#it never feels good to center myself and my feelings about my moms struggle but i genuinely cannot think of more devastating betrayal than

[coochiekrab]

something that fascinates me about kuri and aubrey is the fact that aubrey quit various substances for her but not because she asked- and honestly that makes him a more powerful character to me as well as more realistic of a depiction of an addict. to quit something you have to be the one making the choice and kuri isnt the one asking(as far as i know- im basing this off of her saying "why not just a little cocaine?" in that one comic LMFAO), instead its aubrey realizing he wants to start caring about his life more because of his love for this weird girl thats been in his house. His family tried to get him to quit and he couldnt but then this weird damn thing shows up and hes like fuck ok i gotta clean myself up i guess. I just appreciate the autonomy he has over his addiction and how its his own choice. i didnt actually mean for this ask to be sent on child star day, but since thats the case i will say Child Star is a massively inspiring project and incredible. have a good day :)

i think without kuri he would still be able to get clean and sober at the same pace but his issue would be not having a better reason to Stay sober and would likely go through cycles of relapsing for the rest of his life. by the time theyre living together and getting closer hes clean from drugs but still drinking really hard, but accidentally leaving kuri home alone for days at a time (who cant feed herself) and forgetting to check in on her would be the only thing Bad enough to make him feel guilty about his drinking habits. now if only we can get him to give up his Final Vice of Smoking

[herefortheships]

On media portrayals of older women

Commentary on Lydia's characterization in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. 🕷

This post was originally a response to a post from two months ago, but it got so big (and also I kinda moved away from the topic a little), I decided to make it its own post. It's a long ramble, basically, about my feelings around how women over 30 tend to be written and how disappointing it often is, especially now that I am a woman over 30 myself.

Before I get to Lydia and my issues with how she was written in BJBJ, I just want to say something. There is a blatant unwillingness to represent an older woman who isn't a mother or, at the very least, married or divorced, and often those women who are depicted as individuals outside of these roles, tend to be either toxic or unhappy characters (Cruella De Vil totally came to mind when I just typed that 😆 But even Cruella is married in the original story). As a matter of fact, the ex-wife or divorced older woman is often depicted as a cruel, bitter, or even evil woman (Miranda Priestly form "Devil Wears Prada" came to mind. Hey, another iconic fashion industry character lol). Single older women are often also depicted as "ugly", or flat out scary characters (Miss Trunchbull in Matilda came to mind).

It's like for many screenwriters it's impossible to visualize a mature woman who isn't or hasn't been married, and is childless.

The issue is not that they are given these roles; the issue is that their character arcs often seem to revolve around these roles and their identity is very focused on being either the mom, the wife, or the ex-wife. More often than not, female characters over 30 that are good are usually moms or struggling wives, and their identity is confined or greatly centered around her role as the mother or the suffering wife. (Chances are, if she's happily married, she's either not the protagonist or the story is over 💀). And if it is not centered around these, then motherhood is something adjacent to the story in some way, shape, or form.

Using the first "Beetlejuice" movie we have an example of a happily married woman in a leading role, Barbara Maitland. She's not an older woman, per se, but she is a happily married woman in a leading role. But what is one of her main concerns as a character? She can't have children. So she does have a motherly-adjacent struggle. At least Adam accompanies her in this story thread and it isn't just a struggle Barbara alone is facing; both of them are pretty balanced as far as their struggles go in "Beetlejuice". (I could have also used Delia as an example here, but she isn't exactly the main character as Barbara was in "Beetlejuice". That said, she is both a mother and wife.)

I'm pretty new to the Beetlejuice fandom (as in I was a fan who watched the movie a few times a year around Halloween, but never actually interacted with fandom or analyzed anything, until I watched BJBJ and became totally obsessed), and as a relatively new fan who has been here since September 2024, I'm not sure what the expectations around Lydia's future were throughout the years in the fandom. But, I'm positive a lot of fans never considered Lydia would choose to get married and to a pretty regular guy at that at some point and become a mother. I'm sure many fans shared Winona's idea of older Lydia being a goth spinster, living a pretty unconventional, but happy life, just doing her thing. She might have gone into photography and kept interacting with the dead and being her goth, "strange and unusual" self.

So it must have been pretty shocking to see that older Lydia is not only a struggling mother, but she is also anxiety-ridden and in an abusive relationship with some normie guy.

Lydia at least has something that separates her identity as an individual from her identity as a mother, in her show, but it's made clear that getting into making the show was considered by her as "selling out", a sentiment that came up in her conversation with Delia. I wish they would have gone into that a little bit more, because it's not entirely clear how Lydia felt about the show exactly and what her reasons were to do it in the first place. Lydia's interest in photography from the first film, and subsequently from the animated show as well (meaning this was an inherent and very characteristic part of her), is non-existent in the sequel.

While it's understandable that "life happens" and people just change over time, and a life of seeing and interacting with all sorts of ghosts must have taken a toll on her, Lydia's characterization was considerably far from the person she used to be, and it feels like a lot of it had to do with her mother role.

I know a lot of fans also appreciate this, too, don't get me wrong; Lydia as she is now is relatable to many women's experience, but what I'm getting at is that a choice was made to write older Lydia like this, and that choice is the same treatment that's given to too many older female characters in the media. They chose to make her a struggling mother, is the point I'm trying to make.

Her character has also become more reactionary; she isn't exactly in control about anything. Even making her show appears to be a reactive decision, too, rather than something she did because she genuinely wanted to. She's even taking medications to get through the day when she starts seeing ghosts (Nadja disappears after Lydia takes the pills, so one can assume she takes these pills to quiet down her psychic abilities and stop seeing ghosts; Rory's comment in the bathroom also supports this).

Lydia is indeed, overall, unhappy, and she has been for a long time. Not saying this is a bad thing; stories need conflict, and it would have been strange if she was living her best life at the start of the film. After Charles funeral we confirm that she wasn't exactly happy when Richard was around, either ("our relationship was over long before the accident", strange thing to say to Astrid when she's questioning her about why she cannot see her father). Things seemed to have ended amicably between them, but it looks like Lydia was not happy in that relationship by its end.

Lydia only seems to take control when her daughter is in danger, so that which spurs her into action is more linked to her mother persona over any other conflict that's more directly linked to her as an individual. If it wasn't for Betelgeuse's intervention, she might have even ended up marrying Rory, who, not only did she not love, he was also using her and being emotionally manipulative and abusive.

I know Lydia at some point became affected by seeing ghosts every other day through her life, as evidenced by the pills, but (and this is something I talked about before here) the way they ended the previous film, there was nothing to indicate that Lydia was in a downward spiral or that seeing strange things and dead people affected her negatively in any strong, life-altering way (unless Lydia was pretending to like the dark stuff before, and by the end she's more herself and admits to not like the creepy stuff; she does reject dissecting the frog in her science class, but then again, she asks the Maitlands to levitate her and pretty much do a ghostly possession in the house for the "Jump in the line" scene. But I digress. Lydia's character arc in the first film is an analysis for another post).

Moving on, Lydia's brief experience with Betelgeuse in the first film also does not justify her current emotional state for the reasons stated above and in that post I linked. Losing Richard also doesn't seem to be enough of a reason to have created the emotional issues Lydia is struggling deeply with in BJBJ, and it does seem that the movie pointed at that, but it was poorly done, when Lydia told Astrid she didn't have a relationship with him long before he passed away; she also didn't have a strong reaction to seeing Richard in the afterlife.

Whatever happened to Lydia that led her to this current state wasn't properly explored, is what I'm getting at, because the film decided to focus her character struggles mostly on her relationship with her daughter, over her own personal conflicts as a separate individual. Lydia as the suffering mom, struggling to connect with her daughter was the focus of her arc. Did we ever get to know exactly why she was willing to marry Rory despite clearly not loving him? (she even seemed disgusted by him kissing her and when he tried to kiss her lol).

Was it because she thought he was her only chance at being happy again? Was it because she thought she needed to be married for Astrid, to rebuild their family? Lydia's actions were entirely steered by Rory; he emotionally manipulated her so much, he made her believe she had feelings for him and start a relationship with him, even. Maybe it was him, the one who convinced her to start the show in the first place, to take advantage of her psychic abilities (which he totally believed to be bullshit, anyway, but he thought he could use her delusions/fake claims to attract fame and money), he was her producer, after all. (Actually I think it was him who convinced her?? Was she making her show before meeting him? Lol I totally forgot this bit. Fill me in because I've only watched the movie twice.)

By the end of the film, ironically, Lydia takes more control for herself when she sends Betelgeuse away (and I say "ironically" because, without Betelgeuse she would still be stuck in the same toxic situation she was with Rory. In fact, things would have gotten much worse as Rory would have gotten away with his plan. She also had no issues handling Betelgeuse during all scenes they had together; she would even raise her voice at him and act exasperated with his behavior--that is not typically how a person who is terrified or traumatized by someone acts around them, but ok...), and she makes a choice to be more focused in her life, assuming she did quit her job, which is up for debate, depending on when the dream sequence started.

Without Betelgeuse, Lydia would be stuck in a terrible relationship, where her life would have been ruined, and she would have also lost her daughter on Halloween night when Jeremy used her to get his life back. So it's really strange a choice (and poorly executed, again) to have Lydia's character resolution be sending Betelgeuse away like she's finally confronting some deep-rooted fear or trauma, when her character really wasn't explored individually all throughout the movie to showcase in what way exactly did her brief interactions with Betelgeuse over 30 years ago might have crumbled her emotional stability to that degree. The movie isn't clear if her depression and anxiety are related to losing Richard and therefore that's what she needs to heal from; or if it's more related to her past trauma around Betelgeuse, and then, that's what she needed to heal from.

There really should have been more of a focus on her as an individual apart from her struggles as Astrid's mother for her character to really have a good payoff at the end. And truly, if facing Betelgeuse was going to "fix her", then she's back at square one when he shows up on her bed at the end. Lydia's character and story are incomplete. More reasons why we need a BJ3.

What's truly going to heal Lydia is her finding herself again, as just Lydia; not the mother or the TV presenter. And she must get there herself, not have it all fixed for her by Betelgeuse yet again or another external force. She has to make a choice for herself. They need to show her picking up her camera again, and yes, enjoying the "strange and unusual". She needs to embrace her otherness and be herself again.

(And if she doesn't want to be alone... she shouldn't go after a guy like Rory or a normie. She needs another weirdo like Richard who loved scary movies, or, ahem, Betelgeuse, who has already proved he loves her more than any normie ever could.)

