#neither of them communicating because. like.

[purplesaline]

That radar, by the way? It's your unconscious brain (aka not thr part you actively think with) recognizing subtle body language cues and other non-verbal communication cues and noting a pattern then sending up red flags.

These body language and other non-verbal communication clues are so subtle that thr other person doesn't even realize they're doing them either.

ADHD folks and Autistic folks tend to be VERY good at reading these (because out brains don't automatically filter out unimportant stimuli the way neurotypical brains do), though autistic folks aren't generally as good at understanding the flags their brain is sending up (sometimes because so manu situations male them feel uncomfortable they assume it'sa false alarm). Anyone with PTSD tends to be even more keyed into these indicators, especially when it's a potential threat.

What's really cool is that you can train yourself to get even better at doing this. It's not some mystical ability some folks have and others will never have. Even neurotypical folks can teach themselves to pay more attention to these cues. A lot of it is working on mindfulness, start using active listening skills to pay closer attention to the people you're talking to. When you get a vibe, no matter how small, don't just automatically dismiss it, tuck it away until after the conversation and analyze it. Those vibes are the ways right, the larger the database your brain has on human behavioural patterns the more accurate they'll be so when you first start out you're likely going to be off a lot. Keep in mind this skill is only and always a tool to be used in conjunction with other skills and tools, you should never rely solely on this skill to form judgement about a person.

Start paying attention to behavioural patterns. "People who do X often react this way to Y situation." And pay attention to when that's not true, try to figure out what variable you may be missing that explains why they're acting in a way you didn't predict. Human behaviour is ALWAYS rational when perceived from the perspective of the person acting. There is always a rational and logical explanation for why a person is doing anything, no matter how illogical or irrational it may seem to you. If you can't figure out a rational explanation it's because you're missing key data.

And even when you're really, really good at reading people some folks will still throw you for a loop. It happened to me recently and I trusted someone I shouldn't despite this being a special interest of mine for literal decades.

And even I was shocked when I learned about Gaiman, because the information most of us had access to was specifically curated. He always felt a bit off to me, but in a socially awkward sort of way not in a predator way.

One final point about Gaiman, don't let him get away with "They'll all said they wanted it" or whatever bullshit he's trying to excuse his behaviour with. His art has, for decades, demonstrated he has a full understanding of consent and coercion and how vulnerable people will give in to powerful ones when they feel threatened even though they don't want to. His stories are full of these situations and he clearly demonstrates he knows that it's exploitation. He doesn't get to hide behind the socially awkward "I didn't understand" justification. Neither does Palmer, though with her it was more a case of willful ignorance and wishful thinking. Wanting to believe it would be okay this time so she ignored the red flags. I've got issues with her particular brand of exploitation under the guise of community too but that's another post entirely.

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik and John's first Valentine's day together and they buy each other flowers and plan an evening because they're both wrestling with cisheteronormative expectations, and just took it for granted that they'd fulfil the same role they always have with each other.

Nik does it because, as the 'top', he has been expected to take the lead in all romantic liaisons in his past relationships, and John does it because he's only ever been with women and there are certain expectations of him as a man that he had to fulfil. Neither of them fit neatly into the boxes either of their communities has set out for them, and they've never had anything like they have with each other.

So, they both stand there grinning stupidly at each other in John's flat, because they're old and comfortable enough to see the absurdity of it rather than getting hung up. They end up kissing it out and agreeing to talk more because bloody hell roses are expensive, and it's fuckin' cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there so can we stay in and have sex, actually?

They curl up under a blanket with a beer and a vodka on ice as they watch a Beautiful Mind followed by Cinderella Man. John gets to bury his face in Nik's chest and Nik nuzzles into John's scruffy hair, hands wandering lower, unhurried, luxuriating in the simple intimacy of being wholly and absolutely at peace with the man he loves.

[junezsq]

Hii could you do Harry bf headcanons?

