and disappeared into the same after its job had been completed. He opens the door for you, this colonel pulls his second power move by gesturing that you enter first. Stepping through you flick your eyes across the wall of filing cabinets, all shut tight. His desk is neat to a fault. You reach out and touch a pen laid neatly at the end of his matte black desk mat.

No nameplate sits on his desk to identify who he is. The colonel stares at the askew pen before lifting his eyes to you.

“Why do they keep you?” His voice does not rumble as you expect for one of such size. You had expected the growl of a bear but found the voice of a mild-mannered shark instead.

“They won’t kill me,” you reach forward and tap the pen again. It slides but does not roll as the clip lays in the way.

“Why?”

If you knew that you would be freed of this electrified meat suit. Instead, you reach forward and tap the pen again.

His hand shoots out, holding your wrist tight, nearly to the point of pain. Looking up you stare into beautiful blue eyes that should not belong to the reaper.

“Will you kill me?”

“Can you only speak of your demise?” He muses aloud before letting your wrist go and leaning back in his chair. It squeaks against his weight. “No. Krueger and Nikto are some of my best. If I take you away who knows what they will drag home next.”

Wish that you were a witch to drown in your sorrows. Before thinking better of it you skirt the large desk, using all your might to spin the chair so you can settle on your knees between his thighs. You stare up at him, mournful, as your cheek rests so close to his groin that you can smell the sweat of the day collected in his creases.

“Please,” tears you have not shed in years start, “Please kill me.”

He stares down at you, dead eyes unwilling to bend to your request.

“What does death hold that you cannot?”

“Peace,” you sob into the seam of his pants.

Hands pull you upward until you are nestled nose into his hood and arms around his neck. That is how K and N find you hours later. The colonel had worked around you, firing off emails and answering men as they entered his office. He had shared food with you too. Bits of his meal from his own fork pressed to your lips with the expectation of bending to his will. You do. Thinking later you decide it must be the gentleness of his touch, those killing hands holding you gently, that pulls you back ever so slightly from the edge that you crept toward.

K busts through the door, ignoring the unspoken demand to knock and wait.

“König you have something of ours.”

The heat of his gaze sweeps over you, displeasure tasting the air.

N steps through before shutting the door tight.

“I grew up hunting rabbits for my Nonna,” König, as they called him, rests a hand on your back. “We did not keep them as pets, locked in cages.”

They stiffen, catching the message that is beyond you.

“Send her in the morning. Rabbits must have a purpose or they need to feed the pot.”

N surprises you by snarling at his commander.

“She will not play whore for you König.”

König’s fingers tighten on your ribs.

“I have need of a secretary, you have a rabbit in need of watching. You will share or I will grant her request.” All signs of civility disappeared from his voice. Despite your cries for death you shivered.

K and N do not need to share a look to reach a congress. N blinks and K nods.

“Up kaninchen, they will wish to ensure you are well,” he flexes his thigh beneath you.

You stand slowly, already missing the warmth of his body that had seeped into your bones.

“Bring her dressed next time,” he says to them by way of dismissal.

Looking down at your too-large shirt and tightened sweats you frown. You suppose toes should not be out if you are to work in the colonel’s office. Did you want to work in his office? Did you have a choice?

Following your keepers back to your room you let them prod at you and answer their questions. No, he did not hurt you, no he did not touch your body in a way you did not agree to, yes you ate today. When you are delivered to the showers you clean your body perfunctorily, pausing only once to notice that your breasts have started to return. When you return to the room you share with N, K at your side, you find the mattress empty. N has settled himself across the cot you used, light breathing the only indication of life.

“I don’t want it,” you snap at both of them.

“It is our failure that has brought the colonel’s attention to you, the least we can do is upgrade your resting hours,” K pushes you toward the bed. His hand is firm, but not unkind. “Morning comes early.”

You lay down, glaring across the room at N as S kills the lights and leaves you to your nightmares.

Likes are amazing! Reblogs are better (that lets your followers see what you like.)

Part 2 | Part 4

Death Masterlist | Masterlist

@meinemauschen

[lemonhemlock]

The thing I have also noticed about targies is that they not only refuse to engage with the historical precedents of a pseudo medieval world, but they admit that for them the magic is the main appeal for of HOTD/ASOIAF.....which is incredibly bizarre to me because Martin, whether intentionally or not, has thrown the more magical elements of the story to the wayside, in order to focus on the human socio-political drama in both ASOIAF and Fire and Blood. ASOIAF, in general, is very 'low fantasy' there is very little magic, the magic that is there is not thoroughly explained, and the Others, the big bad of the series, has been mentioned approximately three times over five books and 25 years. The magic is essentially a plot device and not even a device that Martin particularly likes to use lmaoo.

Anyway this hyper focus on magic and the inability to see what GRRM is doing with magic - it's not the solution it's the problem - is a big reason the fandom is so....off in their predictions. Like, the dragons are not saviors, there is no prophesied savior, etc.

This is why targies are always harping on how there is no way for Sansa to be QITN or even go back to Winterfell because she lost her 'MaGIcAL ConNeCTioN' when Lady was offed - as if I'm supposed to give a fuck about direwolves or what the fuck 'warging' is lmaooo when there are vastly more interesting human dramas and political plots playing out in the series.

Conversely, this is why King Bran as Martin's endgame is so stupid imo lmao. He's giving a magical solution for a political human drama that he's been setting up for five books and has not done enough to build up the importance of magic in the series. Like, I'm sorry but a seven year old all seeing Tree Wizard Warlock as King of the 7K is an absolutely hilarious endgame and makes all the philosophical discussions about good rulers and leadership a joke.

Bullseye. 🎯

The only caveat I have is that, while I agree with your assertion that ASOIAF is low-fantasy, the magical element does slowly gain in importance and it's fair to say that the characters who ignore the magical threats (the Others, dragons) are categorically in the wrong and will end up paying for it. But it is very, very likely that the end of the series will see Westeros returning to a normal climate and the disappearance of magic once and for all. The man himself is on record saying magic can be a hindrance and part of the problem!

This is my personal theory as to why he is taking so much time to publish The Winds of Winter, not just because he wrote himself into a corner with the Meereenese knot, making it very difficult to get Dany to Westeros in one book. But it's also that the King Bran ending doesn't make any sense. Perhaps that was indeed his original planned ending, perhaps that was indeed what he told D&D all those years ago, but as he likes to consider himself a gardener-type of writer, the garden he tended started to grow beyond his control and now having a CCTV Tree in charge of Westeros at the end of the series directly contradicts the themes he developed for nearly 30 years.

No hate to Bran, who is an OK kid, but everyone else in the series who's become entangled with the magic to that extent has paid dearly for it. We have Beric Dondarrion on page telling us exactly how it takes its toll and he feels himself becoming less human. Bran also commits several other transgressions that would normally have other characters cursed or punished via deus-ex-machina like warging into Hodor and eating jojenpaste (the last is theoretically unconfirmed, but come on).

At the end of the day, he is an immature child who's being used as a pawn by Bloodraven, with little formal training in the ways of being a lord (the bare minimum), no practical experience with leadership, no social skills and no charisma. These are all consequences imposed on him given his status as a fugitive and not his fault by any means or reflective of a lack of inclination, but they are practical realities nonetheless. GRRM has spent so many pages already criticising poor leadership skills and has always punished bad, immoral, incompetent OR naive people in positions of power - how is he going to make an exception out of Bran without negating literally every other POV he's chosen to write? This is a serious problem in the construction of the story.

He's also already been caught with his pants down by the show and saw for himself how nearly everyone either hated or mocked the King Bran endgame. I'm really very curious what was his opinion on that and whether it made him reflect in any way. D&D did indeed make a hodgepodge of the final season, but it's still got to sting to see how the majority of viewers thought it was a completely random choice and a joke ending.

[madaqueue]

HI QUINN!! IVE GOT DAZAI BRAIN ROT?!?! AND ITS YOUR FAULT! SO SUFFER WITH ME! 😃 ILLYYY!!!

So I saw a thing and it worked itself into my brain and just uh... imagine kidnapping Dazai. He thinks it's because you want to weaken the agency for some attack. He tries to question you, cocky as usual because nobody out smarts him. Except he comes to learn you aren't working for anyone or with anyone. That this isn't related to the agency at all. That you're simply, head over heels in love with him. Now he's confused of course because why would anyone love him?? let alone kidnap him for it. But your obsessed, hell you've got files dedicated to research you've done on him, favourite food, color, music etc. Folders of categorized candid photos youve taken. And Dazai doesn't know if he should be flattered or scared. It doesn't help you're really pretty, that you sit beside his tied up body and hand feed him, kissing his cheek when he's done. Praise him for being a good boy. He even doesn't mind when you try to dress him up like some doll, telling him how pretty and cute he is as you clip some bows into his hair.

Aaahhhh okay I could keep going and get very nsfw bc DAMN. Your forced fem thing absolutely ruined me and then seeing a thing about kidnapping and Stockholm syndrome fics had me thinking and just... 'you're such a blaring red flag but he doesn't mind because he's never felt so loved??' Like??? That's such a Dazai trope imo ugh god I forgot how much I loved him Quinn!? You've broken my brain! He's stuck in there and I can't pry him free!! 😔 atleast he's cute I guess *sighs*

DJEKFKEKKFKEKXK SKEOODODKD WHAATAATTXHEJD THE FUCKFKDD ARE YOU IN MY HEAD ????? AND SOMEHOW CONJURING UP THEEEEEEE HOTTEST MOST PERFECT FUCKING THINGS EVER??????? OHHHH MY GOD OH MY GOD OHHH MY GODDDDNDKDKDKDKDKDKDKD

HIM STAYING BECAUSE HES NEVER SEEN SOMEONE BE SOOOO UNASHAMED IN THEIR LOVE FOR HIM…… and maybe you start slow with tiny little changes, calling him ‘your girl’ but just as quickly correcting yourself with a giggle….. or his clothes are in the wash so all you have clean is a little skirt, but doesn’t he just look so cute in it? and he realizes it makes you happy to see him like this; then, he realizes it makes him happy to see you happy. and it’s not like it’s really hurting anyone, right? so he lets you do his hair and tie little bows on him and put him in all pink, lets you call him your pretty girl and you even kiss him when he’s wearing lip gloss (he ignores how awful and sticky it is because you like it, and that’s worth the sensory nightmare of the whole thing, and it means he gets to kiss you, god he gets to kiss you!!!!!) and…he likes kissing you…he likes when you praise him, even if it’s a little twisted, even if you tell him he’s a ‘good girl’…maybe he likes this whole thing…it’s not like it’s hurting anyone…right?

[almalvo]

I think the majority of the tos fandom is neutral on or actively likes the greenish skinned spock?

There have been a number of quintessentially tumblr style posts over the years where someone (who to my knowledge is part of a vocal minority) comes up with some argument or piece of evidence to support the claim that a green skinned spock is perpetuating antisemitism, and then someone immediately provides evidence that counters or discredits the claim, then another rebuttal is presented and so on and so forth. ("Net zero information" as tumblr veterans will say.)

It seems to come up every so often, either side being made up of Both jews and goyim. It seemed to me the overall consensus after a while was it was not really a problem, some people just wanted it to be. Perhaps it is making a resurgence.

Obviously times change and we become aware as a group of different things in different ways (example: the miniskirts of the skant uniforms being shown on TV in the 60s at the time being seen as empowering women due to censorship and the culture then, versus the general consensus now that having women show more skin is not necessarily as empowering as it is objectifying. One doesn't really invalidate the other. What is the most "right" to do going forward today is still different from yesterday, yet those saying the miniskirts were black and white, categorically, never "progressive" are still missing, ignoring, or inventing context.)

I'm sorry if any of the discourse has tired you out, or sapped anything out of your enjoyment with regards to trek and its fandom here. I hope that its clear this is more of a symptom of the modern internet, and how that pronounces and enables the faults of general human interaction and the various hiccoughs endemic to it, than trek precisely.

From the other end, if its any consolation, this is neither the first nor the last of this in trek. Perhaps you might find it oddly nice to be included:

There are stories of discourse handed down from the "beginning times" of this fandom? Tales of brave fic writers and artists meeting up at conventions, passing around the hand bound and hard printed copies of the zines that they worked together to make, through the snail mail before the internet was a twinkle in any of our eyes, and attempting to guard specific editions from individuals who did not agree with the particulars of something found theirin and sought to do away with them through force, espionage, and various other means.

So it may be tiresome but at least its a little bit of a trek tradition? And a human one? Similar things seem to happen throughout history, to philosopher kings as much as fandomites. Hopefully theres humor in it, in the end.