I can't stress enough how disappointing it is that mature women are mostly presented as moms or wives or even grandmas, without dreams and motivations of their own that are entirely separate from their (societal) roles. Mature men can be out there living adventures and doing all sorts of things, like James Bond for example. Meanwhile women are either divorced, mothers, wives, grandmas, aunts, etc and these roles are a huge part of what defines them as characters. And if it doesn't define them, they still are moms, wives, ex-wives, or grandmas. It's rare to see a single older lady doing her thing and being just a character and like, falling in love and going through a satisfying arc that has nothing to do with having kids, or dealing with estranged kids, etc. At least Delia was out there doing her thing in BJBJ; she was doing what she loved, while still being a mother and a grandmother, and a loving wife/widow to Charles. She was a realized character. And that's what I want to see, you know? I don't mind seeing an older female character who is married with kids (and even grandkids!), as long as she is also a fully realized individual when her character arc is wrapped up at the end.

If Lydia being behind the camera instead of in front of it in BJBJ is representative of her feeling lost in life, and her being in a toxic relationship and almost saying yes to someone she doesn't love or even remotely fit in with, then healed Lydia should be behind the camera again in BJ3, and saying yes to someone she does love and fits in with by the end.

I definitely want to see a Lydia who is more than Astrid's mom in BJ3; a Lydia who isn't easily manipulated and stepped on, and who has a firm grasp on who she is and a love for who she is. Yeah, I totally want her to end up with Betelegeuse (edit: And I am writing a post about why they are perfectly matched to complete each other's character arcs), but I also want to see her fully realized outside of the mother and (potential) wife roles.

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

it's okay... you're okay

pair: Walker Scobell x 17y/o!reader

summary: Walker is there to reassure y/n(she/her) that she has every right to feel how she feels after a fight with her absent father

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The room felt too small, too hot. Y/N stood in the center, her fists clenched so tight that her nails dug into her palms. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears, drowning out the sound of her father’s voice. His excuses, his apologies, whatever the hell he was saying didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t want to hear it.

"Stop," she snapped, her voice shaking. "Just stop."

Her father went quiet, his eyes widening. He wasn’t used to this. The soft-spoken girl who had always looked at him with too much pain and not enough anger was gone. He didn’t know her anymore.

“I— I know I messed up,” he started, his hands raised like he could calm her down. Like this was some small misunderstanding.

“You left,” Y/N spat, her voice rising, filling the room. “You left us, and you didn’t care. You didn’t care about me. Or mom. Or... or her." Her sister, who picked up the pieces their mom couldn’t.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t give him a chance. It was like a dam had burst inside her, all the words she’d held in for so long, all the feelings she’d shoved down, finally spilling out.

“You just disappeared. And I... I spent years thinking it was my fault. That maybe if I’d been better... quieter... more like the daughter you wanted, you wouldn’t have left. I thought I wasn’t enough.”

Her voice cracked, and she hated it. She hated that she still cared, that she still hurt because of him.

“I blamed myself for everything. When I was little, I thought maybe if I’d been more like her, you wouldn’t have gone. But then I grew up and I realized that I couldn’t even trust anyone because of you. You made me feel like I wasn’t worth sticking around for.”

She was pacing now, her hands shaking, but she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. Not now. Not when everything she’d kept buried was finally clawing its way out.

“I spent so long trying to get people to like me. To stay. I thought maybe if I was good enough for them, they wouldn’t leave like you did. But no matter how hard I tried, it never worked. Because no matter what I did, I always felt like they’d leave too. Because if my own dad didn’t want me, why would anyone else?”

Her father’s face was pale, his mouth set in a thin line, but Y/N didn’t care. She didn’t care about his excuses or his reasons anymore. She just wanted him to understand how badly he’d broken her.

“I needed you, and you weren’t there. Do you know what that does to a kid? Do you have any idea what it’s like to grow up wondering why your dad didn’t love you enough to stay?”

She felt the tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry. Not for him. Not anymore.

“I was four when you left. Four. I didn’t understand then. I didn’t know why my dad didn’t come home anymore. And I waited. I waited for you to come back. Every night. For years. But you never did.”

Her chest felt tight, and she struggled to breathe, but she kept going. She had to say it all.

“And you know what the worst part is? I was sixteen before I finally realized it wasn’t my fault. Sixteen. I spent my whole life thinking I did something wrong, that I wasn’t good enough. But it was you. You’re the one who wasn’t enough.”

Her father’s face crumpled, and for a split second, she felt the smallest twinge of guilt. But it disappeared just as quickly.

“I don’t want your apology. I don’t want your excuses. I don’t care why you left anymore. I just... I just want you to know what you did to me. How you ruined everything. How every time I try to let someone in, I can’t. Because I’m terrified they’ll leave too. And it’s all because of you.”

The room was dead silent now, except for the sound of her ragged breathing. Her father looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but no words came out. Good. There was nothing left to say.

Y/N stood there, trembling, her heart racing in her chest. She’d said it. Everything she’d wanted to say for so long. And yet, she didn’t feel better. She just felt... empty. Like all that anger and hurt had been holding her together, and now that it was out, she didn’t know what was left.

“I don’t hate you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper now. “I just... I don’t need you anymore. And I never will.”

With that, she turned and walked out, leaving him behind. Like he had left her.

Y/N slammed the front door behind her and leaned against it, her chest heaving. The house was silent, but it didn’t feel peaceful. It felt hollow. Empty. Just like her.

She stumbled up the stairs, her legs shaky, her mind a blur. When she reached her room, she collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in the pillow.

The tears came out of nowhere. Hot, choking sobs that wracked her entire body. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. She thought confronting him would make her feel better. She thought it would give her some sense of relief or closure. But now... she just felt lost.

She pressed her face deeper into the pillow, trying to muffle the sound. Her chest hurt, her eyes burned, and she was so tired. So damn tired of feeling this way. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop crying.

Y/N didn’t know how long she laid there, curled up on her bed, feeling like she was falling apart from the inside out. Minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter. Nothing made sense anymore.

Before she even realized what she was doing, her hand reached for her phone, and she opened Walker’s contact without hesitation. He was the only person she could think of. The only one who might understand, even though she barely understood herself.

Her thumb hovered over the call button for a second, but then she pressed it. She needed to hear his voice. She needed *him*.

It rang once. Twice. Then his familiar voice came through, and somehow, the sound of it made her throat tighten all over again.

“Hey, Y/N—” he started, his usual upbeat tone there, but she cut him off with a shaky breath.

“I did it,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I told him everything.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, then Walker spoke, his voice softer this time. “Are you okay?”

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. The simple question—one he asked so often—felt like it was unraveling something inside her.

“No,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, nodding even though he couldn’t see her. “Yeah... yeah, I do.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

True to his word, ten minutes later there was a knock on her window. Y/N glanced up and saw Walker standing there, his hair messy from the wind, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. She managed a weak smile as she got up to let him in.

The second he climbed through the window, Walker’s arms were around her, pulling her into a tight hug. She hadn’t realized how much she needed it until that moment—the warmth, the comfort, the familiar scent of him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re okay.”

She buried her face into his chest, and for a while, neither of them said anything. She just let herself be held, her breathing slowly evening out as the tension in her body began to fade.

After a few minutes, Walker pulled back just enough to look at her. His blue eyes were full of concern, but there was something else there too. Something steady, reassuring.

“What happened?” he asked gently, his hands resting on her shoulders.

Y/N took a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair. “I... I don’t even know. I just snapped. I told him everything I’ve been holding in since I was a kid. All the anger, the hurt, how he ruined everything...” Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to keep talking. “I told him that he made me feel like I wasn’t enough. That it was my fault he left.”

Walker’s expression softened, his eyes flickering with understanding. “You didn’t go too far, Y/N.”

She blinked, her throat tightening again. “What if I did? What if I was too harsh?”

“No.” Walker’s voice was firm, but gentle. “He needed to hear it. He needed to understand what he put you through. You have every right to be angry. You have every right to feel what you’re feeling.”

Y/N stared at him, her chest aching in a way that was different from before. Less painful, but still heavy. “But what if I hurt him?”

Walker’s hands slid down to her arms, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Y/N, you’ve been hurting for years because of him. He left. He made those choices. And you have every right to let him know how that affected you. It’s not your responsibility to protect him from the truth.”

Y/N’s lip trembled, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold back more tears. “But why do I still feel so... so lost?”

Walker pulled her into another hug, resting his chin on top of her head. “Because it’s complicated,” he said quietly. “Confronting him doesn’t magically fix everything. It’s okay to feel all messed up right now. But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

She let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes as she leaned into him. His arms tightened around her, and for the first time all day, she felt like maybe she wasn’t falling apart. Not completely.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispered, his voice soft and warm. “For standing up for yourself. For telling him the truth. You didn’t deserve any of what he put you through. And you’re going to be okay.”

Y/N sniffed, a small, shaky laugh escaping her as she clung to him. “How do you always know what to say?”

Walker pulled back just enough to flash her that lopsided grin she loved so much. “It’s a talent. Plus, you’ve been my best friend forever. I think I’ve got the hang of this by now.”

[imakemywings]

A+ Library Review: "Loveless" by Alice Oseman

This is not technically the first installment of this, but it is the first time I'm making it A Thing. A+ Library is my new segment where I review books with asexual and/or aromantic characters.

Previous review: The Circus Infinite by Khan Wong

The book description for Loveless is:

Georgia has never been in love, never kissed anyone, never even had a crush - but as a fanfic-obsessed romantic she's sure she'll find her person one day. As she starts university with her best friends, Pip and Jason, in a whole new town far from home, Georgia's ready to find romance, and with her outgoing roommate on her side and a place in the Shakespeare Society, her 'teenage dream' is in sight. But when her romance plan wreaks havoc amongst her friends, Georgia ends up in her own comedy of errors, and she starts to question why love seems so easy for other people but not for her.

The character: Georgia Warr, aro/ace

So let's get to it.

TL;DR: Thumbs up from me

Since Loveless centers entirely around the aroace experience, I will not be breaking the review into sections like last time.

Loveless is a coming-of-age story about Georgia's first year at college. It begins with her graduation party out of high school and ends with her establishing plans for her second year of college. It's very slice-of-life, with a focus pretty much exclusively on Georgia's interpersonal relationships and her personal growth.

Oof. Okay. Loveless was at times hard for me to read, and not because it's bad, but because it hit so close to so many of my own experiences at Georgia's age. There were so many times I felt myself going "Oh yeah, I remember that. Yep, there's that phase. Yep, I told myself that story too. Yep, yep, yep."

Just like Georgia, I considered myself someone with "high standards" who would inevitably break the romance and sex barrier when I got to college. This book hit on so many of my own insecurities from that phase, some of which I still struggle with at times, but I will try to be objective about this review nonetheless.

Loveless does a wonderful job of unfurling Georgia's journey, from the start where she considers herself "just like everyone else" but a bit slow on the romance front, to realizing she's Different, through the difficult process of starting to accept that difference as part of her.