(⁠^⁠^⁠)

harry james potter as your bf … ! 🤍💫

˗ˏˋ★‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ a/n! these were so fun to write, i hope this meets your expectations,, enjoy<3

۶ৎ . was pretty awkward when you first started dating but after a while the flirting just came naturally. from calling you affectionate nicknames to random compliments; half of the time he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. however, the second you flirt back he becomes all flustered with rosy cheeks and stutters

۶ৎ . loves it when you show up at quidditch games to support him and calls you his lucky charm. most of the time he’s not even paying attention to the game; the moment he sees you in the stands—with his initials painted on your cheeks and dressed in his spare gryffindor jersey—he cannot take his eyes off you

۶ৎ . you’re one of the few people who’s allowed to touch and play with his hair. it actually comforts him when you do so and he loves it when you run your hands through his messy curls

۶ৎ . likes to just watch you and will listen to you very intently. it doesn’t matter if it’s as simple as telling him about a mistake you made during one of your classes, he will pay attention to every detail; a small smile growing on his lips and twinkles in his eyes as he watches you speak

۶ৎ . really attentive and an excellent gift giver. he remembers details about things you’ve told him you might not even remember yourself. so, don’t be surprised when you receive a bouquet of white roses on a random wednesday just because you told him you thought they were pretty a few days earlier

۶ৎ . can be really sassy and enjoys teasing you. probably about either your height or your grades. you pretend it annoys you but the fact it makes him laugh makes you happy too

۶ৎ . gets jealous pretty easily but can control it well and doesn’t really show it. you know when he’s jealous though, and you will tease him about it

۶ৎ . will go on study dates with you in the library, but not much studying gets done. he can’t stop staring at you and when he gets the chance he will swoop in for a kiss

۶ৎ . slightly insecure. he’ll go quiet after you fight or when you’ve had a discussion, thinking it was his fault. he knows communication is key, though, so you’ll give him the time he needs and he will come to you when he’s ready to talk things through

۶ৎ . slipping each other love notes in classes. he’ll also hide them in your books for you to randomly find

۶ৎ . really supportive; he’ll side with you and protect you no matter what

۶ৎ . when you start dating you make a routine of falling asleep together wherever you can; the common room being your favorite spot. it started as a way of being able to comfort him if he’d have a nightmare but it slowly turned into a routine

۶ৎ . swings your hands whenever you walk hand in hand

۶ৎ . loves it when you wear his hoodies. he will leave them laying around for you to find because he knows you’ll steal them

۶ৎ . so funny. the two of you are almost always laughing when you are together and it’s mostly about something dumb too

۶ৎ . not that big on physical touch considering his past trauma’s, but he adores holding your hand. it doesn’t matter if you’re walking the hogwarts corridors to your next class, or if you’re just sat down next to each other. whenever he’s anxious or deep in thought he’ll automatically reach for your hand; holding it brings him a great sense of comfort

۶ৎ . is not the most careful person so often breaks his glasses. he’s perfectly capable of fixing them himself but loves seeing you do it for him. neither does he care for cleaning his glasses, but when you do it for him he’ll be immensely grateful and will thank you with kisses

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

[cherrycheolkat]

• no blueberries, feat. mingyu, pt. 2 •

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader

mentioned: seungcheol, joshua, vernon, christian yu (dpr ian in part ii)

word count: 3.1k

genre: fake dating, college au, college student!mingyu, college student!reader, fluff, f2l, idiots, idiots in love, angst, pining, denial of feelings, established friendship (reader & ian), miscommunication

summary: mingyu was just your lab partner and study buddy for several semesters, but lately things seem to have changed, and maybe everyone else has noticed, but for the most part, neither of you even think about what you are to one another until mingyu asks you to be his 'fake' date for a long weekend trip so he can avoid an ex, the biggest problem is realizing that there's nothing fake about your relationship but when mingyu won't even talk about what you are to each other, you start to think things might be over before they even really start

warnings: explicit language, mentions of anxiety, sexually suggestive situations, drinking

a/n: they are literally idiots in love but they're so dumb they almost don't deserve a happy ending - i am screaming at them ;-; ooof writing part ii...and well, i need to update this with additional characters and genres...oops (if you don't know - i am not a planning writing - i just go where the characters take me - they get their shit together - trust the process) besides it's named for a dpr ian song anyway, might as well include him for his dilf status and the accent

xx kat

[part i] [part iii]

♡ if you would like to be tagged in my upcoming posts, go [here]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁

𝒚/𝒏

she hadn’t expected the multiple messages asking if she was free that weekend - there were even a few from guys she thought were taken. she didn’t respond, though. even if she was feeling petty and annoyed, she wasn’t that clueless about what was actually going on between herself and the dumb boy sleeping in their room. mingyu hadn’t ever answered her. and she kind of wanted to stay mad at him over it. but she also wanted to be curled in bed with him, like a normal weekend morning, all warm and cozy wrapped in his arms. 