I also think if people are coming for you, perhaps its a matter of becoming more popular and overall exposed to more individuals. On your way to becoming a "big name fan," perhaps? ;). Maybe more of a curse than a blessing, though. Hopefully it pans out right for you.

I think most people recognize that what youre doing and contributing, it is with love. I think the majority see your love, especially for spock, in your work. I think we can also see our own love reflected in it.

You're doing great work, I just hope they're not bothering you too much. You really add something to the fandom, and it really feels like you specifically are contributing something to a tradition of hope and joy and more that dates back to the inception of things. (The inception of both trek, and fandom as we know it and knew it, that is. They are often one and the same.)

Someone mentioned your work reminded them of the old trek art, and you said you werent quite sure what that meant. I don't think I myself could quite do what that meant any justice in explanation, but I do believe it to be true, in both fashion and in spirit.

Aesthetically there is some resemblance, but it also just feels like we should be welcoming you home, should you deign to stay a while.

Like its not quite a stranger being inducted.

Like the bones of the place we've built together recognize a kindred soul, and would be gladdened if that soul were to stay a while and build anew, or upon old foundations, at their leisure. Like theres a history to be shared that that soul can be trusted with, though they are as free to come and go as we all are.

Theres just some nebulous quality that someone else may be able to better pinpoint than I. I think it may be that same quality you mentioned not being able to quite put into words in a previous post. (Assumptions, Assumptions, though. If I am wrong, I apologize, and mean no offense. )

Theres just a recognition of feeling in eachother in this fandom I think; that feeling that drew many of us to it. Like how some sea dog sailor sees anothers yearning for the open ocean, and how one future day some solar sailor may recognize that same yearning, this time for the stars, in some young bucks eyes.

I also apologize if this is too much, or uncomfortable to receive. I'm up a bit too late, and am rambling and most likely incoherent, but it seemed untenable somehow to not make an attempt to offer something, anything, if there was any chance you may feel alone or disillusioned with those around you. It felt important to not sit idly, and silent. I make no excuses for anything less than ideal, but I hope things are worthwhile despite any misgivings you may have.

As well, Please do not feel it necessary to respond to or post this if you'd feel better not doing so. (No offense where none is intended? None will be taken, at least.)

From me, to you: Peace and long life, Sochya eh Dif. 🖖

And if I may speak for trek in general: May we, together, become greater than the sum of (both of) us.

Hello, dear Anon.

I am, regrettably in far fewer words only out of succinct packaging and in no way diminutive insult, so humbled and thankful for your wonderful message - rather missive - to me :')

I assuredly took no offence by those who voiced this unpopular and logically unsubstantiated opinion on Spock being some indecent and politicised caricature of the Jewish existence. I understood it as a largely emotionally driven explication, knowing how emotions shield us from a more objective reality we may not like to acknowledge out of whatever comfort, ease, fear, and even ignorance doing so can grant in those of us who have inherited and live through pain.

Unlike the typical regular, as someone who is fairly extensively well versed in the historical and social contexts of these kinds of matters, psychology and the more scientific disciplines in tandem, it is why I could hold anything at all in credible confidence, as I took these opinionated submissions to be what could be expected and understood when it comes to the human question and the human condition.

I welcome these conversations - there is a particular endearment unique to the bustle and puzzle of buzzing minds. Additionally, functionally, I can already tell numerous individuals have become better learned from my exchanges and gestures so far in their own ways positively and constructively, which I deem a quaint success.

And you would be very correct in your observation of my personal takes on the universe of Star Trek, for indeed, in even the characters I portray, they are, I profess, truthfully, the illustrative letters of my fathomless love.

Ahem - well, in any case, though I am new, I intend to reside for, certainly, a while ;)

And so, I am very grateful for the warm welcome into this - the largest, oldest, and truest fandom family I have ever been privileged to have found and become a part of, and may ever will be.

It is all well worth it, and so,

I am content.

Dif-tor heh smusma ~

[intrulogical]

logan + orange side theory time!

so i received these tags on a recent post i made on my main — @appleflavoredkitkats — about orange, and i thought it'd be appropriate to discuss them here on my sanders sides sideblog! (surprise surprise, i'm not dead everybody)

i've actually dabbled in many interpretations of orange; just search “orange” and you can find all of them honestly lmfao. though, i do want to emphasize that my final thoughts on orange are very loose, so i don't really subscribe to one main theory.

first theory, rage. this can go in two ways: either logan assumes the position of rage, or rage is somehow influencing logan's actions. i jump back and forth between whether i like the idea of rage, but i could honestly see it working if they want to make his arc focused on the effects of constant emotional suppression and ignorance from thomas. in a way, rage is a corrupted version of logan who is experiencing the worst outcomes of his self-neglect.

on the other hand, i can see rage failing if rage is another entity in on itself affecting logan's actions. first reason: it reduces logan's genuine frustration towards others' neglect as null. why is this important to acknowledge? it's because logan's mental instability is not inherited. it was built up throughout the series. logan's irritation towards other people's neglect is a valid and genuine reaction, and making it seem like he was merely influenced cheapens the main point of logan's long-extending arc about neglect.

second reason: rage as an entity of its own has semantics i don't quite understand. if rage is an emotion, shouldn't it be handled by patton? or if rage is synonymous to wrath, wouldn't that be handled by remus? either way, it doesn't make sense. and if rage is its own entity, what would its function serve for thomas that isn't some kind of repeat of virgil or remus's role of instinctive thinking, anxiety, vigilance, etc.

the only way i can see it work is if logan becomes rage itself — an absolute antithesis of what logic really is.

somewhat adjacent to this is the idea that orange is still logan as logic, but he becomes my definition of a “dark side”. of course, all sides have nuances and can't be reduced with black and white concepts, but the question still remains: why are the sides categorized? why are there two separate sides? my idea is that light sides are sides that are generally recognized and appreciated by thomas. meanwhile, the dark sides are sides that are generally suppressed — they are pushed into the dark. this is supported by the fact that the two dark sides — deceit/self-preservation and intrusive thoughts — are aspects of the self that catholic upbringing tend to repress.

of course logan isn't being suppressed by catholic forces now, but observing c!thomas's trajectory throughout sanders sides, it's quite obvious that he tends to act more intuitively than logically. he pursues artistic careers, relies on his sides wholeheartedly for self-analysis, relies on emotions for decision-making— it's a gradual increase of thomas turning completely instinct-based. you can even see that in WTIT, where thomas completely shrugs logan off to rush to his date with nico. where thomas' entire house was a complete mess. of course we cannot fault thomas for this (hell i'd do the same), but the fact still remains that logan is being unintentionally ignored.

if that's the case, logan turning into a dark side feels pretty feasible— it's probably why remus claimed he liked seeing logan as orange more. i theorize that dark sides have to rely on developing more scary/mischievous traits to get thomas to notice them better. there's janus and his snake traits, lying persona, and shapeshifting abilities, and there's remus with his tentacles, weapons, and fear-inducing persona. that's why remus was encouraging logan to unleash more of his frustrated orange side— he wanted to see logan just like them. he wanted logan to go absolutely batshit.

hence, logic!logan who is gradually becoming a dark side with heightened anger/frustration does not seem too off to me.

last theory is a personal theory of mine that doesn't connect to rage or anger outright. the only way i can see orange as a separate entity while also being a foil to logan is if he embodies the unconscious. the unconscious is the aspect of your brain that contains knowledge, instincts, information, etc. that you cannot recognize consciously. for example, when watching a movie while holding a bowl of popcorn, your conscious mind may be too concentrated on the movie that your unconscious mind moves your hand to feed yourself popcorn without knowing it. in a way, the unconscious can never really be known, but making realizations about yourself that you previously were unaware of is bringing the unconscious into a conscious light.

in a way, i like the unconscious as a foil to logan as it is the only thing that really combats what logic is for. how can you logically approach a situation when you haven't even deduced the source of the issue? if logic works with the ideas of the known, how do we take ideas of the unknown into account?

admittedly, the connections as to why logan's eyes turned orange in the context of the unconscious is still muddled. perhaps it's because logan was exhibiting anger that he was unaware of suppressing? perhaps the unconscious made itself known by showcasing how logan is pushed deeper and deeper into the unconscious aspects of thomas' mind? that the unconscious is overtaking the power of logic?

in the context of sanders sides, the main reason i can see the unconscious work is because it can help explain why many of thomas' catholic beliefs growing up, even if he doesn't participate actively in catholicism anymore, still affect him to this day. learning about the unconscious could also allow us to learn how to tackle and recognize unconscious negative behaviors and how to practice constant reflections of the self.

in a way, while the unconscious is a foil to logan, logic is also a foil to the unconscious. it takes one good session of self-reflection for thomas to be able to assess things about himself he doesn't understand. heck, majority of sanders sides is logan shedding light on psychological aspects about thomas that he didn't know beforehand. as long as logic is there and listened to, we can thoroughly assess our own thoughts and behaviors, but without logic, we simply and blindly rely on instinctive behaviors we don't recognise as faulty. i think it would be a good sanders sides finisher wherein thomas realizes how relying on his sides for therapy doesn't actually solve any of his mental health issues. or, if not, it can be a good finisher to logan's arc where they recognize the importance of acknowledging logic.

in this case, how do i interpret orange to appear as? well, honestly, this is the difficult part because the unconscious is meant to be unknown. it'd be interesting if instead of embodying thomas' unconscious completely, it may act as a guardian or keeper of some sorts. it controls which thoughts are kept in the unconscious but lets it free whenever another side recognizes it. another would be that the unconscious would present as mysterious, only speaking with the minimum amount of words possible. the only way the unconscious could possibly present itself is if one of the sides recognizes its existence. or maybe make the unconscious a disembodied voice. honestly, play with this idea all you want, there are many ways this can be executed.

so anyway, these are my concrete theories on who orange is and how they connect to logic! if any of these come true, i am a damn prophet, but if proven wrong, it was worth a shot. i'm always free to answer any questions or hear any other interpretations! :D

(reblogs are also cool if you liked this post <3)

[astrognossienne]

let’s talk about cancers.

Cancers are always dismissed as soft, impressionable, inconsequential, weak, whiny, victim-y, simpleminded, sensitive crybabies but the many that love to categorize them as such simply don’t have the intellect or the depth to understand that, in spite of their unfiltered purity, Cancers are not that simple. But then again a lot of projection is put upon Cancers because this sign (and most of its commonly promoted archetypes) is held up a rather convenient scapegoat to make up for the other signs’ own many, many, many shortcomings. The fact is, Cancers are complex; they rarely fit into any one label. But a lot of people can’t handle complexity and want to put them into a neatly labeled little box so they can file them away and never think about them again. So when other signs, who seem to see themselves as the self-appointed “gatekeepers” and “tastemakers” of what being an ideal human being is, run into a Cancer who comes along and defies their preexisting categories of what Cancers are supposed to be, they hate on them. Cancers are cardinal signs and are pioneers. Thus, they often suffer the fate of pioneers: they are hated for who they are then but universally praised for who they are now. In hindsight, Cancers (and those with sense) will realize that they made a much bigger impact than they get credit for according to these so-called “gatekeepers” and “tastemakers”, often unfairly due to their reticent, comfort-seeking and reclusive nature (as if that’s such a bad thing).

Being the pioneers that they are, Cancers are the blueprint of what it means to be human because they express a healthy range of normal human emotions and interestingly enough they often get clowned or dismissed because of it…until years later, when it becomes clear that these other signs are historically wrong and then they start agreeing with or emulating Cancerian sensibilities; that this person that they didn’t understand was actually important, and then to save their all-important and fragile egos these other signs do a 180 and pretend that they fucked with them/respected them/liked them all along, such as Princess Diana for example, who, when she was alive, was mocked and dismissed for her seemingly “frivolous” sensitivities, and now years later (conveniently after her death) the very things she stood for and acted upon are things that are now popular with people. The same people who won’t acknowledge Cancers now without diminishing their natural light and humanity are the same ones who’ll be talking or writing some gushy, cheaply sentimental, overly effusive and pretentious shit 5-10 years later about how those Cancers were right and how they changed everything.