Unlike my last review, Loveless earns its found family by showing how Georgia and her friends grow together and apart and back together--with additions. Everyone in Loveless is on their own journey--and at different stages of it. From Pip who's been out as lesbian since she was fifteen and eager for a first girlfriend, to Rooney who's long suspected she's not really straight, to Georgia who's only just grasping the words to describe her experience.

And sometimes they hurt each other! One of the complaints I had about One Last Stop was how all the relationships (protag's mom aside) are entirely fluffy feel-good. Loveless eschews that by showing how friends can hurt each other even when they don't mean to, and how people have competing needs, and how past struggles can impact your present. But in spite of that, it's clear how much all of the main cast grow to care for each other over the course of the book, such that the ending is truly heartwarming.

The prose suits Georgia's voice, which is to say it sounds like an 18/19 year old girl is speaking. That means it's not very eloquent, and it can be blunt and cringy, but in a very believable, realistic way to me.

Georgia's coming of age isn't limited to just her orientation. At the start of the book, she is painfully alien to herself. Georgia doesn't seem to know anything about herself, as if she's spent all her adolescence wrapped in a thick blanket glued to fanfic and refusing to interrogate any of her own feelings--which is probably what happened. It means that she has a very rough time when she enters college. Unlike many such stories, Georgia is not jumping at the bit to be on her own--in the moment when her parents dust off their hands and prepare to leave her with her boxes of stuff in her new dorm, Georgia contemplates begging them not to leave her.

Loveless really captures a sentiment I experienced with asexuality, which was the sense of being left behind by your peers, of feeling childish and immature. Desperate to shake the feeling, Georgia makes an admirable effort at "putting herself out there," doing all kinds of things she doesn't really think she'll like, but wants to give a try, just in case. In some cases, she bombs--but in others, like the Shakespeare Society, she really blossoms. I thought the book makes an excellent picture of a lost young person beginning their adult life with no real idea of who they are, and trying to solve that problem.

Perhaps most painful of all, Loveless captures Georgia's fear of not knowing what her future will look like now that whirlwind love affair-->marriage-->2.5 kids is off the table. It's particularly difficult for her because Georgia so desperately wants that romance--except that for her it's something of a mirage: as soon as it gets close--like when a boy tries to kiss her--all her interest is gone in a flash. Georgia wants to want romance and sex...but she doesn't, really. Even when she's accepted her orientation, she really struggles with what this means for the rest of her life, which also felt very relatable. Partnering up is seen as virtually inevitable, and as the book points out: life is scary! It's way less scary when you have a Person! Therefore, part of Georgia's insecurity and uncertainty focuses a lot on what her future is going to be, and it's not a question she's solved by the end of the book. But it is one she's becoming less afraid of.

There were a few things that struck me as odd, like Pip's claim she had never "fully connected" with friends who aren't Latina, a sentiment echoed by Sonil's refusal to accept his asexuality until he met other Indian people who also used the label...obviously there are certain things that friends who don't share your racial or cultural background may not fully understand, but the idea that you can't connect with anyone who doesn't share your same racial make-up is...uncomfortable, I think. But these remarks pass quickly.

Additionally, the way Rooney and Georgia berate themselves for "experimenting" comes off unnecessarily harsh to me...part of dating is learning whether you're compatible with that person. And yeah--sometimes that means figuring out if you are or are not attracted to them, or their gender more broadly. There's nothing inherently wrong with starting to date someone you're not sure you're into, and then realizing you aren't.

The book also beats Georgia's fanfic reading to death a little, in my view. It gets mentioned way more than it needs to, and citing specific ships and tropes a) is going to date the book like hell; and b) is irritatingly obtuse to anyone who doesn't know what "Stucky" or "flower shop AU" is.

If you're deep into the ace/aro online community, this book may come off as retreading a lot of well-trod ground for you. There's nothing especially ground-breaking in it. But if you're not so connected, or you're new to the aro/ace community, or you just want a book that still-coming-out you needed, I think this is a great pick.

Next review: The Bruising of Qilwa (TBP)

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I’m gonna ramble in your inbox for a sec don’t mind me

So it’s graduation season (as you are very aware, congrats btw!!) and I just graduated high school today and it was great but it was also really sad (and I’m aware this is very dumb to complain about because a lot of people have no one around them to support them and I am very lucky because I do) but I was there alone up until the ceremony started and my family came to watch.

And I know that I wasn’t the only one getting ready alone but it made me kinda sad to see all these kids with their parents helping them get ready and taking care of them and I didn’t have that. And I know that it’s not because my parents don’t love me, they just always have so much going on and I’ve always kinda had to look after myself and I’m usually fine. (And realistically I know if they were there it would probably be way more stressful) but for some reason it just made me really sad. I was struggling to get all my stuff on right so much that the girl in front of me had to help T-T and I just kept thinking that I wish I had a mom there.

Thankfully I had friends there who were looking after me too (one of them gave me free rein of his chocolate pretzels ♥️) and my teachers were all really great but I was literally on the verge of tears all day bc of all the emotions T-T

Also a random guy saw me waiting after the ceremony by myself and just said “congratulations, kiddo” i literally almost started bawling 😭 so I am very lucky that I had more support than a lot of other people, I was just kinda lonely for a bit. (I really hope this doesn’t come across like I’m ungrateful rip)

Anyways that’s all!! I hope things are going well for you!

Hi lovely, I don't think that's dumb to complain about at all!

I actually think I really get where you're coming from, my parents are divorced and often I find it easier to tell them I'm just going to do things on my own rather than mediate who will be with me at what time and where, so lots of the big parent-centered events in my life have been by myself too. I understand that you want to give them credit where it's due, and I think it's a good thing that you still know how much they love and care for you but it's totally understandable to feel sad regardless.

It's so kind and considerate of others to try and step in for you when they see you don't have the support they do, but I know that in the moment that also doesn't always feel great. When I was little my dad never wanted to come to anything and often my friends' dads would take turns doing the thing with me so I didn't feel left out, and that was so so sweet of them but I was pretty embarassed at the time! It's not nice to feel pitiful, and the idea that people are perceiving the same thing as you are in your parents' absence probably didn't make you feel better.

Like you said, none of that detracts from how loved you truly are, and it sounds like you know this already but it seems like you also have all this excess love pouring in from the people around you!! I'm incapable of not looking for silver lining, and to me all those kind people are definitely something to be grateful for, but also I think it's okay to let yourself mope a little if you want to my love. Don't deny how you feel because you think it's dumb or unjustified or anything of the kind! I promise you it's very valid.

Congratulations on your graduation sweetheart!! I'm sure your family are all very proud of you, as well as the friends who were there for you on the day (and me too!!). I hope you enjoy a lovely summer and take some time to reward yourself for all your hard work before whatever comes next <3

[busridetohelheim]

I remember, a few months before my mom died, I told her about my faith, because my brother had converted to heathenry independent of me, and he was being obnoxious about his ex-Christian status.

She had questions. I sent her PDFs of books I was reading. She had more questions, questions I didn't have the answers for.

We fought almost every time we talked about it. Though, fought is a loose term. She would bombard me with questions, and proselytize to me, and eventually cry. I would shut down, try and answer with the best answers I had, because "I still building my practice and beliefs, and I don't know yet" wasn't good enough and she needed concrete answers from me.

I'm not going to be able to give her the answers she sought, not in this current life, because she's left it. And... that hurts, and I'm thinking about it today.

One of the questions she struggled with about my heathen faith was, succinctly, "Why do you worship imperfect Gods, when you could worship the perfect, omni-xyz One True God?" My careful answer of, "I worship Them because I find Them relatable in a way I could never find the Christian God" was met with a lot of argument.

I've also fallen out of my practice lately, because grief is hard and grief is harder when you have to shove it and faith aside to physically and materially prepare for more losses that are just over the horizon.

To re-center myself in my practice and learn my answers to my mother's questions so I can tell her, I need to study and start over, I think.

And I think I may need to expand my horizons back in time just a little, and adapt things from my family's relatively recent ancestral faith traditions to do it. Not re-convert to Christianity, or become a christopagan. I don't feel comfortable going in either of those directions. But I want to take lessons in leaning on prayer from Protestants like my mother was at the end of her life, and lessons in ritual, non-Deity veneration, and icons from people like her Catholic parents and grandparents.

So when I'm ready, I'm gonna start dropping in on services. Asking questions. Learning. And all the while, leaning into and learning more about and building up my own polytheist faith.

[ryelleart]

I’ve been drawing for a long as I can remember

Some of my earliest memories of drawing were from when I was a young child, when I was trying to teach myself to draw love hearts by drawing a still life of my apple-shaped Polly Pocket play set, and doodling snowmen and flowers on my bedroom window with special window markers my mom got me

I never had any formal art education growing up, and the fact I became a decent artist even though I was self-taught became a point of pride for me

It wasn’t until I was in middle school that self doubt and insecurity started to imbed themselves into my mind and disperse that pride, bc that’s when I finally met other kids my age who were also artists like me

That didn’t really bother me at first, bc I was mostly just excited to meet other kids who liked drawing as much as I did, but then I began doing something that’s impacted my work and my self esteem for years to come

I compared my art to theirs

I looked at how much more technically proficient their art was in comparison to mine, how much more polished their drawings were in comparison to mine… how their art generally looked better than mine

That budding self consciousness didn’t stop me from drawing, I loved making art too much to let my newfound self doubt keep me from engaging with my favorite hobby, but it did shape how I’d see my own art from that point on

Fast forward to day two of my freshman year of art school, and my Drawing Foundations instructor had my class sit around the model stand in the center of the studio, where she had placed a bunch of random still life objects that she wanted us to draw (for clarification, she only wanted us to draw one object of our choosing, bc there were a lot of objects in front of us and we only had like 30 minutes to work)

As everyone else started to work, I took a moment to decide which object I’d choose to draw, which already put me on edge bc another insecurity I developed over the years was that I work slower than other artists, so the fact I didn’t start drawing immediately like everyone else didn’t make me feel very good

As such, my slow pacing was a big factor into deciding to draw the object that was directly in front of me: a small, plastic rocking horse for babies

When my instructor ended the exercise, she had us line up our drawings on the large window sill so we could all look at our collective work. I was a bit nervous bc I wasn’t fully satisfied with my rushed drawing, but I did what I was instructed to do

And when I took a step back to look at all the drawings side by side, I felt crushed

Bc while I was struggling to finish a drawing of a simple baby toy in time, everyone else made drawings of the various vases, flowers, fruits, and the lone longhorn skull that looked more complete (or “better”) than mine

Idk why my immediate next thought made such an impact on me, especially when it was never really something I worried about too much before that day, but after seeing all the drawings we made, I thought to myself, “my drawing is so juvenile compared to everyone else’s”

What exactly made it “juvenile”? Well, nowadays I couldn’t really tell you, but back then I would’ve said it was bc of 2 reasons:

My personal drawing style didn’t look as “mature” as everyone else’s (Idk what that means, but that’s how I felt at the time)

I was the only one in my whole class who chose to draw the rocking horse (the only object on the stand that had bright colors and was explicitly a toy for kids)

I spent the rest of the class feeling insecure about my childish rocking horse drawing, so much so that I almost had a breakdown some time afterwards (I’d go on to have at least two of those over the next four years, but for completely different reasons)

It was during that particular low moment, when I was on the brink of crying over something as insignificant as a dumb drawing of a toy, that I finally had enough. I realized that I wasn’t gonna survive art school if this was how I felt about every piece I made moving forward. And more importantly, I just didn’t want to keep feeling the way I did anymore; those were feelings I’ve had for 8 years at that point, and I was tired of feeling so bad about the art I made when I used to be so proud of it

So, at that moment, I made myself a promise: I was going to stop comparing my work to others

It wasn’t easy, especially early on, but I realized I needed to let go of my insecurities if I wanted to improve (in relation to both my art and my mental state), so… I tried

I tried to stop thinking about how I couldn’t execute a technique as well as someone else. I tried to remind myself that it’s ok that I couldn’t finish an in-class assignment while others could. I tried to explain to myself why it was okay if my art looked (or simply was) “juvenile”, especially if making the piece ultimately made me happy. I tried to think of all the things about my art that I did like, things that could only be found in my work and no one else’s

It took a while, but I’m proud to say that my efforts eventually paid off, and I was eventually able to stop comparing my art to other’s

And from then on, I felt so much better about the art I produced, whether it was for school or for myself

Being able to make art again without those insecurities weighing me down was incredible, and my newfound confidence kinda reflected in the quality of my work as well

The reason why I’m sharing all of this is bc I recently saw someone express very similar feelings of insecurity over their own art being “childish”, and I shared my own experiences and advice with them in hopes it’d help them feel better about their work. And after a bit, I realized that this person is most likely not they only one that’s currently dealing with these feelings of inadequacy. Maybe you, the artist who’s reading this right now, feel the same way about your own work. Or maybe you know an artist, either in person or online, who feels this way. Regardless, I figured that if I was able to help that one person I reached out to personally, then hopefully by publicly sharing my experience and the advice I gave to them, I can help someone else

Whether your work looks “worse” than that of other artists is inconsequential. Art isn’t a competition or a race, as no two artists will ever have the same experiences, pacing, preferences, or goals. There’s no need to compare yourself to anyone else bc no one else will ever make art the way you do, and that’s not a bad thing by any means

And most importantly, art is subjective. There’s no definitive scale for what’s “good” or “compelling” or even “childish”, there isn’t even a universal basis for what constitutes as “art” to begin with, so any judgements people make about art are entirely personal to the ones making said judgements

For example, my little cousin made a painting a few years ago, when she was still a child, and when I first saw it framed on their living room wall, I honestly thought it was an abstract piece by some professional artist. It wasn’t technically impressive in the sense that you couldn’t believe a child was skilled enough to make something like it, bc it was honestly just a bunch of scribbles and lines that you’ve probably seen in any other painting made by an inexperienced child. However, to me, the placement and weight of those scribbles and lines seemed so intentional, it gave me the impression it was a purposeful abstraction of a building made by an adult with artistic experience

Hell, in my third year of art school, I cited Leonid Afremov as one of the artists I admired/drew inspiration from during my final crit, and after I showed my professor one of Afremov’s paintings, he told me to my face that he thought I, an amateur artist, was a better painter than Afremov

In order for you to understand my disbelief and flattery at that statement, this is the painting I made that was being critiqued that day

And this is one of Afremov’s paintings that I showed my professor

Do I agree with my professor? Do I think I’m a better painter than Leonid Afremov?

No, absolutely not; do you see that painting??

But that’s kinda my point: I don’t think my work is anywhere near that of Afremov’s, but my professor saw something in my art, something “weird”, that he valued more than whatever he saw in Afremov’s work. Something not even I could see myself, even to this day

Simply put, while you might not think highly of your work, while you might believe it’s unimpressive or “childish” in comparison to the works of other/more experienced artists, other people won’t see your art the way you do. In fact, they might be impressed by it, and the idea that it’s “childish” might not even cross their minds. Or maybe it will, but it either won’t change how much they like it, or it’ll make them like it even more

If you feel as insecure about your art as I used to, I urge you to try. Any time you feel like your work isn’t as “mature”, polished, or impressive as another’s, try to remember that it’s ok if you can’t draw as well as more experienced artists, if you don’t understand color theory or lighting or perspective like they do, if you can’t emulate the same techniques they utilize in their work, or even if your work is “childish” in any way. Try to allow yourself to be proud of your art, regardless of what it is or how it looks, bc the fact you can even make art at all is an achievement that you should be proud of

So be proud of yourself

You deserve it

[loorain]

Sims 4 Fontenot Legacy - Playdate

As promised, Sigrid gets the girls (and Juno!) ready for a day of fun in the sun! She meets Coty and Milo at the rec center, the kids immediately head to the play area while the two parents get a moment to greet each other.

Sigrid: Always good to see you, Coty!

Coty: Same here! How's married life treatin' ya?

Sigrid: Well it's only been about 24 hours, but so far so good! Of course, our wedding night consisted of bedtime stories and late-night potty trips, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Coty: I can only imagine. Milo was a cranky mess after a full day of partying. He had fun though. We both did.

Sigrid: We're so glad you were able to make it last minute. Having more parent friends is always nice!

Coty: Yeah. Well, I'm glad Milo has some friends to grow up with. I'm surprised you came alone with all three kids, though. Just getting Milo to put his shoes on the right feet is a struggle.

Sigrid: Well Robin and Sabrina helped with that part. Sabrina had to go into the restaurant today, and Robin needed to run a few errands. He'll come a little later though.

Coty: Ah, so I'll get to see the Grinning Groom after all. Awesome.

Coty: They really are a good bunch.

Sigrid: That they are.

Coty: It's just a shame we live so far away... Milo being an only child and all, I worry about him. He doesn't have cousins or siblings to play with. I'm especially worried when he ages into a kid. Will he feel lonely?

Sigrid: Being a single parent must be hard. I'm lucky I have the help I do, but I also had to grow up fast. I lost both of my parents young. Then it was just me and my sisters and brother.

Coty: That must have been very hard. How did you and your siblings manage?

Sigrid: Honestly, I don't know. I think my mind blanked out a lot of that stuff. I wasn't the oldest, so I was able to do that a little more easily. But we definitely went through our hardships. We lost Virginia, and Yolanda took over caring for three of her four kids, and my brother Harley went off on his own the moment he could... we don't hear from him much. It's complicated. There's love there. Just looks a little different. But I wanted different for my kids. That's why I make so much effort for them to spend time together with all their cousins, and Milo too.

Coty: I admire that. You're a strong woman, Sigrid. I just want to be strong for Milo.

Sigrid: You already are. I see it. Milo sees it too. He'll appreciate it when he's older.

Coty: Thanks. Guess I needed to hear that.

Sigrid: Parenting is hard, no matter how many kids and how many hands are on deck! Give yourself some grace.

Coty: You're right, you're right. Just... it is hard. All alone.

Sigrid: ...Well, could you ever get in touch with Milo's mom? Is there any hope of that?

Coty: No. None.

Sigrid: And your parents?

Coty: Dad's already passed. My mom is definitely supportive, but she can only do so much from where she is. I moved to Sulani to try and understand myself more and give Milo a change of environment. Just thought the islands would be a good place for him to grow into himself. My mom always said my dad would return to the waters, something about them being "healing".

Sigrid: Well no matter what, you've always got the Lay bunch to keep you company! And Juno, too. And the good thing about Rabbithole Elementary is that all are welcome!

Coty: That's true, I suppose.

Sigrid: You and Milo will never truly be alone. We'll look out for each other. I'll always help in any way I can, and I know Robin will second that, too. But for now, why don't we just start with school plans? I've got some pictures of the facilities, state-of-the-art!

Sigrid continues her chat with Coty while the kids play together. Little Audrey, being the absolute sweetheart she is, is so ecstatic to see her bestie Milo. These two are two little peas in a pod.

Alma and Juno have a great time as well! It's evident to both adults that the four little tykes will be friends for life, and they'll obviously have to meet up again. Luckily for everyone involved, the wedding season is quickly changing into birthday season, so everyone will be back together very soon.

Eventually, as Sigrid promised, another familiar face shows up at the rec center after his errands are complete. Robin, having had to run around all morning, is still energized and excited to see his girls, Juno, and Coty and Milo.

Robin: Ah, there you all are! Looks like everyone's having fun out here!

Sigrid: Hi, honey!

Robin: I don't think we've properly introduced ourselves. Hi, I'm Robin.

Coty: Coty, so great to finally meet you officially. Great to have you join the fun.

Robin: It definitely looks like a lot of fun is being had!

Sigrid: Audrey and Milo have been attached at the hip for most of the day.

Robin: Oh, is that so? Shouldn't be surprised with those two. Audrey never stops talking about him. Has she been sharing him with Alma and Juno?

Sigrid: Oh yes, they've all been chasing each other around all day.

Coty: Milo asks about his friends too. Won't shut up about them. Good to know the feelings are mutual.

Sigrid: Well Alma's more of a girl of few words, but she shows her care in her own way.

Robin: They're twins, but very different. They'll keep you on your toes. Anyway, thanks for keeping my wife company with all the kiddos while I was gone.

Robin turns to Sigrid, greeting her properly.

Robin: I hope the kids haven't been too much to juggle today.

Sigrid: Oh they're fine, having fun chasing each other and splashing around. We've had a very relaxed day overall.

With Sigrid and Robin getting lost in their own world for a moment, it seems Coty has quickly become the third wheel. He is less than amused but manages to fix his expression before either can notice it.

But at any rate, the playdate continues on without a hitch! The kids have a great time and the adults plan out when they'll see each other again, which will be very soon since the twins will be aging up in a matter of days! A new phase of life is set to begin!

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The Fontenot Legacy is back! After a much-needed break, your favorite group of sims is finally returning! Expect more updates coming soon!

[anxiouspregnantlady]

36+5

Hi there. We set up the crib yesterday and I just got a diaper pail for $5. I am spending a lot of time in the kitchen these days, craving fresh/homemade food, also getting the hang of sourdough. Knitting a hat for mei mei. Physically, I'm struggling a little. Achey belly, cervix pain, nausea, pain under my ribs. Not able to carry p for very long, not able to bend over or even wash dishes very comfortably.

I am SO happy to not be working anymore.