she reasoned she could hold out a bit longer. besides, she remembered his messages from the night before - this was the perfect time to scroll through them and maybe find some tiny crumbs to reignite her annoyance.

she wasn’t annoyed, though - he was mainly asking if she was okay and wondering if she would come down because he missed her - wanted her - was she asleep? - he wanted to be where she was - he was tired - ‘plz come down’ x2 - ‘i’m all alone’ - he wished they were back home - ‘we shouldn’t have come’. she bit her lip gently, wondering half-heartedly if he had meant any of it or just needed an excuse to check his phone.

she knew he meant it - he was unquestionably honest when drinking. she sighed, knowing she was maybe just as bad at communicating as he was. but she knew she had asked him more than once to define what they were.

she couldn’t fully take back her shitty messages saying they weren’t dating, even though it was technically true. but she could tag him in a post - a really sappy post with pictures from the last six months. she could have gone back further, but then he would know more than she was ready to share, like how she thought it was serious much sooner.

she picked the photos she thought were cutest, especially the one where he had given her a piggyback ride when she got tired waiting in line for a roller coaster. she tagged his username, but then she stared at the blank description box because what should she even say, she wondered.

she scrolled back through all of her photos to the first one they had taken together - him hugging her from behind while they had walked around in the first snow the year before. he looked so cute and happy - she pressed her lips into a line, feeling way too vulnerable, but she added it in the photo set anyway.

and the description, she typed it super fast before she could talk herself out of it, ‘beautiful, perfect, smart, sweet @/ming0o - i probably don’t tell you how much i like you as often as i should but i hope you know how much i care about you - love’ - she immediately erased the 'love'.

she had the intense urge to throw her phone into the woods from embarrassment. it was way too honest and a display of pure feelings - things she did not do. because she knew putting herself out there like that was scary.

she stared at the draft for a few minutes - she couldn’t hit post. she decided to wait until that afternoon. or maybe never - maybe she should just tell him - that’s what ian kept saying when they talked - not to mention all of britt’s not so subtle comments about their apartment and how often mingyu was there. 

she could tell him that she thought things were serious, that she had broken off things with someone else for him, even - she had kind of been dating someone, but it hadn’t really mattered when mingyu first kissed her. she was pretty sure no one mattered when mingyu first kissed her - the earth could have flown into the sun, and she wouldn't have noticed.

she stared out at the water, imagining the conversation she could start with him - the one where she actually explained all the things she felt for him. but even thinking about it was nerve-racking. she would probably just end up making out with him before she actually admitted to having feelings. physical things were always safer.

she worried her lip and, insteasd of posting anything, went to ian’s account - she scrolled through his photos from greece - a trip she was meant to go on for friends-mas vacation. but that was the thing, they had known each other for ages and had been best friends for way too long. their closeness always kind of ebbed and flowed based on whether one of them was dating someone. but they also talked about everything, like when she felt like things with mingyu were getting serious, she had told ian about it, mainly because she was happy. she rolled her eyes, remembering those conversations.  

she went to her messages, they had talked a few weeks before about maybe going to a show together, a band they both liked was touring. her fingers hovered over the keys - she sighed and exited. she probably didn’t need to pull the rip cord just yet, she decided, because if she texted ian now, with the way she felt, she wasn't sure what would happen. even if she knew ian was probably awake.

she tried reassuring herself that she was just freaking out a bit, so she got up to go in and take a shower before anyone else was awake. she tried to stay in the shower as long as possible without being rude. she was slow drying off and throwing on fresh clothes, prolonging her time to think, she told herself.

she opened the bathroom door as quietly as she could, thinking she could tiptoe past the bed and back to isolate herself on the balcony. ideally, she could hide there and go unnoticed. but no, glancing at mingyu was enough to convince her that she should climb back into bed. she loved how was easily she was enveloped by mingyu. she tried to sleep, thinking it would make her feel better. 

instead, she felt him kiss her neck, “hey,” he whispered. 

“hey,” she worried that she sounded weird.

“good swim?”

she hummed in response, not trusting herself to talk. she wondered if she was losing her mind. they were both quiet for a few minutes, but to her, it felt like the quiet before a storm.

he sighed and nuzzled closer, “did you really tell people we aren’t dating?” his voice was soft against her skin.

fuck, she thought, of course someone had already seen that and messaged him. she rolled her eyes, “i mean, it’s not like we’ve actually had that conversation.” 

she tried to sound normal about it, even though she had literally asked him multiple times, and he refused to answer. she just wanted him to tell her whether they were dating, or if he even wanted to be dating, but he wouldn’t - anyone else, sure, he had an answer - but her, nothing but silence. and there was the annoyance with him. back in full force. 