Advice to Cancers: As a Cancer, I know firsthand that all these bitch ass motherfuckers like to talk SO much fucking shit about us when it comes to who we are, or try to ignore our existence because they’re too pussy to handle authenticity, but lo and behold they’ll soon be eating their words and rueing the day they underestimated and undermined our low-key majesty and divinity. Blaming someone for being "too sensitive" dismisses their reality as irrational and immediately paints them as a victim. It tells them how they should feel, too. Most importantly, it turns a positive trait into a personality defect. It is, in my opinion, one of the most pointed and destructive insults you can hurl, which of course gives it so much power. It’s an attempt to at once dismiss your feelings while also turning the tables and making you at blame, guilty for myriad things: for finding fault with another’s actions, for having thin skin, but most importantly, for bothering the offender with your feelings. They always do at the end of the day. I don’t want to conflate terms like everyone else loves to do; contrary to popular belief, we're not sensitive, we're emotional — sensitive and emotional are two different things — but often the nuance escapes those quick to use either adjective to dismiss someone as less than. Through no fault of your own, you’ll fail to calibrate your feelings because for years — perhaps your whole life — you’ve been told that your feelings are wrong or unfounded. Being sensitive is not a fault, and rationality and sensitivity can coexist.

Taking time to feel yourself and your feelings is something to celebrate, not shy away from and we’re the leaders of a quiet revolution, as is evidenced in these rather touchy-feely times where emphasis is put on self-care and feelings. We did that, subconsciously; take full credit and ownership for that. We did that. We have what no else will ever have because we’re the only ones who have the strength to be the kindest out of everyone else and it would be a sad, pathetic and harsher world without us. We predict the future of how mankind goes and should be. We’re ahead of the curve and everyone else knows it and can’t stand it and will give themselves and everyone else undeserved credit for this but us. We are walking fucking examples of how you shouldn’t listen to anyone but yourselves. Listen to your heart; do not listen to ANYBODY’S advice when it comes to following your heart. How are you honestly gonna listen to someone else’s bitch ass advice when it comes to your heart? Whatever you heart tells you to do, you need to do it. Someone else’s advice is not going to lead you to where you want to or need to go unless they tell you to follow your heart. You gotta scratch and claw your way to the top. That’s how it works. Period. Use your head, but follow your heart. The next time someone accuses you of being too sensitive, read between the lines. Think about the situation and what they’re really saying. Use their accusation to assess the situation; perhaps have an impartial third party weigh in. Don’t immediately internalize their response as an indication that something’s wrong with you and try to avoid censoring yourself. Your feelings, inasmuch as they’re causing a deeply emotional reaction, must be honored. They are telling you something. Listen.

Advice for all the other signs in this glorious season called Cancer: Don’t be bitter, be better. Don’t be the person who jumps on the bandwagon like a sheep and shits on Cancers as a matter of course just because it’s cool/everyone else is shitting on them. We can’t help that we’re the shit without having to shit on anyone. Try to use your brain and quit mindlessly regurgitating by rote the often patronizing and disparaging shit on Cancers by third-rate astrologers (whether on tumblr or elsewhere) and astrology books without actually looking into the facts first and maybe, just maybe you might have some sort of credibility and integrity and you can finally acquire the maturity that you need to evolve into the best Capricorns, Scorpios, Libras, Pisces, Virgos, Leos, etc. that I’m are that you all can eventually be someday. 🤷‍♀️

Deuces. 😘

[an-optimist-prime]

Hold the line (I won't let go) [Chapter 1]

A 9-1-1/Buddie Fanfic

Summary: What happens next isn't Buck's proudest moment, and he's not even entirely sure why he does it at all. Maybe it's because he's still shaking with adrenaline, aching and freshly bruised, smoke still heavy in his lungs. Maybe it’s because Chim's been back a week and still hasn't said a word to him.

But then, it could be that Buck's genuinely struck dumb by Eddie's audacity - that Eddie feels owed anything at all from him, that he thinks he can talk to Buck like that after leaving him the way everyone else has and does and will - it makes venom bubble up into his throat, hot and acrid.

"Firefighter Buckley to Dispatcher Diaz," he starts, his knuckles white on the radio, something mean and furious trying to burst its way out of his chest, "You don't get to say shit like that to me anymore."

-

Or, the story of how Buck and Eddie finally get together after Eddie leaves the LAFD and becomes a Dispatcher.

Chapter: 1/2

Word Count: 4000

Rating/Warnings: T, None Apply

AO3 Link

***

“I’m leaving the 118.” Eddie announces, and Buck’s entire life is thrown completely sideways by it.

“Do you not trust me anymore?” Buck asks later, when it's just the two of them. He knows he sounds desperate, but he can’t understand why Eddie would do this. “Did I do something?”

“No, Buck, that’s not what this is about,” Eddie reassures, or tries to, at least. “I just need to be safer for Christopher.”

And Buck can never fault him for that, but surely, there has to be another way. Buck leaves the party that night hoping that Eddie will change his mind. That next time he sees Eddie at the station, he’ll say ‘actually, I changed my mind’.

But no, Eddie means it. No amount of reasoning or reassuring sways his mind, and two weeks after his announcement at the Christmas party, Eddie clocks out of Station 118 for the last time.

“Hey, this isn’t the end for us,” Eddie promises on the last day, as he clears out his stuff from their shared locker. Buck says nothing. He can’t even muster up the spirit to agree, because that’s it. Four years of partnership, and Eddie is just leaving. All of that talk about ‘you’re stuck with us’ and then he goes and does this.

And perhaps the worst part is that Buck can’t help but feel that this has been building for a while. They’ve drifted apart recently, even Buck can see that, and contrary to popular belief, he can actually tell when he’s not wanted.

So, Buck just storms up to the loft, ignoring Hen’s kind, sad eyes and Bobby’s concerned ones. He sits at the table, his eyes drawn to the empty chairs, and wonders, not for the first or last time, what about him isn’t worth sticking around for.

***

Buck would be a liar if he said things between him and Eddie weren’t really tense for a while.

Eddie ends up becoming a dispatcher, and objectively, Buck can see that it’s a fantastic fit for him. He gets to use his medic knowledge, and still helps people without any of the danger of being on the scene.

The small, selfish part of Buck desperately misses his partner, but the larger part of him is just relieved. Relieved that Eddie is out of danger, relieved that he’ll never have to go home to Chris and explain that he failed to keep his dad safe.

But the selfish part of him is louder, and it’s angry.

It’s misplaced anger, and Buck knows it’s completely unfair. It’s his emotions getting the better of him, and he needs to sort it out before he does something he can’t take back.

Ultimately, that’s how he justifies the distance he puts between himself and Eddie. That he’s just trying to sort out his own mess of feelings about the whole situation, and that he just needs some time for things to settle.

So, when Buck gets a text like,

From - Eddie (ICE) [14:21]: Hey, do you want to come over tonight? Movies and pizza?

He replies with,

To - Eddie (ICE) [14:25]: Sorry, I have plans with Taylor.

He categorically does not have plans with Taylor that particular night, but Eddie doesn’t know that, and it serves its purpose.

Weeks pass like this, and instead of settling into anything, or sorting out fuck all, his anger simmers, and starts to fester. He and Eddie go from seeing each other almost every day to barely even seeing each other at all.

The only reason they see each other at all is because Buck makes time to see Chris. He still picks him up from school sometimes, or drops by while Carla is there to help with his homework. Whatever happens between him and Eddie, he’s determined not to let his own petty bullshit hurt Chris again. Even then, they’re fleeting moments, never more than a few minutes at a time.

(If Buck’s being honest, he knows exactly what’s going on here. He can practically hear Dr. Copeland’s voice in his head, telling him that this is a maladaptive attempt at self preservation. That he’s pushing Eddie away on purpose, leaving Eddie before Eddie can leave him.

Buck knows it’s bad. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and self destructive to boot. But, he can’t seem to make himself stop. Maddie left again, Chim followed, and now Eddie's left him too, and he's the only common denominator he can see. How long until it's Athena? Or Bobby?)

If Eddie ever notices, he says nothing.

***

All of Buck’s unresolved issues finally come to a head on a call.

It's a huge five-alarm fire at an office complex, the building already ablaze by the time they get there. Eddie is on their radio line, helping direct them to people still trapped in the building.

Buck should find his voice reassuring, like he has his back on a call again. Instead it just puts him on edge, every staticky word just a reminder of the distance between them.

Bobby has just called for the team to evacuate when Buck hears something, a crumbling crack and low bellow, then something like a whimper - it’s probably nothing he isn’t already prepared for. After all, buildings make all kinds of noises like that as they go down.

But he can’t just leave without checking.

“Buck, status?” Bobby’s voice crackles through his radio.

“I’m in the northeast quadrant of the fifth floor,” Buck replies, as he quickly checks the offices one last time, “I’m doing one last sweep, I think I heard something.”

“That part of the building is unstable, I need you out now.” Bobby replies, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Buck is good at his job. He can tell that this building is minutes away from collapse. He can feel the intense heat of the fire, even through all of his turnout gear, and can hear the ominous creaking noises the building is beginning to make.

But still. What if there’s someone there?

“I’ll be out in a minute, I just have to check.”

“Buck.” This time it’s Eddie’s voice that echoes through, edged with concern. “You need to leave.”

“I know, I’m almost done,” Buck replies, exasperated, because it’s a little rich of Eddie to make comments like that when he’s not even here to see or hear any of it for himself. He checks the last of the offices down the hall, and satisfied that they’re truly empty, begins to make his way to the exit. “Buck to Captain Nash, I’m—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because the section of floor beneath him caves.

He’s thankfully half off the section, so he manages to grab a hold of the edge on his way down, catching himself. He slams into a support beam, hitting his chest and jarring his shoulder, but it slows him just enough that when he lets go, he lands, stumbling to his knees on the floor below.

It’s a hard landing, but overall a safe one, all things considered.

Buck pushes himself to his feet, groaning. He takes stock of himself. He’s winded, sore, and his heart is hammering with adrenaline, because that could have been so much worse. But, by some miracle that seems to be the extent of his injuries.

Through his radio, he can hear Eddie’s panicked voice, “Buck? Can you hear me?”

“I’m okay,” Buck manages to wheeze out. “Floor caved. Coming out now.”

“Buck, stay where you are,” Bobby commands. “We’re sending someone to—”

“No need,” Buck cuts in. The building isn’t safe, and no one from the team should come back in. Buck forces himself to move, sucking in a pained breath as he does so, and heads towards the exit. “I’m fine.”

With all the noise around Buck, it's hard to tell what Eddie's tone is through the crackling radio, but it's some cross of fear and aggravation. "Buck? Are you hurt? You sound like you're hurt. You're hurt, aren't you? Just stay there—"

"I said I'm fine," Buck snaps. He's perfectly aware he just proved everyone right with his recklessness once again. There’s no need to rub it in.

Despite his assurances that he’s not injured, Chim and Ravi meet him anyway, helping Buck out into the fresh air and straight towards one of the ambulances. Hen checks him over, her hands experienced and gentle, and after a few minutes, she seems satisfied.

“Looks like today was your lucky day, Buckaroo,” Hen says, sounding more than a little bit surprised. “You have some bruised ribs, and you might want to keep ice on your shoulder, but you don’t seem to have any other injuries aside from that.”

“How?” Chim asks, although he sounds more concerned than anything else. “You fell through the floor.”

“I did, but caught myself and landed right,” Buck says, before turning to Bobby, who has been standing there watching the whole time. “Told you I was fine.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, but Buck can tell that he’s relieved. “We’re going to talk about this, Buck.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck replies, because he knows the drill by now. He does something reckless, Bobby lectures him for it, and then he’s on dish duty or inventory for a week or two.

A moment later, Eddie’s voice cuts through the radio, “Bobby, is he–?”

“All firefighters present and accounted for, dispatch,” Bobby replies, “No serious injuries.”

There's a relieved sigh and exhale-through-the-nose type laugh that usually signifies that there's nothing actually funny happening, then Eddie says, "Jesus, you scared me. You need to be more careful, Buck."

What happens next isn't Buck's proudest moment, and he's not even entirely sure why he does it at all. Maybe it's because he's still shaking with adrenaline, aching and freshly bruised, smoke still heavy in his lungs. Maybe it’s because Chim's been back a week and still hasn't said a word to him.

But then, it could be that Buck's genuinely struck dumb by Eddie's audacity - that Eddie feels owed anything at all from him, that he thinks he can talk to Buck like that after leaving him the way everyone else has and does and will - it makes venom bubble up into his throat, hot and acrid.

"Firefighter Buckley to Dispatcher Diaz," he starts, his knuckles white on the radio, something mean and furious trying to burst its way out of his chest, "You don't get to say shit like that to me anymore."

There's a pause, a soft crackle in the carrier wave that lasts long enough that Buck begins to think he actually didn't say anything out loud.

Then Eddie's voice comes through. "...what?"

"Don't act like you have my back," Buck says - definitely out loud this time, his aggravation building, "You don't. So, you don't get to say shit like that to me - don't act like that with me anymore."

Eddie has the gall to sound indignant when he replies, "Excuse me?"