Quite stormy/rage-y and hormonally emotionally all over the place. Driving is hard. Really hoping I give birth just a little early, but I know that in the end everything will be just as it should be. I think I spent the last few weeks getting a second wind of energy (transitioning from total hibernation/exhaustion at around 32w), executing & planning etc. And once I've done most of my tasks I will probably transition into a sort of surrender state of waiting and being present. Sometime in the next few weeks.

Not much remains to be done. I mean, there's a lot I COULD do (reorganize the whole pantry & kitchen, for example). But strictly speaking, I only really need to pack my bag for the birth center, and even that I probably will only do partially, because most of the items I'm bringing are clothes, and I still need to wear them these next few weeks, BECAUSE SO FEW CLOTHES FEEL OK ANYMORE. I have some nice-to-dos, like give myself a haircut, or make granola bars and bone broth, but oddly I am not feeling too motivated to prep food in advance. Mostly because my parents will be here cooking/cleaning for a month and after that I feel fairly confident that I'll be able to cook and will have a better idea of what I want to eat. I probably will mostly prep bone broth & baked goods instead of proper meals, stuff I don't expect my mom to make. Essentially, I'm giving myself permission to do/not do a whole bunch of stuff depending on my motivation level.

Some things I *am* trying to prioritize are remaining fairly social / having people over quite regularly, walking my 5k steps at minimum every day, just taking this season of life in. Enjoying my firstborn. I am weirdly not worried at all about labor or birth, maybe slightly freaking out about postpartum life and how karl and I will do relationship-wise.

Feelings/thoughts about meimei....I am trusting that my relationship will develop and become its own thing in its own time. It's so hard to have many coherent thoughts about someone you've never "met". I have not very much information about her. I can think about what she represents...Phillipa becoming a big sister, a season of joy and life following a season of death and grief, the end of our very long ttc journey. Another car seat, another addition to our insurance policy, another childcare cost, the user of all the stuff we have sitting around the house. We're really happy with her English name and sort of giving up on her Chinese name.

In any case, I feel that she will come before the end of the month. The countdown is on. I don't feel like I look 9 months pregnant, same thing kinda happened with Phillipa. But my fundal height is tracking beautifully, so I am not concerned. Also, something totally unanticipated happened and I am NEGATIVE for group b strep! So no saline lock or antibiotics for me during labor, and I can go home as early as 6hours after birth! And it's just one less risk to worry about.

[legendary444]

Who am I?

Yikes. God, yikes, I don't want to be honest. Ever. I hate the idea of being scrutinized for it. But whatever. You can call me legendary, I think. I'm a guy. I am really struggling with my life. I feel like nothing is worth it. Like life is hurting me meaninglessly. I feel like it hurts me all the time. I'm trying hard- really hard- to figure myself out. To figure out why I'm hurting so bad. To figure out all of this. My life has not been good to me. I have been hurt a lot. I have very few friends. None I really trust to respect me or to give me credit for my ideas. Not truly, deep down. I am resentful. I am trying to be a better person. I'm really smart. I really wish I wasn't smart, though. I have never met anybody smarter than me. Well, smarter may not be the word. Some people are a lot faster than me. But I've never been one to lack on ability to figure stuff out. I feel like I can figure everything out. Everything. Which makes all of the problems and difficulties of other people extremely irreconcilable for me. Everything is organized in my mind, or it can be, or it must be. But I do not know the center of all things. I feel like things need to go in 'circles' for me to really understand or believe anyone. I'm smarter than my parents. I'm smarter than all of my friends. I really hate it. I feel so alone. I feel like no one has taken a serious look at how existence is and that really frustrates me and scares me. My mom died when I was young. It hurt me a lot. My father is abusive and narcissistic. Neglectful. Ignorant. Hurtful. I do not like him at all. He keeps me under the foot of his heel through trauma. My trauma. Caused by him and others. I wish I could be embodied in an environment of people like me. Who were just able to figure stuff out and be rational as I can be. I feel like I'm so alone in this, which I already said, but this stuff really hurts me. I want to be alone but I can't because my house is too small. Things are difficult for me. Exhausting. I live in a motel. I've lived in here for a while. It's quite hard living here. My dad doesn't want to do anything about it, so I have to do it, but I am not really capable of doing anything. I'm really useless, despite my intelligence. I'm trying really hard to figure out what I think about the center of existence, kinda. Why I feel so hurt about so many things. Why I think life is the way that it is. How different things affect different people. What life is. Life is very difficult for me. On me. I feel like I'm alone. Things are hard. Things are very hard. I want to go home.

[nicoxmacavoy]

Nico struggled, "It's a state of mind. And I've had a lot of time to come to terms with shit, not that I'm over it. Some things just stay with you for a lifetime but after, I struggled a bit. Had to find myself and find my people. Actually meeting Jason, my nephew did a lot for me." Nico was twenty two when he ran into Jay for the first time. The scrappy seventeen year old who was newly on how own, kind of. He was rolling with the Ghost Riders, they took him in after his step father died. They were both so lost and formed a bond no one could breath. Jason might be his nephew but he was more like a brother to him.

Nico nodded at his words. "I have." Charlie. Charlie gave Nico the attention he was missing at home, made him feel special, welcome. Charlies family did the same. They welcomed him around, got him to let his guard down and then used him. Chained him up like a dog, like he never even mattered. Nico knew her pain. His parents too where involved in the Society. Active members when he was still young. He never knew until it was too late and he was thrown into that life unwillingly. He always wondered how things would have turned out if he was never taken. "Fathers ain't shit. I learned that pretty young, unfortutnely. My father loved my sister way more than me and even after she ran off I was still no good." He could see her emotions welling up. He moved over to her and wrapped his arms around her. "My parents had me late in life, twelve years after my sister. I was always the mistake. Later on I learned why he hated me so much. My mom cheated. I wasn't even his. My biological father is out there, he just don't care about me. But both of them are involved in that shit. Criminal shit. I never rebuilt anything with my dad either, but maybe it's time I confront him, before it's to late" It does not go over his head though that Francesca is against crime. It makes sense, working for the center and all that. Would she ever be able to accept Nico for who he is? "I feel like I can't lie to you, I don't want too. I'm involved in not so great of things as well." He said with a heavy exhale.

"Honestly it was kinda the same thing with him. He befriended me, we got close. Showed me the finer side of life, i felt seen for the first time. His family was the same with me. With things bad at home, I felt I finally had a family, group of people that really cared. They just wanted to use me though. That's actually how I found out about my real father. He's some rich influential man and they wanted money out of him and he basically said to shove it." A failed ransom. If Atticus Lynch just gave them what they wanted, he would have been freed much sooner, not 6 years later.

"I bet it does, hey probably feel like they can rely on you, you keep showing up for them and that means everything." He knew what that was like. "Tell me a time and place, I'll be there. I'm pretty decent with kids, jut not super small ones. Those are scary." He said with a light laugh. "But I guess, for you, I'll keep my layers on until we get home later that night." He said with a wink.

Francesca tilted her head, a small smirk playing on her lips as she watched Nico. “You know, for someone who claims they’ve been through hell, you have a knack for keeping things light. I’ll give you that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the teasing tone in his voice momentarily softening the edges of her usual guardedness.

Francesca pressed her lips together, debating how much to reveal. Nico didn’t know her full story. Her surname carried a weight that loomed large in their shared world. “Have you ever looked up to someone? Maybe even idolized them—only to find out they were tied to something awful?” she asked, her tone measured. Most of her childhood was painted with memories of a serious man who showered her with gifts instead of affection, a father who dealt with problems in ways that were as effective as they were terrifying. Once, when she got in trouble for shoving a boy who pulled her pigtails, Daddy D’Amiano himself showed up at the school. That day, she’d witnessed the kind of fear her father could instill. The teacher didn’t meet her eyes for a month after. “My dad… he was involved in things—criminal things—that I couldn’t accept. It drove a wedge between us, and let’s just say neither of us handled it gracefully. I’m sure I looked cute, mostly ridiculous trying to lecture him like a little kid calling out her dad, but it didn’t matter. Our relationship was never the same. I’m pretty sure I ended up being his least favorite because of it,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. It wasn’t easy to say out loud. Francesca loved her family, but the knowledge that her father seemed to value the daughters who stayed loyal to the Serpents stung. She blinked quickly, chasing away the prick of tears. “It’s hard when people you care about don’t feel the same way,” she said, her voice tinged with a sadness she couldn’t quite hide. Not wanting to linger on her own vulnerability, she tilted her head and changed the subject. “I’m sorry about your friend. What happened there?” she asked gently, her curiosity genuine.

When the conversation turned to the center, Francesca’s mood brightened noticeably. “It really is rewarding. I know I can’t truly understand everything they’ve been through, but being a steady presence? That means a lot more than people realize.” Her smile widened when Nico mentioned volunteering.“You should. The kids would love you. They don’t get to meet a lot of people who understand what it’s like to struggle and still keep going. And if you’re serious about helping out, you better be ready to sweat. We don’t take freeloaders.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “And if you’re planning on shedding layers, Nico, you might want to think twice. It’s a family-friendly environment.” Her tone was playful, but there was something warm in the way she looked at him—a rare glimmer of trust in her usually cautious demeanor.

[humansofnewyork]

“Crowds were the worst. Any little person will tell you that. There’s nothing worse than crowds: getting looked at, getting seen. People making fun of my family. All three of us are little people: my mother, my brother, and me. My mom raised us on her own. With no help. But she knew the struggle, and she would build us up every time we got bullied. Sometimes I’d even feel like killing myself. But she’d say: ‘You’re special. Your mother loves you. Your brother loves you.’ But my mom was also a thug. She was the muscle in our family. If we complained that people were staring at us, she’d say: ‘Look right back. Talk your shit.’ Whenever I got in trouble for fighting, she’d never get mad. She’d say: ‘You defended yourself. That’s good. Now do it again.’ She encouraged us early to play basketball. First it was my older brother. Then it was me. There was this center in our neighborhood where a dude named Hammer ran a program. He’d make us read a book for thirty minutes—I hated that part, but then we’d play basketball. And that’s how I learned about my size abilities, not disabilities. If you’re a six or seven footer, and you aren’t perfect, I’ll time your dribble. I’ll steal it the moment it hits the ground. So you’ve got no choice but to dribble low. You gotta come down to me. And I’m already down here. This is my world. This is where I live. The guys in my neighborhood grew to respect me. I was never getting trash talked in the Douglas Projects. But when I started playing in high school, and we went to other arenas, the crowds could be cruel. My teammates would try to protect me, and motivate me. But there’s not much you can do with three hundred people chanting ‘midget.’ I hated walking out to the court. Any little person will tell you, crowds are the worst. But as soon as I made that first shot, they’d get quiet. Then I’d do it again, and again, and again. Then eventually the crowd would start to get on my side. Cause they’d never seen anything like me. They’d start cheering for me even though I was on the other team. And my mom would be in the stands, talking her shit. Saying: ‘My son is smaller than all of you. And he’s kicking your ass!’”  #comebacknyc

[schizopositivity]

Hey so like

The only times I've ever really heard people talk about schizophrenia being hard is how others are affected by it, how it's "creepy/bad/evil/scary", etc

Can you talk about the stuff that's been really difficult for you in your personal experience without it just being through the lens of how it affects others?