“i know, but it’s kind of what we talked about before, right?”

she closed her eyes tightly, “no, we talked about fake dating - like me being your fake girl friend for this, not like ‘dating-dating - i'm just katie-prevention,’,” she wasn’t a fan of the revisionist version of the conversation they had had.

he sighed, “does it really matter what we call it for the weekend? we’re together all the time, right - that’s what's important,” he sounded like her dad explaining something that was just so simple, even as he ignored the real reason he had asked her, “even if you completely abandoned me last night.” he whined softly, emphasizing how he felt about her staying in their room.

“so tell everyone i had a migraine or something, and now everything is fine,” she knew she sounded more and more on edge, but really what was another lie anyway, she wondered.

he was quiet for a few moments, “y/n, you know you’re here because we’re together, which just happens to help me avoid katie - i would have asked you to come no matter what,” she could feel him squeezing her closer as he talked.

“right, i guess so, since you don’t really seem to have an issue telling her to fuck off, so i’m not sure how i’m helping with that anyway,” she knew it was a bitchy thing to say, but the words had already tumbled out of her mouth. 

he groaned, “you know it’s not really about that - i mean, i told her to fuck off when she said the shit about wanting to hook up - i told her i was taken, so here i am, very happily taken,” he sounded annoyed and nonchalant all at once. 

she shifted around to face him, “wait, you said someone told you about that?” she whispered, certain that she had heard him incorrectly.

he shrugged, “no, she cornered me after practice and told me we should hook up.”

“and you didn’t tell me about that super normal encounter?” she tried to keep her voice under control.

“why would i when i know it would just make you worry over nothing, plus i handled it - i told you, i wanted you to come and just relax and hang out - yeah, katie is here, but who cares? i’m here with you,” he tugged her tshirt gently as he spoke, pulling her close.

she truly had to be losing it - his ‘katie problem’ was the entire basis for him asking her. 

he seemed to register her anger and got up after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, “i’m going to shower, and then we should get food,” he murmured and kissed her cheek. 

she could only nod in response.

⋆˙⟡

she waited a few minutes before hopping off the bed and going out on the balcony to call ian. even if they had been on a friendship hiatus for a bit - in fact, most of her friendships had been since she had been with mingyu - she knew she could call him - it was the whole ‘basic trust’ part of their relationship. something she and mingyu didn’t seem to have.

besides, she had virtually only been around mingyu’s friends for months. she was feeling like it was starting to skew her view of the world.

“hi, love,” he answered on the first ring.

“hey,” she bit her lip, trying to think of how to ask what she wanted to ask.

“what’s up?” 

she sighed, “umm, just things,” she tried to sound normal as she paced back and forth.

“erm, yeah, can i guess - does it have to do with your, uh, relationship status correction comments?” he laughed. 

she nodded, as though he could see her, “yes - i - could you pick me up, please?”

it had been a while since she had called him this randomly and asked to be picked up. but that didn’t matter, he just asked for a pin drop, not an explanation. his friend would drop him off, and they would drive her suv back. she didn’t even have to ask if ‘back’ meant to his or not - she fully knew the answer. she was glad that she had done very little to unpack the night before, and that they weren’t that far from the city. she did go back out onto the balcony to watch her ‘find my’ like it was a lifeline to the world. 

she couldn’t wrap her mind around what mingyu had admitted this morning compared to what he had said before. it was shocking - he had at least withheld important details from her. and she was angry. but the worst part was that he also made her feel like she was the issue. not to mention, why couldn’t he just talk to her, she wondered for the millionth time. 

she needed a break. she needed to go back to her normal life. this whole thing had spun out of control, and she was deluded if she thought there was anything serious between her and mingyu.