"Buck," Bobby warns, but Buck ignores it.

“I’m sorry, I was just surprised that we’re actually talking again.” Eddie hisses, his tone just as acidic.

"Oh, shut up," Buck spits back, "Don't pretend like you care that we weren’t talking - You're not my partner anymore–”

"So you're admitting you were avoiding me?"

"You left, Eddie!" Buck accuses, "You're the one who up and left! So don’t even bother—"

The line cuts out between them, and a quick glance at Bobby makes it clear that he's the one that cut it. Almost immediately, Buck is overcome with regret and guilt for what he’s said, so much so that it makes him nauseous.

“In the truck - now," Bobby orders, and Buck doesn’t argue. He endures the silent and frankly awkward drive back to the station, before heading straight up to Bobby’s office.

Once they’re inside, Buck just collapses into one of the seats, and Bobby sighs. Buck can see that he’s torn between being Bobby his Captain, and Bobby his friend.

“Am I fired?” Buck asks, straight to the point.

“No,” Bobby replies, sounding more exhausted than anything else. “But I am going to have to give you an official warning. Those calls are recorded and logged.”

“That’s fair,” Buck says, as he grinds the palms of his hands into his eyes and just tries not to cry. Once again, he’s managed to ruin everything. He’d let his emotions get the better of him, and on a job too.

Everyone with a radio had heard his outburst, had heard the way he’d spoken to his best friend. He must have sounded so desperate, so needy, and more than a little unhinged.

It’s no wonder that people keep leaving him behind.

After a moment, Bobby continues. “Are you still talking to a therapist?”

“No, I stopped a while back,” Buck admits. He’d thought he’d been doing fine, but, well.

“Well, I’m going to strongly suggest you go back,” Bobby says, his tone gentle but leaving no room for argument.

Buck just nods in response. He must look like an absolute mess if Bobby isn’t even going to give him a serve for his recklessness.

“I’m also going to send you home now,” Bobby continues, his voice stern. “Not only because you’re not in the right headspace, but because you need to take it easy after that fall. Are you okay to drive yourself?”

Buck nods again.

“Okay, I’m going to be checking in later tonight,” Bobby says, standing up to leave. As he does, he rests his hand on Buck’s shoulder for a moment. “Buck, you’ve got people who care about you. I know you struggle to see that sometimes, but you do.”

Buck nods, and follows Bobby out. He gathers his stuff from his locker and flees the station as fast as humanly possible. Once he gets to his apartment, he manages to email Dr. Copeland about setting up appointments again before just crawling into his bed.

Then the tears start.

He and Eddie have gotten through so much together. The tsunami, the lawsuit, the shooting. But this might actually be the final nail in the coffin, the final thing that Eddie just can’t move beyond. And Eddie would be completely justified if he was done. If he left him behind. Because the fact is Buck is a disaster who can’t sort his shit out.

He wallows, letting the physical ache of his injuries wash over him. They hurt less than the ache in his chest at the realization that Eddie won’t ever want to speak to him again. He’s such a mess that by the time Taylor sends him a quick text canceling their evening plans because of a story she’s chasing up, it’s actually a relief.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur, and Buck is only stirred from his thoughts by a knock at his door, a bit after six. It’s probably Bobby, checking in, so Buck goes to get it. When he opens it though, it’s not Bobby waiting there.

“Hey,” Eddie says, quietly.

“Hey,” Buck parrots, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t been sure that he’d ever get to see Eddie again, let alone so soon, and he finds himself utterly unprepared.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Eddie asks, looking past Buck into the apartment.

“Uh, no, you’re fine,” Buck replies, suddenly conscious that he almost certainly looks like a mess. “Taylor has a work thing.”

There is a beat, where neither of them moves or says anything.

“Can I come in?” Eddie asks, uncharacteristically unsure. The fact that he knocked is strange enough, since Eddie still has a key to his apartment.

(Buck hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask for it back, knowing what that would have meant for them.)

“Oh yeah, of course,” Buck says, stepping back so that Eddie can enter the apartment. Buck closes the door behind them, and feels the weight of what’s about to happen settle upon him.

Buck instinctively moves to the kitchen, but hesitates at the fridge. Instead, he pauses on the other side of the kitchen counter, almost grateful for the distance between them.

Even as he fights the urge to move closer to Eddie.

Awkward silence falls in the loft, and Buck isn’t sure that it’s ever been this tense between them, even after the lawsuit. He fights the urge to fidget, trying to distract himself from the inevitable awful conversation that this is going to be. But the fact that Eddie’s here, at his apartment, is a good sign. Maybe if he grovels enough, they can still salvage some part of their friendship out of this. Buck takes a steadying breath, and goes to speak.

“I’m sorry,” they both say, at the exact same time, before breaking into nervous laughter.

“Can I go first?" Buck asks. He isn’t sure what Eddie thinks he needs to apologize for. As far as he can tell, Eddie hasn’t really done anything wrong at all.

“Go ahead.”

“I’m so sorry,” Buck begins, completely contrite. “I was really upset today, and I didn't mean any of it. You were right. I'm the one who's been pulling away, and it wasn't fair of m e to blame you for that."

The words hang in the air for a moment, before Eddie speaks. "We used to talk to each other. I just don't understand why you've been pulling away. Did something happen?"

"No, nothing. It's nothing," Buck deflects, not sure how to explain himself without sounding absolutely self absorbed and pathetic.

Eddie sighs. "Buck, work with me here."

"Seriously, don't even worry about it. It's stupid. I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

“Evan,” Eddie says, his tone gentle but also firm. Instantly, Buck knows that he’s not going to get out of this one. Eddie using his name always makes him fold like paper.

“I thought you didn't need me anymore,” Buck admits, despising how needy it sounds. “I don't think anyone actually does."

"I always need you," Eddie insists. "Bobby said to give you some space, but they don't know you like I do. I should have known better."

Buck is pretty sure that no one knows him like Eddie does, but that doesn’t mean that he’s about to make that Eddie problem.

"I'm fine! Really. The last few months have just been a lot," Buck quickly insists, because the last thing he wants to do is burden anyone, "And, I mean, you were going through your own things. I'm not the one who got shot."

Eddie considers him for a moment, "You were there too."

"Yeah, but it's not the same,” Buck says, and something inside him breaks. Suddenly it’s like the dam is open, and he can’t seem to stop what comes out, “I wasn't the one who got hurt. I was—I was just so useless. I-I-I mean, you trust me to have your back, to keep you safe, to keep Chris safe, and when it matters most, I can't—”

“Buck—” Eddie tries, as he moves closer to Buck.

"And I'm so sorry—”

“Buck—”

“—that I can’t—”

"Buck. None of that is on you,” Eddie cuts him off, as he closes the rest of this distance between them. He places his hands on either side of Buck’s face, and the weight and warmth of Eddie’s hands shocks Buck into silence. “I mean it."

There’s nowhere else to look but into Eddie’s eyes, and it steals Buck’s breath away.

After a heavy moment, Eddie continues.

“There was a moment today, where I thought I heard you die, and there was nothing I could do about it,” Eddie starts, and Buck knows exactly what that’s like. He felt the same way after the well, and especially after the shooting. "And I'm going to be honest, Buck, it was awful, and I didn't handle it well. But, it just made me realize that I have no idea what I would do without you. I meant what I said at the hospital that day. You're not expendable."

Buck’s eyes start to burn with unshed tears.

"So, I'm sorry,” Eddie continues, his voice sounding as rough as Buck feels. “I shouldn't have blindsided you like that, at the Christmas party. Especially with everything else you were going through. I didn't stop to think about how my decision to leave the 118 was going to affect you."

"I mean, you were right,” Buck says, his voice rougher than he would like it to be. “You need to do what's best for Chris."

"Still, I should have told you."

“Why?" Buck asks. At Eddie’s confusion, he clarifies, "Like, why would it matter, how it affects me?"

"Because you're my partner," Eddie says, simply. "That's just as true now as it was then."

Buck will never understand how Eddie can completely upturn his world, and put it back together again, better than it was before. He doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but he’ll try and try again until he does.

“I’ve missed you,” Buck admits, trying really hard not to cry. “I just want things to go back to how they were.”

“Yeah, me too,” Eddie agrees, softly and honestly.

“You can have my back any day,” Buck adds, because he needs Eddie to understand that he feels the same way. That, even after everything, they still have this.

“And you could have mine,” Eddie finishes off, quietly, as his hands trail down to Buck’s shoulders.

Buck can’t help but pull him into a tight embrace. Eddie eagerly reciprocates, holding him back just as strongly. Buck isn’t not sure how long they stay there, holding each other like that before they reluctantly pull away. As they do, the movement jostles Buck’s shoulder, and he can’t help but wi nce.

“Sorry, it’s my shoulder.” Buck says, at Eddie’s concerned look.

“Hey, let me check,” Eddie sa ys, as he carefully pulls up the side of Buck’s shirt to check his injuries.

It’s not new behavior, Eddie always gets like this after a close call, insisting on looking Buck over himself. Even after he’d been given the all clear by Hen or Chim. Looking down, Buck can see that his side is already mottled blue. He’s definitely going to be sore for the next few days. Eddie, meanwhile, says nothing as he assesses the bruising, before moving his attention to his shoulder.

“You should be icing that,” Eddie instructs, moving to the freezer and pulling out one of the ice packs. He gently presses it to Buck’s injury, their hands brushing as he does so.

“Thanks,” Buck mumbles, his capacity to say anything more articulate suddenly gone.

“So, you said the floor caved?” Eddie asks, as he continues to check him over.

“Ah, yeah. I was heading to the exit when it just gave out,” Buck explains, “I landed about as well as you could hope.”

“You were so lucky,” Eddie says. There’s no judgment in his tone, just relief.

“I know right? It's a nice change,” Buck jokes, and even Eddie huffs a laugh. After a moment, he asks, “So, how is it at dispatch?”

“Uh, really good, all things considered,” Eddie replies, taking the olive branch for what it is.

They quickly fall into easy conversation, and Buck knows they’ll be okay.

***

A few hours later they're both still at the apartment, sitting on the couch and idly watching some action movie Buck had found on netflix. Eddie is seemingly reluctant to leave, and Buck isn’t going to make him.

Beside Buck, his phone begins to ring, the caller ID indicating that it’s Bobby checking in, as promised.

Eddie turns at the sound, his expression curious.

“It’s just Bobby, checking in.” Buck explains.

Eddie smiles. “Tell him I said hi.”

“Will do.” Buck promises, as he stands and moves to the kitchen for some semblance of privacy, before answering. “Hey Bobby.”

“Hey Buck, how’re you doing?”

“Fine. Sore, but not too bad,” Buck answers, truthfully. “I emailed my therapist too.”

Bobby hums in approval. He must hear noise in the background, because he asks, “Is someone else there?”

“Uh, Yeah, I’m with Eddie. He says hi, by the way.”

Bobby does not seem to be the least bit surprised. “I’m really glad to hear that, Buck.”

Buck glances across to where Eddie is sitting. It hits him then, with the intensity of a bullet, just how much he’s been missing this. “Yeah, me too.”

***

So, that was chapter one of my newest Buddie fic. Chapter two should be up by next weekend, and definitely before season 5B at the latest.

What did you think? If you did, please consider leaving a like/kudos or comment, either here or on the Archive (Fic Link). Positive feedback is what keeps me going!

[tobi-momo]

anon asked: hii! can i req tsukishima + 11:11pm + angst to fluff? love your work 💖 (i hope im doing this right udhsjd)

gaahhh so cute (dw youre doing it perfectly darling)

tsukishima + 11:11 pm + angst to fluff

you stared at the blank, white wall without emotion; numb to the feeling of agony, numb to the feeling of disappointment, of loneliness. it was wrong of you to confess, you know, being categorized as one of his stupid fangirls that he could just ignore. even if you had known him for years, the glare he sent you after you muttered the words 'i like you' was of no mistake, a glare of betrayal and disbelief when he backed away from you. it was like you were a sickness to him, like you were something he didn't want to touch.

you're at fault. it's your problem.

that's what you were thinking as a hot droplet fell hopelessly down your face, a feeling of warmth and familiarity resting on your shoulder, a feeling of peace. the warmth crawled down your chest, to your stomach, pulling you into a wall of invisible fire, one that could never cause you harm. a third warmth made its way to wrap you in an embrace, its long arms holding you securely like it never wanted to lose you. you liked this warmth. you loved this warmth.

and when you turn to see the love of your life clasping you in an embrace you realized you never wanted that warmth to leave. and you knew he wouldn't.

hi sorry my drafts were being a bitch so i had to make a new post :/

Momo's 400 Follower Event!