Thank you :)

this is gonna be a long one cause schizophrenia is very complex so im gonna break it down by symptoms and how it affects me

TW: demon, self harm, suicide attempts, csa/sa mention, death mention, delusions

•hallucinations: these were at their worst when i wasnt on antipsychotics when i was a teenager, would see little monsters running around that made me really afraid and question reality. but what i most commonly saw/felt/heard wad this demon thing that was sorta representive of a grim reaper. it would tell me that self harming would help me and i listened. it made me really scared and sad all the time. this went on for about a year and i didnt tell anyone. it had a grip on my shoulders and followed me around all the time. i cant stress enough how scared it made me. sometimes it would get loud and id panic and black out, and then get "woken up" by my mom shed find me hiding and shaking under a table. it told me i had to end my own life and i attempted twice, one of the times required hospitalization and after a psych ward (which finally got me on the antipsychotics i needed). since then the hallucinations have calmed down and i dont see the demon anymore but i do hear similar things, now i just try my best to ignore it. its more annoying than scary. like feeling a poke on my shoulder at work and having to not react cause the stigma of showing symptoms. or like seeing scary faces in everyday things and just being like "huh weird" or hearing very mean or threatening things and thinking "thats obviously not actually what im thinking, id never do something like that", hallucinations still suprise me all the time especially the first few seconds of it, but now i have the experience where i can ignore it after that

•delusions: the biggest delusion i have that i still have to this day is very much influenced by my trauma of being the victim of csa and sa literally too many times to count, i truly believe that i was made to be abused and it will happen for the rest of my life, no matter what people tell me i always will not fully trust people and think they will abuse me at any moment, when people look at me i think they are planning how to abuse me, this is such a deeply held belief and it causes me anxiety and triggers my cptsd. it makes me feel very exposed and inhuman like a piece of meat it sucks. some other delusions ive had are that im the reincarnation of kurt cobain and that im gonna be rich and famous with no plans on how to make that happen. these felt good when i was in them and horrible when i snapped out of it. i kinda miss them.

•avolition: i struggle with this a lot. i have to be told to do tasks otherwise i dont do them. i never know when or how to do daily tasks. even if i can recognize that something has to be done i have no clue what steps to take to complete that task. like when i was the only one running the nursery at a spiritual center and id see kids crying id think "someone should do something about that" even though its me that has to do something. i struggle to maintain personal hygeine, do house chores or take care of my cats. if im not directly told to do it ill just let it fester. i do well at my job because im always told exactly what to do and how to do it. this symptom makes me feel lazy, childish and stupid. because of this i dont think ill ever be able to live on my own. i am dependent on other people to show or tell me what to do to take care of myself, my house and my cats.

•flat affect: this symptom makes me feel broken. like when my favorite grandpa died and i couldnt cry. it made me question my love for him. im constantly questioning my own feelings (even though im feeling them) just because my face and voice dont match what im feeling. ive fully thought that im unfeeling or unhuman because of this. i also get accused of lying a lot because of my flat affect. and i hate being accused of lying cause when i defend myself they dont believe me and there no winning.

•anhedonia: this really sucks. i used to really love doing art and playing guitar and now it feels like a chore. this is loss of pleasure in things that used to make you happy. it just makes me sad and feel like theres nothing i can do to change it. this makes me feel hopeless and useless.

•memory loss: i forgot most of what happened this year like valentines day with my partner (my first valentines day with a partner), my birthday, my partners birthday, my friends birthdays, i forgot them all and i feel like a terrible person because of it. this makes me feel dumb and careless. but i do care so much but i just cant remember so much important events. this also shows itself in smaller ways, forgetting what ive said to people, forgetting what ive bought, forgetting the last sentance ive read in a book so often that it makes reading nearly impossible.

•prosopagnosia: i cant recognize faces and mix them up often. this shows itself most with celebreties i constantly mix them up or think two different people are one person. i also dont always recognize my own face and i feel like a stranger to myself.

•consintration issues: i have a lot of trouble consintrating on things unless they are intresting to me, which because of anhedonia is not much. its hard for me to hold conversations with people and stay in focus. i feel like a terrible person when im not able to focus or remember what people have said.

•thinking issues: i have trouble thinking clearly a lot. its either i have too many thoughts at the same time, or my thoughts feel slow or empty. this makes me feel stupid.

•speach issues: i have trouble talking a lot of time. ill think im responding but im silent. it makes me feel mean and careless. when i do talk its usually short sentances. i very rarley actually talk a lot even to people im close to.

•fatigue/impaired motor function: i need so much rest in between activities just to function. i feel lazy a lot of the time. i also sometimes have trouble with normal motor function like sometimes when im walking it turns shaky and uncoordinated.

•amnesia: this showed itself most before i was on antiosychotics, when id black out often and find myself hiding under something. now it doesnt show up as much. this makes me feel confused and unaware of what i was doing or how i was acting when i was blacked out.

•isolation/social withdrawl: this showed itself more before i was on antipsychotics. i believed that everyone i knew was plotting against me and i had to be alone to stay safe. i now know thats not true but i still struggle to keep in touch with friends and family. most of the time ill see a text and completely forget to reply and people think im ignoring them. this once again makes me feel careless and mean. i really do care about the people in my life but i just have trouble staying connected.

theres probably more that i forgot but this is what comes off the top of my head. most of the struggles of schizophrenia affect me and not other people.

[lesbianslovebts]

Watching Extraordinary Attorney Woo has been really fun. I've been dying for representation, and this is the first show I've seen with an autistic woman as the main character. There's all this extra drama since it's a drama of course lol, but I think it's done a pretty good job of showing the different types of ableism that we face. So, I'm enjoying it, but I'm also struggling to watch it because it makes me reflect on my own life. I'm still waiting for my official diagnosis. My test date is October 3rd, and then I'll have to wait even longer for the results, but...

I didn't talk until I was 3, and then it was "in paragraphs," according to my mom. Even though I could physically talk, my mom still had to talk for me at doctor's appointments, restaurants, and stores until I was in my mid-teens. I was bullied relentlessly in school, and I didn't know why. I thought my bullies were my friends even though they made me feel bad. I had to quit public school completely and taught myself high school online. I had a nightmare about those bullies a couple nights ago. I'm 26 years old.

I couldn't eat most things, and that was a moral failing instead of an excruciating experience for me. I've been able to overcome most of those texture and taste issues, but I still eat the same things every day and get anxiety if anything is different or unavailable. I've always been sensitive to noises and only recently bought noise-canceling headphones. I still can't wear certain fabrics or handle scratchy tags or use adult laundry detergent. I've always been scared of stepping into an elevator or onto an escalator or going through a rotating door. I still run into things, trip over my own feet, and drop stuff daily.

I had no empathy as a child, my memory has been obliterated by trauma, and my perfectionism is debilitating. I graduated summa cum laude from a private college with a double major and distinction. I was inducted into 3 academic honor societies, including Phi Beta Kappa. I live in my mom's basement. I now work in a call center that only requires a high school diploma. I didn't tell them during the interview that I can't order my own pizza over the phone without scratching my thighs and pacing for 15 minutes first. I still managed to slowly work my way up despite the exhaustion that comes with masking on the phone for 40 hours a week.

I've fallen in love a few times throughout my life, but I've never had someone call me their Girlfriend with a capital G. I'm the most loyal, dedicated person. I may not catch all the nuances or subtext in social interactions, but I pay attention. I do things. I make things. I fold origami and make math into art and draw and cook and bake and write poetry and give these pieces of myself as gifts. I study languages, watch documentaries, and read books. I'm improving myself.

I am so fucking lonely. I want to talk with my friends regularly, but I don't have the energy. I want to go on dates, but I get sick with nerves and can't handle the change in routine. My heart is broken. I can't request accommodations at work unless I have proof that I'm broken. That proof comes from a broken system that makes me wait 6 months and charges me like they want me broke. My brain isn't broken but society breaks me.

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.22

Obstacle

04/08/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,413

Warnings: angst, jealousy, marital problems, pregnancy, allusions to cheating (no actual infidelity), fluff, smug Loki

A/N: It took me SO long to get this chapter down. I wrote literally like a few sentence a day for a bit and then finally got some good chunks out. This has been a tough week but this chapter makes it all worth it! I hope y’all think so too. A lot of good stuff happens in this chapter, as in stuff that I really like. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work!

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs.

REBLOGS are always welcome!

The shuffle around the palace as Loki escorts you through the front gate is overwhelming.

It’s safe to say that judging by your reception when you’d shown up in Heimdall’s tower located on the far side of the city, the Asgardians are happy to see you.

Armod is also happy to see you and you rush to get into your car before you can get swarmed by eager Asgardians.

Loki joins you in the back seat and lets Armod gush over his happiness at seeing you back home and healthy. And pregnant! More than anything, the people are happy to see the swell of your belly.

Many of the women are crying as you step out of the car at the palace gate, the men cheering enthusiastically.

Some of the children have found flower petals to throw into the air and it rains white, pink, and yellow blossoms.

It's the small waving hand of a little girl with ebony floor length braids that tugs too hard on your heartstrings and you give in to your impulse.

“Armod, stop the car, I’d like to greet the people,” you ask, swayed further by the eager faces of the young girl's siblings who flank her..

As much as being Queen had come unexpectedly and as much work as it's been, loving the Asgardians has never been a challenge and you've missed your people.

Their kindness has always been the best part of your day.

Armod gives Loki a quick look but stops the car just as the palace gates are opening.

He pulls over to the side, putting it in park before hurrying out to open the door for you.

“Are you sure?” Loki checks, reaching over to place his hand over yours on the seat.

“Of course. I owe them this. I’ve been gone for so long.”

“If you’d rather go in, we can find an excuse.”

“Loki,” you laugh once. “Is something wrong? Is there a reason I shouldn’t get out of the car?”

“Not at all,” he assures you. “I just don’t want you to force yourself. I know this pregnancy hasn’t exactly been easy on you.”

“I’m okay. And I’m sure they wanna see the proof that they have an heir coming. Really, Loki, I don't mind.”

Loki sighs, but gets out quickly to move around and take Armod’s place and offer you his arm.

Taking it, you pull yourself out, and after a long moment to steady yourself on your feet, you turn to face your people.

A large number of Valkyries suddenly pour from the open palace gateway and you wait as they line themselves in front of the gathering crowd. A simple border of control to keep you safe.