⋆˙⟡

𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 

he took a long shower, loving the seemingly endless hot water. he wasn’t ready to be awake though - he had wanted to stay in bed with y/n like normal. he wanted everything with y/n to be like normal, but everything felt off, especially her.

it was like she was pulling into herself, which only reminded him of when he first met her, and his entire existence annoyed her. there were times when she was curled against him that he couldn’t help but remember exactly how cold and distant she seemed to him when they met. and how random it felt that they had ever moved past that point - he genuinely had no idea how he had managed it, which was reason enough for him to not say certain things. 

like when she asked why he had told everyone they were dating - he didn’t want to explain that he hadn’t, that they had assumed, and he couldn’t bring himself to say they were wrong because it was what he wanted. but it was embarrassing as fuck to admit to her that he wanted it as badly as he didn’t and couldn’t even ask her.

he had tiptoed around the thought for months - even the day before, he had been asking seungcheol what he could say to her. seungcheol had looked at him like he was insane, ‘you are fucking, and you’re asking me what exactly - dude you’re with her - just tell her you want some official stamp or whatever saying what a very good boy you are and she’s your owner - let her buy you a collar, but get the fuck out, you’re killing me with this.’ 

his thoughts were interrupted by seungcheol opening the bathroom door, “dude, if you use all of the hot water, i will actually kill you,” he proclaimed bluntly.

“yeah, yeah - if you killed me every time you promised, i would have been dead five minutes into our meeting - you need a better threat,” he still turned off the water.

seungcheol rolled his eyes, “maybe, but you still got out of the shower, right?”

“pure coincidence,” he mumbled as he dried off.

“umhm, coincidence like y/n openly saying you’re not dating and also being gone this morning?” 

mingyu paused for a moment but shook his head. he was sure seungcheol was just being a dick - there was no way she would have left without saying anything. but he couldn’t help wondering exactly how long he had been in the shower. 

⋆˙⟡

as much as he was shocked realizing that y/n had left, he was absolutely in no mood for the chorus of “so what did you do to fuck this up” that came from virtually everyone when he walked downstairs - he didn’t stay to eat, especially when he noticed katie looking way too perky. 

he had already tried calling and messaging her - he even texted her roommate to ask, which was pointless since britt left him on read. he thought of going back to campus when she wouldn’t answer, but he could imagine that would only make things worse.

if she wanted space, then he should give her space - even if knowing that another guy had picked her up completely fried his brain. he stayed in his room the rest of the day, staring at his phone, hoping for something to change. 

apparently, he seemed depressed enough that even seungcheol tried to make him feel better by leaving him some beers, mumbling something about not to freak out and that it was probably a misunderstanding. 

mingyu had just groaned, “pretty sure leaving with another guy is not a misunderstanding.”

“you’re acting like she doesn’t have friends, when you know she does, even if she’s been up your ass for months - maybe she just needs a break,” seungcheol was using his reasonable voice.

mingyu glared and shook his head, “needs a break? y/n needs a break from me that involves another guy?! yeah - you are excelling at making me feel so good about about all of this - plus like that’s one of those things, there’s always guys who talk to her, even when we’re out, i can be standing right next to her, my arm around her, and still, dudes approaching,” he popped the tab on one of the beers, gulping it down angrily.

seungcheol watched him for a moment, “right, who wouldn’t want to be around you to see the neuroticism up close - dude, she’s mainly friends with guys, that’s why she was at our parties before you ever started talking - pretty sure that’s when you noticed her even and started following her from a distance like the saddest lost dog,” he laughed as he dodged the pillow mingyu threw at his head.

“fuck you - fucking lost dog? and i am not neurotic!” mingyu threw back his head, downing the rest of the beer.

“yeah, stable king over here - also the most lost, most pathetic dog - ask anyone if i’m fucking lying - you’re whipped and have been, which like, cool, taste, she’s worth it, but then somehow katie was in the picture and we all decided you were a lost cause because how do you go from like a full out 10 to like a 3.4,” he dodged another pillow, not laughing this time, “if you make me spill this”—

“what you’ll kill me? you? you’re like a foot shorter”— he didn’t even get to finish the insult because seungcheol had already hit him in the mouth.

mingyu spent the rest of the break staring at his phone and nursing his split lip. to be fair, he'd given seungcheol a black eye in the process, which had made him feel slightly better. but then everyone in their gc started asking where his owner was - vernon even edited a lost dog poster with a picture of him. it was annoyingly funny. he couldn’t even think of a good response.

he hated the ride back to campus, knowing he would see y/n in classes but having no clue what to do was definitely killing him. he was so sure of it, which was why he planned to skip classes the next day. and maybe the day after too. their schedules were way too similar. he might be out for a week. he wondered if his parents really would kill him if he flunked out - that was the standard threat, but he had never really considered it quite as hard as he did on the ride back from joshua’s lake house.