[psychiatristreturning]

four times steve harrington knew he loved you and the one time he told you (steve harrington x henderson!reader)

a/n: for anon. this is my longest fic so far. i worked real hard on this. i really like it.  word count: 2.6k warnings: violence, language

5. 1975

Steve didn’t know what love was. All he knew is that his parents didn’t have it. Crushes were a different story, but Steve wanted to know what love was. 

You knew what love was, it was your mom making you your favorite meal after a big test. It was your brother smiling at you, even though he was toothless. Love was your cat purring when you pet her. But you never knew romantic love, not with your parents or yourself. 

Moving to Hawkins had changed your life. You had some friends back home, but this place? No one wanted to be friends with you. Nine-year-olds were brutal. Though at school there was one boy, who, even at nine, had established himself as quite the ladies man. But he seemed sweet, no matter how much of a jerk he could be sometimes. 

At recess one day it all changed, for both of you. 

The swing set creaked in the wind, it’s cold metal seat under you, bending under your weight. A group of rowdy boys ran past you, and one, ran directly into you. Tumbling face forward into the concrete you yelped in surprise, your face stinging. Blinking back tears you suddenly become aware of the boy behind you, who wanted to help. 

“Are you okay?” his oddly timid voice sounded.

“Yeah, I’m good.” you turned to him, “Is it bad?” you questioned as he grimaced. 

“Um, I think you’ll be okay. But I’ll take you to go get some band-aids.” he kicked a loose rock on the concrete, “I’m sorry.” 

“No worries.” you stood up, realizing your knees were cut too. 

Steve quickly stuck his arm out and wrapped his hand around your bicep, helping keep you steady. A teacher who was wondering haphazardly around called over, “Mr. Harrington! Where are you taking  Ms. Henderson?” 

The young boy looked at the teacher, dumbfounded, “To get some band-aids.” Couldn’t he see all the blood? 

“No, she can do it herself. It’s not a man's job to care.” all Steve heard was his dad, and he didn’t have the courage to stand up to his dad, but he did to his teacher. He knew what was right. 

“She needs help.” he stated, flat out. Steve didn’t understand what was wrong with helping you. 

Now, you were uncomfortable in this stare off with the teacher, Steve’s grip becoming tighter. The teacher locked eyes with Steve, “You help her I’ll give you detention.” 

Steve gulped knowing his dad would yell at him, but you, a person, needed help. Leaning over you whispered, “Go,” to him. He shouldn’t get in trouble for helping you. 

“No.” he said firmly, helping you walk inside, the teacher screaming about his detention or whatever. The boy seemed unbothered, you admired it. 

“Okay, well thank you.” you squeaked out. You knew he was probably only helping you because he bumped into you, but part of you wanted it to be different, and maybe it was. 

He helped you into the school and into an empty bathroom, Steve was not the smartest per se, but he knew to clean the cuts. Which there were a lot of. “Steve,” he looked down at you from where he was cleaning a cut on your forehead, “Why did you do this?” 

Steve looked adorably confused at you, “Do what?” 

“Help me. Was it because you bumped me?” 

He took a deep breath, thinking, “No, you deserve to be helped, you’re nice Y/N. And, yes, I hit you, but, you shouldn’t have to help your self up.” 

You stared ahead, feeling something, feeling loved. 

Steve wondered what this was. Why did he help you? Maybe, just maybe, because he loved you. 

4. 1983

Who knew what was going on anymore? You had no idea where your brother was, and some reason you were with Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, trying to summon his brother or something. Not that you would ever admit it, but you were truly terrified, lights flashing around you, yelling, fake bodies. You didn’t know what to do. The world was coming apart at its seams. Nancy, Jonathan, and you sat in the Byers house on the couch, shaking, worried about what would happen next. The weapons in your hands were clutched tightly, ready for action. 

No one dared speak, when a knock came at the door. Startling all of you out of your skin. Nancy jumped up pointing her gun at the door. The banging on the door continued, when you heard, “Jonathan, man! I’m sorry! And I feel terrible! I wanna help!” 

“Steve!” Nancy hissed quietly. 

Jonathan walked up and swung open the door to stop the incessant banging. Steve practically falling into the house, but he quickly straightened up, seeing Nancy point her gun squarely at him. Steve raised his hands quickly above his head, “Hey, Nance, I’m sorry! You don’t have to kill me-” 

“Steve get out.” 

“I’m just here to talk to Byers.” 

“Nancy, put the gun down!” you shouted at her. 

Steve’s head whipped to you, his eyes widened, “Y/N! What are you doing here? Holy shit!”

No matter what Steve said to you, you didn’t look at him, knowing you’d get distracted by his stupidly perfect hair and crooked grin. Instead, you continued to walk slowly toward Nancy, “Put the gun down.” she was shaking, conceivably using every muscle in her body to get Steve out. To help him. 

The lights started flashing irregularly, that’s when Jonathan started yelling. “Nancy! Stop it!” almost like she was in a trance, she snapped out, “He’s here.” 

Steve’s eyes widened, “Who’s here? What’s here? What’s going on?” 

At that moment it burst through the walls, the same thing you and Nancy saw in the Upside Down. They went to run to the back room, but you tripped, Nancy and Jonathan were already running, and Steve who was behind them stopped, and looked at you, and without hesitating, ran back to you. Grabbing your arms and lifting you up, helping you off the hard floor and clasping your hand, guiding you quickly into the back bedroom. 

He kept holding your hand in the dark, your backs pressed against the door. Once you realized you were holding his hand, you hastily let go. Looking across the room at the blank wall, you remembered years ago, Steve helping you up, selflessly. And once again he was ready to save you. 

Steve looked at you, shoulders pressed against each other, you looked amazing, and you were brave. But, Nancy, he had slept with Nancy, and they were something, hopefully. And at the moment, he realized there was something he felt for you that he didn’t feel when he thought of Nancy. But, now was not the time for that. If he told himself he loved Nancy, he would feel that eventually. So sure, he loved Nancy, he didn’t care about you. Never would. But part of Steve knew he was in deep shit.

3. 1984 

Oh boy, you were a part of this mess from the start. You should’ve known it wasn’t going to go well from the second Dustin said that he had found a ‘lizard’. But that wasn’t even the weirdest part of it all. It wasn’t Billy. It wasn’t Eleven suddenly showing up again. It was, at least for you, Steve Harrington. Not him, but the way he was acting. He was acting, sweet? Steve was attempting to give your brother shitty dating advice which you had to cut into, saying “Just don’t ignore her. I mean, girls like some attention.” 

Dustin looked back at you and questioned, “How many boyfriends have you had?” 

You slapped his shoulder, “Shut up.” you grumbled. 

Steve shrugged, “I mean, you are the girl here.” 

“Thank you for the acknowledgement.” 

“But are you?” 

“Dustin shut up!” Steve looked at you with a face that if anyone saw they could only categorize as lovingly. But as soon as he saw Dustin smirking at him, he turned away, flustered, tripping over a stick on the path. Steve was confronted with remembering  thinking, that he couldn’t care about you. Nancy was there. And while, yes, he grew to love Nancy, she didn’t love him. And that’s not her fault, but Nancy had broken his heart, and for the first time in quite sometime, his heart felt complete, and it was because of you. Not that he would tell you. Steve was content, for the first time in a long time, to sit back, and fall in love slowly. But, truly, deeply in love. Farther than he thought he could ever feel.

2. 1984

You had all recovered, somewhat, from what had happened. And life returned to a sense of normalcy. But that morning Dustin woke up, practically bouncing around the house, for the Snowball dance that night. You were chaperoning, so you had to look marginally good. But, what you weren’t prepared for was Steve Harrington coming over to help your brother get ready. 

Hiding in your room getting ready, you heard a knock at the door, Dustin racing downstairs, and the unmistakable voice of Steve. While it was definitely nice to hear Dustin this happy, you realized that Steve would see you like this and that was not ideal right now. 

You could hear the two of them walking upstairs and the voices getting closer, then a loud bang on your door, “Steve’s here! And we’ll have to go soon!” 

You could hear Steve say quietly behind him, “The dance is in an hour and a half.” 

“Okay and an hour and a half!” 

“Alright Dusty!”

You turned your attention back to the mirror, and you heard Steve say, “Dusty? I’m gonna use that one.” the smirk was evident in his voice. That was followed quickly by a loud “Ow!” guessing Dustin hit him. 

As you finished your makeup you couldn’t help but wonder why you had a new pit of anxiety in your stomach now that Steve was here. Why did that change the dance so much? What was it about him? 

~~~~

Sure enough, an hour and a half later, as promised, Dustin was banging on your door. You could hear Steve hyping Dustin up, telling him how great he looked, and how all the girls will dance with him. And taking one last deep breath, you opened your door and walked downstairs. Steve was absolutely in awe of you. Steve knew he was over Nancy Wheeler, you were so wonderful, smart, and beautiful. God, he thought you were the most heavenly creature, and he didn’t believe in God. You walked shakily on the godforsaken heels to Dustin where you smirked at him. “Nice hair.” 

“Thanks, it’s pretty cool.” he nodded slowly trying to be cool. 

Steve was still gaping at you, “Uh, you, um, ready to go?” 

Dustin giggled at Steve’s red face, and you answered, “Yeah, thanks by the way.” He just awkwardly nodded, shoving a free hand in his pocket, the other opening the door, you called out to your mom, “Mom we’re going!” 

“Alright kids, have fun!” she called back from the kitchen. 

You guys shuffled out of the house and began the awkward drive to the school. 

~~~~

Once you guys arrived you and Steve began the final pep talk for Dustin. “Alright, now remember, you want to care but not to much.” 

You stopped Steve, “But do care.”

“Not to much.” 

Leaning forward you retorted, “He’s not going to by her a house or something.” 

“I’m just saying!” he threw up his hands in defense, “All the girls are gonna love you, I mean,” he stopped for a minute, “you look great!” 

“Yeah! Looking great!” you attempted to back him up. 

“They won’t be able to resist me with these pearls.” he purred and both of you began a chorus of ‘No’ and ‘Don’t do that’.

He got out of the car and looked back at you, “Are you coming?” 

“I’ll be in a minute.” Steve’s eyes widened realizing he was in a car, alone, with you. “Thank you, Steve.” 

“Oh it’s no problem-”

You cut him off promptly, “I mean for everything. This year, last year, you’ve really changed. In a good way,” looking into his sweet, brown eyes, you smiled, “I really appreciate you.” 

“It’s the right thing to do, plus, I was an asshole. It was a real low bar.” 

You laughed softly, “I’m going to go, but I think you should come in and dance with me.” 

Steve’s stomach flipped when you said to dance with you. You wanted him to come. With you. “I wouldn’t want to-” 

“Please.” he couldn’t resist your pleading eyes. 

“Sure.” Steve was very busy trying to hide his smile while stepping out of the car. 

You slid out of the backseat the Dustin had forced you into, and as soon as you stepped out onto your heels you tripped and began to fall. But someone's arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back up. Steve.

“Thank you.” you replied breathlessly, “I’ve gotta stop falling around you.” you made a lame attempt at a joke. 

He let go, and you walked in a little bit ahead of him, and under his breath he whispered, “I’ve already fallen for you.” no matter how cheesy he might sound. 

Steve Harrington loved you. 

1. 1985

All you wanted was ice cream. You didn’t want to end up taking care of two teenagers high on Russian truth serum. Trying to keep Robin and Steve collected when they’re not high is difficult enough. Robin was at the absolute goofiest you’ve ever seen her and Steve, oh, Steve. Over the past year you had harbored an extreme crush on the idiot. However, this was just sad. You were glad they were alive, but this was definitely the finale of any part of his old personality. You sat with Robin and Steve in the movie theater, Steve bopping your nose continuously. “Boop!” you grabbed his hand and moved it away from your face. 

“Shush.” 

He dropped his head onto your shoulder, and he looked up at you with his chocolate brown eyes, “You’re pretty,” he whispered, smiling like an idiot. 

“Thank you.” you whispered back, trying to act stern even as your stomach erupted in butterflies. All of a sudden Robin rushed out of the theater, mumbling something about water. You followed, Steve stumbling after you, he gripped your arm again and leaned into your side when he said to you;

“I’m in love with you.” 

You stopped in your tracks, Steve going on without you, a stupid smile on your face. Then it hit you, he’s high. It’s not him. You shook your head to rid the idea of Steve loving you. And you walked after him. Steve and Robin were drinking water manically when you got out of the theater. Both talking nonsense about Back to the Future. 