The people don’t seem threatened by the guard either and they continue to cheer until you raise your hand and call them to silence.

It only takes a few seconds for the noise to die, leaving only the ambient sounds of the city, wind, and the shuffling feet as more Asgardians and visiting humans gather.

“Hello,” you begin, voice a little shaky from nerves. “I’m...I-I’d like to start by first apologizing for disappearing. And then for being gone so long.”

The people watch and listen attentively, hanging on your every word. As your hands drop down to your belly to stroke it anxiously out of habit, their eyes are drawn to it and they seem to rattle with excitement again.

Looking down at your tummy, you contemplate the little one inside and the kicks he gave you earlier in the day.

He's really in there.

“It’s been a long journey to do what’s been expected of me. Difficult, actually. Giving you and Thor what we’ve all been hoping for is a privilege though. It's important that you all know that.

"However, I'm not as strong as all of you. I'm not as resilient. As soon as I knew that I was expecting the future prince or princess of New Asgard, I knew that I had to take precautions. I had to stop thinking like your Queen and just for a while, think like a mom. I told Thor that I wanted to take some time away from my duties as Queen if only to make sure that my pregnancy would take. In order to ensure the health of this baby.

“Im so very sorry if I caused any of you any worry or pain by disappearing. That was never my intention and it makes me...I can only say that I'm sorry. I hope that you all can understand why I left. The The thing is I’m happy to say that my efforts weren't wasted, clearly."

There's a rumble of gentle laughter that flows through the crowd and breaks the slightly somber mood your speech is causing. You give them a smile and they smile back.

"And while that does make me very happy, it has not been easy to carry this baby. I have been sick and weak but after some rest I'm now feeling stronger than ever. With the constant and careful care provided by Doctors Wilson and Alric, I’m finally able to resume my duties as Queen with the knowledge that this baby is strong and healthy and my body can take the strain of bringing him-or her into this world.

“I’m so happy to be back among my people, my home. You all are my family and it fills me with such joy to know that I have made you all proud.”

The people cheer, more and more gathering along the street so that it’s now clogged and impassable. Others have taken to peeking out of windows from the surrounding buildings or finding balconies and roofs to stand on to get a better look at you.

Their excitement changes to trepidation at the look on your face as you realize that now is the perfect time to address what happened yesterday.

They’re so attuned to your mood that they quiet down again and wait nervously for you to speak.

"On a more serious note, I know that many of you must have been shocked by the lies spewed onto the pages of the Watch. And I'd like to be as clear as I possibly can about my absence from the palace.

"I only left because of the concern I had for our future prince or princess. There was absolutely no other reason for my absence in our great city. While it is true that something did happen between Thor, Jane, and myself--well, I will only say that now I know that His Majesty the King of Asgard is wholly devoted to me and our family, just as he has been from the moment he accepted me as his wife.

"Not that I ever doubted it," you lie. No one needs to know how bad things are and it is true that now you know Thor is devoted to you.

So, it's not completely a lie.

"As a people," you continue. "We'll need to be vigilant about the people we choose to trust to come into our homes. We will be more cautious now, and as a woman…"

You swallow hard, thinking about the words itching on the tip of your tongue to tumble forward and make your heart clear. Maybe it's not right to say it? Maybe it isn't the queenly thing to do?

You don't care.

"As a wife and a soon-to-be mother, I will say that Doctor Jane Foster is not welcome in my home. She has proven to be unworthy of the trust we placed in her and while her expertise is an invaluable commodity that I am sad to lose, I would rather have the second best than risk the stability of my family."

To your surprise, there are a flutter of approving nods and smiles, wives and husband's looking scandalized by the confirmation that something went down but clearly it was Thor that had Jane kicked out. A few cheers come but they quiet down quickly.

"My love for His Majesty is unwavering. As is his for me. No marriage can be without it's struggles but Thor and I are as united as we have ever been. Both in love, devotion, to each other and you, our people. Together we will strive to protect this kingdom to the best of our abilities and with this child, I hope we can begin to lay down proper roots for us so that everyone on Earth will know that New Asgard is here to stay."

The crowd cheers. It's deafening and your hands are trembling so terribly even clenched into fists they shake.

"LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!" someone shouts and the others fall into the chant as it's picked up by what sounds like everyone in the crowd.

A cool hand presses against the center of your back and you lean towards him as he whispers in your ear.

"That was beautifully done, Y/N," Loki admires. "Now come along. You need your rest."

You cradle your bump and the crowd cheers louder as you wave while Loki leads you back into the car.

As it pulls away from the curb, the Valkyrie turn to follow behind you. Faces full of stern pride. Their gleaming armor shining bright in the late afternoon sun.

The large wooden and steel reinforced gates of the palace close with a thundering clatter and you lean back, heart suddenly clenching painfully. Your stomach turns and you feel like you might throw up.

You shut your eyes and open the window allowing the cooling air to help drive your nausea away.

"Y/N? You alright?" Loki checks, putting his hand on your arm.

"I'm fine," you assure him, unwilling to open your eyes.

"Are you sure? Only, you're looking a little green."

That doesn't actually happen does it? Do people look green when they're gonna throw up?

You assume he's exaggerating, but as the last bit of the swirl in your belly passes, you look at him with fearful eyes.

"I'm nervous," you admit.

"To see Thor?"

"Mm," you nod.

"He's missed you. He will probably try and hug you. Might even kiss you."

"I don't know if I can handle that, Loki."

"You'll have to. The guards around the palace are sworn to secrecy about anything that happens in here, but with the amount of information that magazine was able to get we're pretty sure there's a mole amongst our number."

You look away from him, frowning because the last thing you want is to hug and kiss Thor.

Well, that is, you really want to do those things. Which is why you shouldn't. Not until you can be around him with some kind of rational thought and control over your feelings.

You need to get a grip and come to terms with the reality of your situation before you can let yourself love hum.

You have to protect yourself.

It turns out that you have nothing to worry about.

Estrid who had come before you with your things is there to greet you. A few others of the palace staff come to see you and you're welcome back with fondness.

Because you know you have to play the part, you look for him.

"His Majesty had a sudden summons from the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, my Queen. He apologizes for missing your arrival but he's had the small dining room filled with all of your favorites.

"When you are finished with dinner, he has asked that you wait for him in his study."

Estrid's tone tells you she's wary for you. She wants to make sure you're okay.

The disappointment you feel gives you away not only to yourself, but everyone there to see your face fall as you caress your belly.

"A blessing in disguise?" Loki suggests in your ear for just you, but the smile on his lips says he knows better.

"He'll be back before it gets too late, Your Majesty," Estrid assures you, trying to soothe your sadness. "He promised. There’s nothing more he wants than to see you."

"I know," you smile at her, then the others before you head for the dining room, your stomach grumbling in anticipation of the foods you know are waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~

Waiting is torture. You keep trying to read your book but your attention is pulled back to the door of Thor’s study every few seconds.

You groan, dropping the book onto the desk before throwing your head back with scrunched up eyes.

How is it possible to be desperate to see someone while also dreading it?

It feels like you'll die if you don't lay eyes on Thor but also like it'll tear you to shreds if you do. There's no winning here.

You gasp as the door opens and get to your feet in the same breath.

Thor's body is rising and falling heavily with his own labored breathing. He'd been running.

To get to you? No. You can't be swayed.

"I'm here."

His declaration is soft but heavy with meaning. More than just him announcing his arrival.

"Oh, aren't you a vision," he gushes.

"Hi," you whisper, only because you can't catch your breath.

He's wearing jeans, a plain black t-shirt stretched across his bulging chest. He's even more massive than you remember. Three months away has deprived you so fully that suddenly being in his presence leaves you hungry for him.

You want him so much.

"I've missed you, desperately," he confesses. "May I greet you properly?"

You frown, so undecided.

"Or not," Thor relents. "Forgive me, I just got caught up in the moment."

Why is this so hard?

You want to feel him.

"You can greet our baby properly," you give in.

A big part of you needs to feel him and this is the only way you can give in and feel like you're still doing your best to hold strong in your resolve to get some distance.

Thor’s eye lights up and quickly finds the swell of your tummy with recognition.

"Really?"

"I will never keep you from our baby, Thor. Even if I'm not ready for things to go back to normal between us just yet."

Thor takes a half step towards you and watches you carefully for any indication that you're not comfortable with his proximity.

You sigh, head tilted to the left slightly before you hold out your hand to him, beckoning him closer.

In three long strides Thor takes your hand and stops when he's only a foot away.

"Here," you gasp.

Your heart is in overdrive. Thor’s touch is doing things to your body. There's an initial rush of butterflies in your stomach and quickly you pull Thor’s hands to the spots where your baby is kicking in response.

Thor’s body freezes. He goes rigid. He even stops breathing.

For a moment you begin to worry that maybe you've broken him, until he suddenly drops to his knees.

He swallows hard, eyes pooling as he stares at the swell of your stomach as the baby continues to kick.

“They’re really in there,” he’s so choked up about it that his voice cracks around the words.

As he speaks, the baby kicks more.

Thor laughs but then leans in to kiss your stomach over the fabric of your dress.

“We really made her,” Thor gushes.

“Her?”

He looks up at you, confused for a second before he smiles wide, “Or him. It doesn’t matter. What matters is our baby is coming.”

Your heart swells, and you’re so happy that you could float away like a hot air balloon with the warmth flooding your limbs.

This is the moment you’d dreamt of. This is the moment that had been stolen from you by Jane and her lies. This is the moment that you and Thor had both been yearning for.

He’s so caught up in it, floating through the glow of this perfect moment that he presses his lips to your tummy again two more times before he’s rising, his hand hooked behind your neck as he meets your lips as he gets to his feet.

You’re so unprepared for it, so utterly lost in this sweet exchange between him and your baby that your lips pucker on their own.

He opens his eye and yours, already open, stare into his. He looks slightly shocked to find himself kissing you but he doesn’t stop.

Instead, his expression shifts into a pained look of desire. He pulls back, his hand dropping to grip your bicep.

“I would say that I’m sorry but I have been wanting to kiss you since the moment I left you three months ago.”

You say nothing, watching him, listening. You’re searching your soul to see if this is okay with you because it feels okay. Despite the sirens blaring in your mind about the restrictions you’d set for yourself when you’d decided to come back home, your body is telling you it needs this. Your heart is painfully aching at Thor’s touch.

You’ve missed it. You’ve missed him. 

“Is this alright? I can go.”

The idea of him going now feels like the end of the world. Rationally, you know that isn’t an appropriate response to his offering to leave you be, especially when you know you asked him for space for specific reasons.

“No,” your hands grip the sides of his t-shirt tightly, holding him in place without any actual strength since compared to him, you’re as mighty as a little mouse.

You refuse to look up at him, despite the crumbling of your resolve.

“No, don’t go.”