You stood, leaning against the wall. Looking lovingly at Steve. In their haze they stared nonsensically at the ceiling. Suddenly running to the bathroom, you ran after them. 

The two of them were curled over toilets, throwing up. You sat back, feeling horrible for what they had to endure. 

After what you can only describe as traumatic sickness, the three of you sat on the floor in stalls, Robin leaned her head onto your shoulder, and you spoke to Steve, knowing you couldn’t say it to his face. “Do you mean what you said, Steve?” 

Somehow in his mind, Steve knew what he admitted, “Yes.” he answered quietly. “Yes, I love you.” Robin smiled at you. And you felt hopeful, “Did I overstep?” 

“No,” Robin nodded her head quickly telling you to keep talking, “I, uh, I love you too.” 

Steve slid under the wall and next to you in the stall, “I would kiss you right now, but I just threw up.” 

“I got that.” 

“I’ll make it up to you soon enough.” 

“You two are disgusting,” Robin said, smiling at the display of two people obviously in love next to her.

[thetypedwriter]

Gideon the Ninth Book Review

Gideon the Ninth Book Review by Tamsyn Muir 

It would be only a slight hyperbole to say that a million people have either recommended this book to me or have told me to read it. I’ve heard for years now that this book is incredible and extremely well written and beloved by many. So, if that’s the case why did I wait so long to read it?

I don’t have a good answer. Sometimes a book is on your radar, but either the time isn’t right, other books take priority, or in my case, it’s adult fiction and I held slight trepidation that I wouldn’t love it as much as everyone else in the world seemed to. 

Thank goodness, that didn’t end up being the case and I’ll get into why in a moment. 

First, Gideon the Ninth has the most amazing descriptive sentence belonging on any front cover of any book ever. 

I shall put it here for prosperity and awe: “Lesbian necromancers explore a haunted gothic palace in space!” -Charles Stross. 

Now, I don’t know who you are Mr. Stross, but that has to be the best sentence written in the English language since its conception. If that isn’t enough intrigue for you to crack open the novel then I truly don’t know what is or what it would take. 

That being said, Mr. Stross wasn’t entirely accurate, but that’ll be clear soon enough. 

The novel surrounds our main protagonist, Gideon Nav, or, known as Gideon the Ninth, the primary cavalier to the Ninth House necromancer. Essentially, this world takes place in a different solar system with its own sun star known as Dominicus as well as nine planets also known as the Nine Houses. 

Each House has a specific specialty for what is known for, and as summarized helpfully, but also overwhelmingly, at the beginning of the novel, the Ninth House is also known as the keepers of the Locked Tomb, House of the Sewn Tongue, and home to the Black Vestals. 

This meant nothing to me at the beginning and quite truthfully, I still struggled to remember throughout the novel who belonged to the Third House, or the Fifth and what that quite meant, as once again, each House has a reputation and expected skill set that precedes them. 

Not to say that it was poorly written because it wasn’t. Muir just has a lot of characters with specific titles and while she actually does quite a good job of categorizing them and helpfully reminding you who is who, I still struggled with just the sheer amount of information and people. 

Normally, this would be a massive criticism, like it was with the cast of characters in Lore but in this case it’s not Muir’s fault. She’s giving me all the information necessary to understand. It was just my brain that struggled trying to recognize and categorize everyone. If anything, I’m excited to re-read Gideon the Ninth and have it sink in like a second skin eventually. 

Having this large cast of characters, the book revolves around each of the Nine Houses (except for the First House) sending their best necromancer, a wielder of both thanergy (death energy) and thalergy (life energy) in the form of a House Adept, someone who is able to wield this kind of energy either in bone magic, flesh magic, or spirit magic. 

In accompaniment, each Necromancer Adept has a primary Cavalier, a trained fighter that is both protector, companion, and often, necessary energy suppliers to their Adept in both horrendous and acceptable ways. 

The goal of these pairs, having been sent to the First planet, is to become a Lyctor, an immortal servant to the Undying Emperor. The catch is that once the Necromancers and their Cavaliers arrive on the First, the shuttle departs and they are trapped in an abandoned, dilapidated, once-regal and great mansion that boasts hundreds of floors, secret doors, and mystery upon mystery. 

Each pair expects a streamlined process to Lyctorhood once they arrive, a methodical procedure, perhaps some training, and ultimately a test. What they don’t expect is a mellow man by the name of Teacher that claims to know nothing about the process himself, but is the overseer of the First. 

What follows is a mind-boggling search to become a Lyctor and unravel the mysteries of the haunted palace. What the pairs don’t expect is the death of their own, gruesome murders at the hand of someone in their very own positions and an evil danger beyond any of their imagination lurking in the mansion. 

This novel was a great concoction of mystery, action, interpersonal relationships, character growth, dazzling descriptions, and world building. 

The world of Dominicus and the Nine Houses is expansive and rich, something that I haven’t been able to sink my teeth into, and not for lack of trying, but because it is so deep and so layered that I simply need to take several bites to get it all down.

The mystery is fulfilling and strangely, to me at least, reminiscent of a game called Danganronpa. If you know what that is, and even if you don’t, it centers around the idea of a murder mystery, but where the killer is one of your own and the mystery is trying to figure out not ony the who, but the why of what they are doing, amongst a slew of other deadly riddles.

Gideon the Ninth is the same. As people continue to get picked off and brutally murdered, as a reader you find yourself trying to puzzle out not only who, but why someone would commit such atrocities and the motivation behind it. 

The plot itself of Gideon the Ninth was extremely satisfying and alluring. There were times where I personally found that novel bogged down with excessive description, but it was usually broken up with Gideon’s personal brand of crass humor, a very much needed breather with the expansive exposition, that, while extremely well done, well researched, and well written, did get a tad boring from time to time for me personally, even if it allowed for clear imagery as well as adding to already well formed world building. 

In addition to the plot, all of the characters were well done and as fleshed out as they could be considering the amount of characters involved. First, even though this is set in a fantasy sci-fi setting, each of the characters seemed realistic and like they could potentially be real people. 

A large criticism of books I often have, especially in YA, is that the characters often come across like caricatures, and not real flesh and blood humans with both positive and negative qualities. 

Each character, some developed more than others, have both flaws and strengths, even the main characters, which I highly appreciated. Not only does it make the story more real and palatable, but it also is just more interesting to read about as it’s actually based in humanity and the nature of human beings rather than some perfect carbon copy of one. 

Gideon as a narrator was hilarious. She was often crass, blunt, horny, humorous and ignorant. But on the other hand, she was also an extremely talented fighter, actually very sweet deep down, forgiving, and loving. 

This mix in a main character was a welcome one in addition to making Gideon feel like a real person, despite all the bone magic and necromancy, and often her thought process and dialogue made me laugh out loud. 

Another main character, Harrowhark Nonagesimus (What a name!) is Gideon’s Necromancer and main companion. She’s bitter, rude, spiteful, and ruthless. She’s also hardworking, intelligent, and stubborn. 

If you’re catching the pattern here, Muir isn’t just writing archetypes and passing them off as characters. She’s writing complex and nuanced personalities that are intriguing and interesting and well developed. 

I could get into the other plethora of characters like Camila, Dulcinea, Palamedes, Magnus, Judith and so on, but this review would be a thousand pages long so I’ll just settle for saying that every character was well done and lovingly crafted and not one of them, even the annoying ones, were characters that I hated. 

One important thing to note was Muir’s writing itself. It was incredible. Such descriptions! Such characterization! Such detail! Such vocabulary! I was supremely impressed with her writing as a whole and often found myself having to look up words that I had never heard of in my life (always a welcome change of pace). I was blown away by her sheet talent and creativity. 

The last two things I have to note might get me in trouble. 

One, the ending for me was...bittersweet. For fear of spoiling someone, I won’t get into details, but I found it both lacking and simultaneously making absolute sense. I wanted both more and yet, found that everything was just enough. It’s hard to put into words, but if you know, you know. 

I do have a slightly sinking feeling though that the ending twist will somehow be undone in the sequel. I don’t know if this is true (although I will eventually find out), and I can’t decide if I’m going to be happy or dismayed by it. 

Such conflicting feelings are in of itself homage to Muir’s skill as a writer and the complexities of her tale. 

Lastly, the one aspect that might get me into the stickiest of predicaments: Harrowhark’s and Gideon’s relationship. I don’t know if I like it or not. On the one hand, I absolutely love it. It's a hate-to-love slow burn, which really is the only way an OTP makes its way into my heart. I love that they’re so different and yet so compatible, one flesh and one blood and all that other nonsense. 

They see each other as equals, as adversaries, and I adore that dynamic in any pairing. I also love the F/F representation of some badass women and that they’re not traditionally attractive and beautiful. 

One of my favorite lines came from the end of the book where Gideon describes Harrowhark’s face as, “bitter” and “hateful”. I just love when characters aren’t conventionally gorgeous and yet beautiful in the eyes of the beholder and all that jazz. 

Now. Onto the problems. 

Harrowhark’s and Gideon’s relationship is kinda...toxic? It grows into something less so, but it definitely starts off that way. I really hate imbalances of power of any kind and Harrowhark definitely has power over Gideon, power that she creully abuses. I asked myself: if Harrowhark was a man and treated Gideon so abysmally for years, and then Gideon eventually forgave him and loved him despite everything, would I think differently?

And the answer is yes, yes I would. 

Is that fair? Probably not. But I can’t help but think how the dynamics change with the two of them being women, and how in my opinion, I think more is forgiven of Harrowhark because of it, even when it’s not deserved. 

Now, Harrowhark is a complex character and has traumas of her own, but I just can’t help but think of all the things she did to Gideon and the things she took away from her and forced her to do and then think of them together and it’s...not great. 

Overall, my feelings on their relationship are complicated (which is a repeated pattern when it comes to Muir’s writing) and I don’t mind that it’s complicated, it makes it interesting, but I also would be bereft to mention it here. I look forward to seeing how it develops and if my feelings change and grow on the matter as well. 

In total, Gideon the Ninth is a fantastic read. It has everything you want inlaid with characters who not only push the plot along, but incentivize you to read more. It has complicated issues and complicated characters, but that means it’s nuanced and complex and juicy enough to bite into. 

Don’t do what I did and wait years for this novel. If you need a good read, you don’t need to look any further and then let yourself be swept along for the necromantic ride. 

Recommendation: “Lesbian necromancers explore a haunted gothic palace in space!” -Charles Stross. I mean. Come on people, what more can you ask for?

Score: 8/10 

[alatismeni-theitsa]

(1/2) I know this is some controversial topic and that you sometimes cover US politics, but what do you think the american left needs to improve to reach to more people and be taken more seriously?; It's unbelievable that in the very 2021, apolitical folk are still fallin into the whole "the leftist are a bunch of crazies" narrative, we may do some pushback the last three years against conservative politics.

(2/2)  But it's still not enough; on your personal opinion, what fundamental core value needs to be changed to engage to these apolitical people and that leftist want politics to improve the quality of life of the population without being labeled as a "petulant, whiney children" There's some greek-flavored advice that we can apply to our discourse? Thanks in advance :)

========================== END OF ASK ======================

Ooooo… Great question! And by “great” I mean “Do you want me to go down in flames and get cut a thousand times with pitchforks??” xD But it’s very interesting so I will answer it! And you will be subjected to an essay of 3.200 words 😘💅 (I want to be meticulous, don’t come at me)

Please assume the tone is light and conversational. I am not in a very serious or dramatic mood, and I don’t want to estrange any group by assuming the role of an all knowing tutor or someone who always has the high moral ground. This is just 1am blabbering.

I am not against leftists. On the contrary, I know their side so well that I think I have a solid opinion on its flaws. (I have friends who are left- okay I’ll stop xD) Needless to say, the right side also has flaws and the two sides often share flaws. But right now, we are only talking about the leftists. And of course, #notallleftists xD I recognize that leftists are ordinary and diverse people with empathy and capability of critical thinking and problem-solving (Did I mention I have friends who ar--) Jokes aside, I think my following is quite left leaning and I am not bashing them here. I am criticizing the movement as a whole and trying to see where it can be improved.

***** Anyways, I will generalize the bad traits for the sake of everyone’s time, it’s what I am saying! So, when I say “they” I will probably mean “some” or “the bad apples” etc.  *****

To begin, US leftists don’t want to, but they are accidentally imperialist xD Unfortunately, they don't know much about other countries, and they don’t usually have knowledge of countries they are talking about if they don’t have an immediate connection to them. Not knowing things is fine, but when people on this site are like “ugh Americans” this points to an ignorance and a sort of entitlement that doesn’t occur this often in other countries. My internet cycle is overwhelmingly leftist and yet I continue seeing willingness for ignorance all around - and when I check it’s not by conservatives.

Leftists think their (social and not) politics apply to every country and culture, that people in different countries classify themselves as they do in the US. And when people from those countries talk about their problems, there is always an American that wants to give input based on American politics, and without knowing the situation in this other country they want to talk about. Ironically, the last one is a behavior of conservative politicians. Conservative politicians and citizens sometimes think it’s fine to intervene in other countries for “the greater good”. Well, leftists do the same but on the internet. It stalls conversation and makes it messy and force foreigners to apply to American standards.

Because leftists don't understand social differences between countries, they project their own politics, and that can make them seem obsessed with skin color and blind to cultural diversity. They act like only Americans or certain countries have every lived through colonialism and suffered slaughter and slavery. (Because they don’t feel the need to study and learn further.) To an American that might not be the case, but when Americans converse with foreigners about foreign issues, they seem to have a blind spot.

They act as if only white, cis, straight people can be perpetrators of imperialism. Booyyy I have news xD Yes, of course white, cis, straight people can be perpetrators of imperialism, but the attitude that they are the first to blame, always, it’s faulted. I have many experiences, but let’s start with a very simple one, of an Indian American young woman who thought only a lota can clean you with water in the toilet, and that Europeans haven’t heard of bidets or any other means of cleanliness (or that they have the bathtub RIGHT THERE xD) One of the highlights was a Black woman insisting “Medusa was Black because my grandma told me” despite what Greeks were telling her.

Another thing that stuck with me was the case of a Greek who wanted to write about the people who happen to be a minority in the US (you would call them poc I guess). Many people from those countries were enthusiastic about the project and aided the writer as much as they could, sharing culture and realizing how many things in common they had. But it was from same populations in the US that the writer found people who blamed them for daring to write something outside of their culture. (To explain, most US Americans were fine, but only in the US were some who were hostile). Or, I have seen Chinese Americans being offended by a certain thing (I think it was something about fashion) saying “this is an offense to Chinese culture” meanwhile Chinese people from everywhere else in the world (99% of Chinese, I’d say) said “I don’t understand… this is fine!”

Many US American poc categorize all light skinned Caucasians of the world as White Americans and the rest are the “cultured” Black or Brown people. US Americans are now learning that Slavic cultures exist and it’s… something else to watch leftists realizing light skinned people can have great embroidery and they are not actually stealing Mexican traditional clothing xD (reference to an obscure “calling out” comment on tik tok).

I don’t specifically target US poc here, I am just mentioning that everyone conveniently forgets them as if they are untouchable and never said anything ignorant, while they are as active on social media causes as other Americans. In fact, if most poc are aligned to a side, that would be the Left. They are a very big part of the progressive movement – and that’s why I am giving so much space here for them – but then it seems they can’t have a share of the “bad” things of the leftist movement, only the good. Which is humanly impossible, to be always correct.

That’s one of the problems of leftism, that in a way pardons certain minorities and by doing that it not only lets the problematic bubbles grow but also infantilizes those minorities because it passes the message that “they can never do anything wrong”. While background matters when having an opinion, I see that skin-color goes ridiculously above opinion on these matters, which is not very egalitarian. When I argue with a person, the last thing I see is the person’s skin color. When someone says “ancient Greeks were actually a Black nation ad then they became White” I don’t care how this person looks like. No matter your skin color, you must take responsibility for the misinformation you are spreading. I won’t assume that because someone is a poc that they can’t study and learn more about the matter of discussion.

So… the “issue” doesn’t come from being white, cis, straight etc but from being raised as a US American. I don’t imply by any means that being a US American is bad. The last thing I want to do here is enforce guilt. (If you are feeling guilty already I must be mistaken in my wording so I am sorry for that). I am talking about certain beliefs that come with raised as a US American. Similarly, many beliefs a Greek can have are because of their environment. Everyone is affected by their background in one way or another. 

American leftists believe that even the piss poor British farmers benefited from colonialism – and still benefit perhaps on a systemic scale. So, with the same logic, even the lowest layers of the US American society benefit from imperialism and war crimes overseas. (Truth is the quality of living in the US is great and extremely progressive compared to most of the world, because of the US’ politics. I had analyzed this in a previous post). But American leftists never mention that when it comes to THEIR case, because it doesn’t give them an advantage.

To tie it up with how American leftists see the world, there is youtuber I like, who is a US American woc and one time she said “My country is bombing Brown people” in an annoyed tone and it just sounded so offensive I closed the video. It’s obvious the youtuber doesn’t support the bombing, but it was just the phrasing which left a bitter taste in my mouth the whole day. It was the fact that 1) she could make a statement in an annoyed/joking tone 2) people in those countries don’t identify as “Brown” outside the US (and you are talking about them now) 3) your country is indeed bombing them so maybe at least categorize them as they wish?? They have a certain ethnicity, so mention that and stop categorizing them like dog breeds! They already have the bombs, do you want them to hear Americans categorize them like that?

Moreover, many US leftists think they care about other countries while, in actuality, they don’t. They just want to make other countries have the exact progressive US politics - because that’s the only “correct” political system they know. That shows even in kind of superficial matters. In a movie about Greek mythology, they will make sure there is an American Arab, an American Black person, an American East Asian person etc (which would be a cast that would reflect American diversity, not Mediterranean) and are hesitant to cast Greeks or ask Greeks how the portrayal of the story and figures could be better and respecting.

Another thing, they take everything too personally. They think success and failure of a movement is highly dependent on them as an individual. It’s difficult for them to approach a harsh past or present situation in a levelheaded manner because they don’t realize this situation has been universal. So, they feel a special kind of guilt and that makes them over apologetic but also overzealous (like a righteous self-flogging zealot) and that is what drives people away. They combine that behavior with ignorance about the rest of the world, and you can see why a non-US American might want to keep their distance.

I had some Americans apologizing to me because their ancestors did something to Greeks and just… don’t. I know you have the best intentions, but it makes everyone – even me – feel bad. There is no need for apologizing because 1) you and your family did nothing wrong 2) it was centuries ago 3) this bad shit happens/happened literally everywhere. You might as well apologize for your people knowing how to cook. It’s FINE, really, it’s FINE. For instance, do you think I have a grudge on YOUR people running a slave trade six centuries ago while there was dozen active slavetrades in the area, and while Greeks of the Byzantine empire probably bought slaves some decades before they were sold to slavery themselves? Do you see what a mess this is? Not only it doesn’t fix anything, but you also put unnecessary weight on yourself, as an individual. It’s fine to be aware and trying to fix past mistakes - if it’s possible - but there is a certain delicate process that must be followed. Not… whatever this is.

To continue on the extreme individualism, leftists think it's the end of the world if they have done or said something controversial (and that's also because they have cultivated a culture where any small transgression is a potential danger to the whole society :p aka "the left eats itself"). Around them people feel they must tread on eggshells just in case they phrase a thing wrong or post something that could be linked to a person the Left doesn't like.

The left is also on the extremes, so I have to put 1000 disclaimers every time I say something. (I guarantee that the example with the Chinese people will be translated by some Americans like “Theitsa promotes Asian hate!!”) Do you know who doesn't annoy me if I don't put 1000 disclaimers? Certainly not Conservatives. I had more harassment from leftists than I had from actual nazis, even though my blog is not conservative or (god forbid!!) supportive of nazism or any type of supremacy. Even nazis completely understand my beliefs before they send hate. (It might be odd but I never had one not understanding my point xD) But the leftists who sent hate misinterpret stuff, or they don’t bother reading actual posts. The funny thing is that I usually agree with these progressives in 99% of issues but they don’t care asking or learning, they just decide our morals are opposite. I mean they don’t have to like me, but many leftists don’t even read the basics.

On top of that, leftists rarely want to have a conversation with a conservative. I don't say go and AGREE with a conservative, I say just talk. (see? I feel the need to clarify here because many leftists might say “Theitsa wants us to go and AGREE with conservatives! Does Theitsa want us to become nazis and homophobes???”) How does one feel they have to be sooo righteous and then cauterize every member of society who disagrees with them? Why do leftists rarely want to have a conversation? Some people were ready to attack me for referencing a meme which referenced Steven Crowder, as if that shows I am his supporter 😩 (Guilty by association is strong on the leftist side and it’s very reminiscent of authoritarian tactics, another thing that needs to be improved, to my opinion.)

I don’t support Crowder (I know Crowder has done awful stuff) but I shouldn’t be scared to admit I like the “change my mind” episodes. (Flash news, leftists, you might like a part from a person’s work and not 100% support that person!) I like the episodes because both sides are heard, the conversation is civil (for the most part xD) and I can see the thought process of the two speakers as they explain their worries and what solutions are out there.

Most of all, in those episodes I see how BOTH sides CARE about the SAME problems, it’s just the perspectives that differ. And those conversations highlight the issues the left hasn’t studied very well, so it helps the leftists understand what they need to learn in order to better society. But where the “immaturity“ of the leftist side can show is in the unwillingness to approach the “opponent“ as a human just like them.

(They might instead prefer to call Mexicans white supremacists and claim that “whiteness” has no color because quite a few poc voted Republican, as some leftist news sources have stated)

What is more, is it just my idea or conservatives understand leftists better than leftists understand conservatives? Of course both sides jokes about the other one but I am talking about the serious talks. Leftists just describe conservatives as horrible people who want all minorities to perish and we must not talk to them while, surprisingly, the conservatives are the ones who stereotype less the opposite side. (I am talking about the normal, moderate people). From what I have seen, most simple people who are conservatives DON’T want the US’ ethnic and sexual minorities to perish. They are worried about problems they don’t have a good understanding about. And the only way to make them understand it’s to… talk to them, show them what good the left to offer.

Some leftists think conversation is “emotional labor” but 1) that applies to actual labor as in… jobs, so stop invalidating doctors, nurses, teachers etc, 2) yeah, sorry, sometimes things get difficult and you have to explain your side. (As non US-Americans endlessly have to do for US-Americans). That was, is and will be life until the sun swallows us all. You can’t be THAT militant on social media with 100 posts per day and remembering 50 different campaigns about social issues but the moment someone genuinely asks you for directions on your side you shut them off with “why do you demand labor from me? Do your own research” (hint: most likely they have done their research, but they are stuck, and you don’t help them like this).

If you are very tired and don’t want to explain (as it is your right) you can be polite about it and not blame the individual about their circumstances when they are trying to learn. If you DO want to explain but you get tired, be more organized. Have posts and F.A.Q.s ready, or send them to someone else (a friend, a blog, a youtube channel, an article, whatever). Instead of leftists arguing their positions, sometimes they are like “Do more research and realize I am right.” Yyyeah the other person is not gonna do that – especially because you haven’t pointed them anywhere or supported your position with arguments. Moreover, leftists can have the attitude of “I stand for PROGRESS, how can I ever be wrong??” Weeell things are not black and white and me, you, everyone has the potential to not have a not that beneficial to society position at some issues no matter where we stand on the political compass.

For the “petty whiny children” thing, I believe a lot of people might think that because the youth is usually making noise about progressive issues on social media. It’s true that oftentimes in social media discussions their emotions get the best of them (it’s happened to everyone) but combined with the lack of life experience they may have about the world, the argument sounds silly. (I heard one leftist university student say that the US shouldn’t have borders because borders are bad but then they realized they don’t want people to come and go as they please in the US, so she said there should be SNIPERS in the borders to shot everyone who tries to get in…….)

And, as I mentioned, the leftists are very quick to cancel and attack for the slightest transgression so people prefer to deal with the conservatives who can, at least, take a slight misstep, than meddling with people who are going to cancel them for doing or not doing a small, insignificant, but not ‘woke enough’ thing. Leftists are constantly checking each other to see if they are doing better and better (even in silly issues) and that can be intimidating to someone who is new to politics.

Some leftists get REALLY turned on by righteousness (Frollo villain style) and instead of trying to unite the society, they aim to divide it further. They don’t want to create bridges but burn them and find themselves on the “right side“ of morals.

And, last but not least, they don’t realize leftist propaganda is a thing. Malicious people are EVERYWHERE and they don’t just magically avoid the left. Leftists are not automatically super virtuous people. There are some manipulators and bullies around, so one has to be cautious even with leftist sources. (Cross-examine stuff, always. You might have the best intentions but accidentally share something nonfactual because you trusted a source).