It’s an almost involuntary shy response to your diminishing shame at losing all control after his touch. After one kiss. You should be disappointed in yourself. And part of you is. However, that part of you grows increasingly small as Thor gently takes hold of your chin and guides your gaze up until you can meet his.

“I’m sorry, cherub. I will try and be worthy of you again.”

“I know,” you admit, knowing how sorry he’s been from the moment he realized that he’d done something that hurt you badly. “I know you are.”

“Can I kiss you, cherub?”

His voice is so deep, so alluring and coaxing that you drop your gaze again, fixing it on his collarbone before slowly you nod.

His arm winds its way around your waist and he pulls you to him before dipping down and catching your lips with his again.

He pulls away after a second because the swell of your belly gets in the way, but he laughs and looks down at it.

The pleasant sound of his happiness gives you too much joy.

As you begin to smile, Thor reaches down to press one hand to the side of your stomach while he pulls you against him again and kisses you this time with more fervor.

The longer he has his lips pressed to yours, the more enthusiastic he gets until finally you’re breathless and you pull back but instead of pulling away, you wrap your arms around him and fist the back of his t-shirt,

You bury your face against his wide chest and Thor brings his hands back up to caress the sides of your face, his lips kissing the top of your head.

“I know I may not have a right to say this, but thank you for coming home. Thank you for coming back to me. I thought I’d lost you."

His arms grow a little tighter, his heart is in an absolute stampede.

You turn your head sideways so that you can listen to his heartbeat.

"This is what I'd wanted," you whimper, starting to be overcome with the emotion of being reunited with Thor and things falling into place more easily. "This is how I'd wanted us to share this moment."

Thor sighs heavily, giving you one more squeeze before he pushes you back a little so that he can look at you.

“I’m so sorry that I robbed you of that. I was a fool,” he nods, his eye intense as he stares into yours with wordless declarations piercing into you.

The memory of your speech with the people when you arrived pops into your head and now with Thor’s arms around you it all feels a little like an overreaction. The past three months feels like a distant nightmare.

Or does this feel like a dream?

“Thor,” you begin but Thor’s lips are on you again, drowning out your words.

“Oh, to hear you say my name,” he declares and kisses you again.

Your mouth opens for him and you absolutely melt against his chest as he nearly dips you in passion.

He pulls back again, “Is this real?”

He kisses you.

“You feel so good in my arms.”

He kisses you.

“Your skin is so…” but then he hums and kisses you.

He dips down and with his arms tight around your waist but also careful with the swell of your stomach, he lifts you so that you’re level with his eye.

“I love you, so much, my cherub. Thank you, thank you for coming home. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I stayed away,” you sigh. “I need to be strong without you, Thor. I was hurt but I never stopped loving you.”

His face goes through shame, understanding, and then elation.

In a burst of subdued anger and aggression for what he put you through, you reach up and grab his shoulder. You dig your fingers in against the taut muscle then reach up to pull one of his ears.

You’re clearly not hurting him but he allows you to move his head, understanding the need to express your anger even if you’re not doing any damage.

“Never do that to me again,” you growl. “Never say that you’ll leave me. Why would you say that? Even in passing? You were so damn sure.”

“No, Y/N, I wasn’t. The moment I saw you, I knew that I could never leave you. I’m sorry. I could never even think those thoughts again.”

“You better not, or I won’t come back next time. I’ll disappear and you’ll never see me again.”

Thor takes your threat for what it is. A promise. Truth.

He shakes his head as he leans forward to press his forehead to yours, shutting his eye.

“I swear,” he begins. “On my life.”

He keeps you there, hovering over the ground with your heads together for a few minutes before he slowly lowers you to the ground. You realize it’s because he wants to stroke your belly and you take a slight step back so that he can.

He smiles, happy. It reminds you of the look your people had when you’d arrived only a hundred times as possessive and joyful.

Again, your speech intrudes on your reunion and this time, you won’t let him distract you.

“Thor,” you coax, placing your hands over his where they rest on the sides of your stomach.

“Yes, my cherub?”

He’s excessive in the affection he puts in his voice but you know that he must be floating on cloud nine after what you both went through when you made him leave you at your house.

“I-I did something and I’m not sure if it was right of me to do it,” you watch his brow wrinkle and for a split second you almost lose yourself in the beauty of his face.

Has he always been this handsome?

“When I got back I kinda made a speech? Everyone was so happy to see me and to see me carrying our heir and I wanted to apologize to them for leaving and for making them worry. I wanted to share in their excitement for the baby and with that stupid tabloid having come out yesterday-”

“Right, the article,” there’s guilt in his voice despite there being no truth to the rumors it printed.

“I wanted to put their minds at ease and I...I did confirm that something happened with Jane but not what they were thinking.”

Thor’s expression hardens just a tad and he pulls backs towards a large armchair. He grabs your hand though and pulls you along with him until he can sit and then carefully attempts to offer you his lap, unsure if you’ll sit.

You do, because you’re tired and because you’re not eager to be away from him again. Now that you’re touching him, you’re not in a hurry to change that again.

“What did you say exactly?”

Swallowing hard, you lick your lips nervously, “Um...I told them the truth. Not exactly the truth, but enough of it that they’ll understand that Jane isn’t welcome here. I said that the only reason I left is for my health and the health of the baby, which is true. I didn’t want them to worry about us because even if we didn’t reconcile, I want us to be united for them at least.

“But I don’t trust Jane, Thor. Not after what she did. Not after how she treated me when you weren’t looking, and the people need to know that I will protect them from anyone, no matter who they are to you or me.”

Thor’s face grows pained as you speak, his arm wrapping around your waist as his other hand caresses the side of your stomach. You’re starting to realize that it’s going to be hard to get his hands off it, but that doesn’t seem like a terrible problem.

“I wish you had told me that she’d been rude to you,” Thor sighs, taking his hand off of his stomach to stroke your cheek. “If I had known-”

“She wasn’t rude to me Thor, she dismissed me. I wasn’t even worth acknowledging to her and now I know it’s because she was jealous and wanted you back because what? She saw what we had together and suddenly it was good enough for her?

“I was in her way. That’s all I was. Even if in the end she couldn’t go through with it whether it was because she felt guilty for doing this to us or for lying or for having second thoughts and knowing that she doesn’t want to be Queen or a mom, she’s a bad person to me. And I have every right to protect myself, my baby, and our marriage from her. She’s not welcome here Thor. I never want to see her again. Ever.”

He’s cradling you now, holding you close because the intensity with which you're telling him that Jane is not welcome in your home is transferring to him.

“And if you’d known, you wouldn’t have done anything, Thor. You’d probably have talked to her and asked her what was going on and she would have lied to you and you would have believed her.”

He doesn’t deny it. He does look like it hurts him to know that you know though. That’s enough for you.

“I think it took her lying and doing this to us to make you see what she’s capable of.”

Thor shuts his eye, resting his head against your chest as he wraps his arms around you again.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, Thor. But you weren’t the one who lied. I mean, you didn’t tell me what was happening, but you weren’t the reason that this happened. If Jane hadn’t lied-”

“But she did,” Thor says, his deep voice anguished. “And I failed to honor my vows. You are my Queen and I should have come to you the moment she told me she was pregnant.”

You both fall into silence as you reach over to stroke his bicep. His skin is so soft. Touching it gives you comfort in a way you weren’t aware you needed. The more you touch it the more you need to feel it.

A finger stroking his skin turns into two, then four, then your entire hand is running up under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

With the way his hand curls around your thigh, you know that both your bodies are responding to your touch. Both of you are heated but instead of giving into that because you aren’t ready for that yet, you lay your head on his shoulder and curl in closer to his chest.

Thor sighs heavily, wrapping you up in his arms as he cradles you close.

“Now we know better,” you whisper.

“Now I know what losing you will do to me,” Thor agrees. “I’ve missed you so much, cherub.”

You don’t respond. You’re too choked up to say anything without your voice cracking so both of you stay like that for a while.

The cocoon of Thor’s arms is toasty and from the exhaustion you’re feeling plus all of the emotions that have drained you, your eyes are heavy and difficult to keep open.

“What about you?”

Thor’s chest rumbles with a chuckle.

“We can talk more tomorrow, cherub. Sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy,” you lie.

“Very well, then. What about me?”

“You’re sleepy?” you look up at him, full of concern.

He chuckles again, “No, cherub. What were you asking?”

“Oh! I just wanted to know if you’re okay. What Jane did to you can’t have been easy. Despite what she did to us as a couple, she said she was pregnant. You’ve been wanting a baby for so long and she dangled that in front of you like the rat that she is. And then she wasn’t even pregnant?”

Thor’s arms constrict around you as he pulls you up towards him to kiss you.

It’s slow and full of emotion.

“Even after all of that, you’re still worried about me?”

“It took time,” you admit. “Once I wasn’t so angry and I thought about what Jane really did. I hate the idea that your heart broke over her lies. I can’t believe she ever loved you if she was willing to make you feel that way.”

Thor just stares at you, searching your eyes before he rubs his nose gently against your own. When he speaks, his voice is so low, so deep, an intimate whisper. It burrows into your chest and settles right there underneath your ribs and makes you breathless with missing him and desire.

“That’s why you’re my Queen, Y/N. And she is not.”

You’re not sure if it’s an Asgardian ability or if maybe it’s something specific to Thor, but he has a way of making you swoon.

“I missed you so much,” he confesses again, that whisper sinful. “Did you not miss me?”

You nod because you can’t speak. There’s a lump in your throat made of both sadness and want.

“Was your bed as frigid as mine was in your absence? Did you miss my breath on your neck as I did yours? Or the steady beat of your heart when you pressed your breast to my back as you held me while I slept?”

Fuck, he’s making this so impossible.

“I hate you so much,” you counter, but his lips stretch into a small knowing smile as you take a tight hold of the neck of his shirt and pull him up to meet your lips.

He exhales heavily into you, tasting you, relishing in every pulsating touch as both your hearts ache and yearn almost in disbelief as if both of you can’t believe that these wants, these needs are finally being met.

As he pulls back to tilt his head the other way, he takes hold of the sides of your face again, his lips grazing yours, “I love you.”

Before you can reply or yank him back into that torturous yet blissful kiss, a voice at the doorway clears their throat.

“Well, that was fast, what happened to keeping him at a distance?”

Loki’s voice pulls your gaze and you can feel your cheeks and neck burn at how easily it seems you’ve crumbled when finally face to face with Thor.

You frown at your brother-in-law, while Thor ignores his brother and leans up to press very non-chaste kisses to your neck, “I told you coming back was a bad idea.”

But Loki’s smile is blinding and with one chuckle he backs out of the room, shutting the door quietly as Thor turns you back to him so that he can get back to kissing you.

[blackwoolncrown]

”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

Do

not

fucking

talk

to

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]