Ok that was all, I think. To anyone who comments, PLEASE keep the tones down, have a conversation, take it slow, remember it doesn’t help us being hateful towards each other. (And causing serious friction wasn’t the purpose of this post). Oh, and if you need a clarification on something I said, before gossiping with your friends about how awful I am, do me the courtesy of first asking me what I meant xD

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

At first his presence was not detected, creating an opportunity for Osamu to observe your intoxicated state and to deliberate what action the situation called for. From the colourful curses uttered into the device snug against your ear he was able to ascertain who you were speaking to. The nickname ‘flamingo head’ could only reasonably be directed at Hanamaki, after-all.

But what Osamu did not know was that the conversation you were engaged in was rapidly shredding the limited energy you had conserved to refrain from collapsing. Administering a lecture to a heavily intoxicated person was not a calculated decision on his part. Further, Hanamaki’s annoyance with you solely stemmed from your treatment towards Iwaizumi. Not a single comment was issued to critique your decision to poison your liver at seven thirty in the evening. Rather, an implicit message of understanding laid at the foundation of his speech. These were details that the cook was struggling to discover, since all he could catch were the limited and short responses you shot back between various cries of irritation.

“Oh my God. Can you just stop. I can’t hear this right now!”

The distress seizing your throat had overwhelmed him with the protective desire to sooth you. Instinctively he proceeded a step closer, although he had to stop himself mid-step when your startled gaze landed on him. The quizzical expression etched into your features compelled him to lower the hand that was subconsciously raised in your direction. The emotions that were empowering him seconds prior were instantly washed away in a current of guilt.

A piece of him knew that he should have called Bokuto once stumbling onto the alarming scene, since he was someone you were willing to speak to and receive comfort from. And yet, the cook could not bring himself to abandon you – his heart would not allow such an action, particularly because he knew that he was the one responsible for your ache.

He wholeheartedly believed the curses spilling from your rouge coloured lips would soon be aimed at him. And so, when you suddenly pinched your eyelids shut and titled your chin skyward, confusion was added to the mixture of emotions boiling inside of his stomach.

“Fuck. I’m hallucinating again.” There was a hint of humour in the supposed realization that was proclaimed to the heavens. But the elongated sigh that followed the declaration indicated that you were becoming quite tired with the illusions your mind was projecting. Internally you had come to the conclusion that your mind was plotting against you, that is, it was partaking in an act of revenge in response to your recent increase of questionable decisions.

“Y/n… I’m not a hallucination.” Osamu vocalized the clarification solemnly, while remaining a safe distance away. However, based on your level of disorientation, he correctly assumed the counter-position would not be accepted.

Instead of responding immediately, an incoherent farewell was issued to the male continuing to scold you on the phone. Exhaustion weighed on your eyelids, forcing them into slits as you ended the call, before sloppily slipping the device into your jacket pocket. Osamu watched your every movement with careful precision, knowing well that excess amounts of alcohol would place you into a drowsy state. 

Usually, when you first bypass your regular intake of alcohol, illusions would lace through your conception of reality until the fine line between fact and fiction blurred. Drowsiness was the symptom that generally followed 10-15 minutes later. Although, he had only witnessed you in this state a few times, and so his data was limited. But he knew one thing for sure. You only elected to push past the point of no return when reality was far too much to bear.

And he knew this time it was his fault.

It was meant to be a day of celebration, but you were not drinking to commemorate your latest success. You were drinking to forget him.  

“That’s exactly what a hallucination would say.” The clever retort was accompanied by a short-lived laugh as you dipped an eyelid into a wink and tapped a finger against your head. At this point he knew anything vocalized would be categorized as fictitious, and perhaps it was for the best. What good could come from a conversation infected by liquor?

Osamu had now accepted that texting Bokuto was the correct decision, one that would satisfy you once you regained your sobriety. However, his resolve to text the Ace withered away in seconds as you sauntered over to him, gesturing strangely with your injured hand.

“Oi. Don’t ignore me.”

The cook blinked down at you, unable to rip away his stare as you halted a mere inch away from him, skeptically surveying him. The change in proximity not only prompted his heart to alter its rhythm, it flushed his pale cheeks with a rose hue. How was it that after eight years, you still managed to impact him to this extent? No one could draw out his emotions as effortlessly as you.

He had to fight his initial desire to brush away the stray strands of hair decorating your face, causing his fingers to twitch. He did not want to upset you, nor take advantage of the situation. However, his worries were silenced as you unexpectedly planted your palms on either side of his face, squishing playfully until his lips were slightly puckered. The physical contact stunned him, though he did not mind it. Even though the pressure exerted was a little aggressive, he welcomed it. He would accept anything from you, for he was at your mercy.  

“Shit. You really do look real.” Amusement led your eyelids to expand in size, and the glint decorating your irises resembled the one worn by children on Christmas day. “My mind did a really good job… But you can’t fool me.” Based on the teasing giggle that followed your words, Osamu knew whatever came next would not be pleasant. “Are you wonderin’ what? Your eyes, silly. The real ‘Samu hasn’t looked at me with that much love in forever.” The word ‘forever’ was slurred unnaturally and was accompanied by a little sway of your head. While the smile painted across your lips indicated that you enjoyed the odd enunciation, your explanation had amplified the guilt gnawing at his conscience.

Did he even deserve you anymore?

The self-pity party commencing inside of his head was quickly brought to an end as you unlatched your palms from his face, allowing them to return to your sides. A dreamy sigh was blown out as languor draped around you, increasing the influence of gravity on your knees. He watched you sway drowsily for a few seconds, not knowing whether you would accept his support if offered.

But when your remaining sliver of energy was spent, he shook his head, dispelling his concerns before slipping his arms around you, and ushering you to find support against him. His heart twisted inside of his chest, dancing in joy from the forbidden embrace. Tears stung at his waterline as you naturally snuggled against him, relishing in the sense of security his embrace granted you.

“You know… you’re pretty warm for a hallucination.” Pressing your cheek against the fabric over his chest, you were overcome with tranquility. “Wow… my mind even got your heartbeat right…”

Allowing his eyelids to flutter shut, he inhaled a breath to keep the tears at bay.

He was a fucking mess.

“Y/n. I’m sorry.” The apology was mumbled against your hair lowly, and did not reach your ears, as you were slowly slipping out of consciousness. “I’m so sorry…” While your current state did not permit you the luxury of comprehending his words, the way he trembled against you had led you to gently rub his back.

“You’re okay, big guy.”

A small smile tugged at the ends of his lips, the only sign of happiness on his swollen features. Only you would be trying to comfort him without realizing it – when you were the one in pain. Leading you head away from his chest a smidge, he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, as tiny droplets paraded down his cheeks. 

“I love you, y/n.”

He acknowledged that based on his past mistakes, he did not deserve you. But he vowed that one day, once again, he would become worthy of your love. Or at least, he would spend his whole life trying.

Let’s do it again, shall we - i’m sorry 

Masterlist - Previous - Next

A/N: I TRIED, ALRIGHT. 

taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @vicassa  @iloveanime691 @bringmelily @newfriendjen @hikarichannn @anime-simp @tsukkismamagucci @laughingismorefun @astronomyturtle @shegrewupwithoutafather @hyskoa1998 @deephumandragonperson @pretty-setter-bois @raenebalgaire @sugawarabby @justanotherfangirl2 @keijisworld @90s-belladonna @momoinot @sempiternal-amour @cherryblosom111 @yqshirov @haikyuufairy @volleybloop @bloody-bella @sadkaashistan @seikamuzu @namyari  @toaster-stick​ @coconut-dreamz @roseestuosity @prcttylittlcthing @uzumakioden​ @nerdynstoned​ @kenmasgameboy​ @unstableye @ouijaeater15​ @aquariarose​ @fandomtrashpandasposts​ @helloalex80​ @stfucanunot​ @envyusshades​ @cuddlesslut​ @seijohiseliterambles​ @chaichai-the-weeb​ @meiikuki​ @cuddlejeongin​ @tchalameme​ @ditu-m9​

Taglist continued in the comments from my personal  ❣️

[hometownrockstar]

if your therapist wouldnt hear you out about this id be suspect for sure - your therapist should never try to invalidate any of ur feelings at all. i hope youre heard out by someone and get to explore those feelings in a way thats healthy for u. this must be rlly frustrating :<. i encourage u to talk to ur therapist abt it but I understand if u don't feel comfortable taking that step yet

oh its not a therapist not hearing me through, i just dont have a therapist at all, just a psychiatrist who does try to hear me out and like, prompt me about my feelings sometimes, but i dont really like having discussions with her abt that stuff bc if i try and bring up any material conditions that arent inherently my fault, difficulties my autism and ableism bring up and the like, she just ignores it and goes "well autistic people are capable of doing anything they set their mind to" which is why im just like, pre-cautious of bringing certain stuff up to a hypothetical therapist. psychology doesnt really have an answer to disorders, symptoms, and pain caused by things outside of someone's control, so if it can't be categorized as a completely biological hardwiring in your brain, then its your fault for acting this way or not recovering correctly or medicating yourself this or that way, ect. and ect. its like i WANT the benefits of bouncing my thoughts off to a therapist and working with them to help myself, but i also want to be able to vent and discuss my feelings through an intrinsically anti-psych and psych-critical lens while being heard and listened to (which is easier when im talking to a friend who also deals with that kinda nonsense)

[galaxa-13]

Been thinking a lot about my feelings on romance and friendships.

When I realized I was asexual I did a lot of introspection about what I wanted out of my relationships. I concluded that while sex held no interest for me having a romantic relationship still appealed to me, so I wasn't aromantic. So if I wanted a romantic relationship with no sex how would I deal with my my partner's sexual desires? Just "giving in" was gross, but leaving them unfulfilled seemed mean?

My decision became if my partner wanted to have sex, they could, just not with me. As long as we discussed things I did not mind if they boned another person. What mattered was they cared about me and those feelings didn't go away. This eventually evolved into including having feelings for whoever they hypothetically had sex with. More love in the world wasn't a bad thing. In fact, me insisting they only love me and no one else seemed selfish. Why pick and choose? If you had love to give why not give it?

(There was also this nagging idea I had that humans aren't supposed to "mate for life", that we instead just forced ourselves into that role because people got possessive over their partners and didn't want to share.)

When I did enter a relationship I talked about these things with my partner. Eventually when such a scenario raised its head we talked about it again, and again, and again. It was a little awkward when they first proposed doing exactly what I told them to do, but I got over it quickly enough. When society tells you if one person gets intimate with someone else they are cheating and going to leave you alone and sad its hard to completely ignore those warnings. We were open and honest with each other, that's what mattered, not dramas on TV.

So now I live the meme of "this is my boyfriend such-and-such, and that's his boyfriend so-and-so" and my datemate lives the meme of "they have two hands". All the while I read more about asexual partnerships and queer platonic relationships. While I still don't relate to aros I did learn more about how society's insistence that you have friendships and then a step above is romantic relationship and how that's dumb.

It clicked in my mind of my own self-realization, how if there's more love in the world that can't be a bad thing. If you love your friend that shouldn't be seen as lesser than your love for your spouse. Even if they are different desires out of the relationship they are still both love. I had a friend in high school who I admitted to loving, but she got uncomfortable because if I loved her then I must have meant a romantic love, but I didn't. Not with her, anyway. If you can love your mother and also love your husband and not be seen as a freak then you should also be able to truly love your friends.

What we need is to be able to just love people and not have to categorize everything into boxes. That's not to say you should go and smooch everyone and if someone gets mad at you they are the one's at fault. We also need to talk about consent and boundaries. Sure, kiss your friend if you want to, but first make sure they are OK with being kissed. If they only want to kiss a romantic love then don't kiss them. Date five people at once, but talk to all of them to make sure they are OK with sharing your love with other people.

I think the world would be a better lace if we didn't limit our love. I don't personally love anyone romantically other than my datemate, but if they love me and another person in that way then that's not a bad thing. Maybe someday I'll find someone else I love as well as them and I want to be able to love them without feeling guilt because I'll talk to my datemate about it and we'll be on the same page, then I'll talk to the object of my affection and make sure they are also cool with me dating someone else. If they aren't I can drop it and be happy with the relationship I already have, but if they are cool with it then there's just a little more love in the world. Or maybe I'll only ever feel this way about once person, and that's fine too. Just as I don't think I should limit myself I also shouldn't force myself.

Meanwhile I have friends who I love and will strive to express that love to more. No, I won't ever want to marry any of them, but I do love them and it shouldn't be taboo to say exactly that. Speaking of, marriage also really shouldn't be the strict box it currently is viewed as. Marriage should just be people committed to always supporting each other, romance shouldn't have to be a requirement (and in fact, many people get married with zero romance anyway). I think I could talk more about marriage specifically, but I think that would deserve it's own post.

I don't really have an end point, but I feel like I'm rambling enough. Just wanted to get some thoughts out there and maybe it will resonate with someone else?