⋆˙⟡

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁

a/n: they are such emotional train wrecks - i'm like kicking my feet at the insanity of these two, so yeah, hope you're finding it fun too - also cheol as the voice of reason but still roasting mingyu the entire time <33 also feel free to leave notes or asks or submit a lost dog poster for mingyu skskskskss - i do love to know what you all are vibing with /gen

♡ kat

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁ ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ .𖥔 ݁

story navi: [part i] [part iii]

tag list: @syluslittlecrows

if you want to be tagged, go [here] & my [master list] if you want to read more

[queerprayers]

i've grown up in quite a secular family, never went to church etc, and only in the past couple of years started celebrating serbian orthodox christmas with my mum where we attend part of the christmas eve mass. i want to get to know christianity a little better, and i know ur lutheran and not orthodox but i was wondering if u have any tips for just. starting somewehere? it feels very strange to sit down and think "Im Going To Pray" when ive neither done it nor seen anyone do it before, but i want to explore a bit, if that makes sense. your blog is very nice and calming i feel like you might have some insight :)

Welcome, beloved!

Prayer is quite strange sometimes and Sitting Down and Doing It does not come easily to most, especially if you didn't grow up doing that. I'm honored to be asked and I have a few thoughts.

At some point as a kid I was taught the acronym ACTS—Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication. I was told a prayer should contain these elements. And I don't technically disagree; I think those are all good necessary things. If you want a formula, there's a formula. But I always found "I pray because I can't help myself. I pray because I'm helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time- waking and sleeping" a much more real description of prayer.

We're told to pray always, without ceasing—prayer is something to bring with us. It is to be in relation with the God who is Love, who knows our suffering, and who hears. To pray is to be heard—and to listen in return, even if what we receive may be holy silence. 

Mass is a prayer, one the Church does together. Liturgy is where I learned most of the prayers I say, where I first chanted the psalms. I learned to read in church. Even once a year, it shows us many parts of prayer—it fulfills the acronym, sure, but attending services has shown me that prayer can be somber, joyful, certain, wondering, penitent, musical, silent. We can also think of things prayer can be that we don't want to replicate—Jesus talks about hypocritical ways of praying, of calling attention to oneself, of "heaping up empty phrases."

It doesn't always look like Sitting Down. There are not always words. I sit down (or lie down, depending) and pray at certain times—this was a hard-won habit, that still doesn't come easy—but it's easier for me to use my own words in the woods.. You can be anywhere, and be doing anything. You don't have to commit to a form—do it a little bit differently each time. Ask a question. Confess something. Picture someone you love in your mind, and feel that love. Look at each person on the subway and wish something for them. Set a timer on your phone to spend five minutes tentatively thinking about God—this is a prayer that can be more deeply felt than all the books in the world.

Whatever strangeness or embarrassment there is in addressing an unseen being, in coming to the Universe with your one quiet voice, it is the strange embarrassment of caring, of attempting what seems impossible, of being earnest about this whole being alive thing. The uncertainty of a new relationship, the doubt of whether it all matters, the unfamiliarity of learning a new skill. But you can do strange things, new things, vulnerable things. Love is continuing movement, and each step takes more bravery. You need communication with Love to live in it. 

Of course there are countless people who do not purposefully pray and yet show more love than I could ever hope to. God has met many, and sustained many, without their ever asking, sometimes without them ever knowing his name. But the asking is another kind of love, and I am one of the many who devote myself to even slight knowledge of his face. You have all you need to join me—because you have God.

The need that flows out of you, all the time—the draw you feel to start—is a prayer already. Really, there is no start—only a joining of a current already in motion. A dipping into a well that never runs dry. Others have the words, if you don't. I learn the psalms because, for all my poetry, I can't say it all, and never as perfectly as they do—and because it's a connection with centuries of voices. The practicing of the divine hours is another connection.

But really, putting aside the walks in the woods and the going to church more and the acronyms and the metaphors—how do you pray on purpose? Ultimately, there is no better answer than the one Jesus gave: Go into your room, shut the door, and (without an earthly audience, without looking a certain way or believing a certain thing) pray to the secret, listening God, in whatever language/version you have,

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever, Amen.

You've never done it or seen it before, sure, but it's built into you, to need this. Once you've done it, you will have seen it. Once you've seen it, I expect you'll realize you have done it before, without noticing. You don't have the words, so they have been given to you. You don't have to believe wholeheartedly each word—that comes later for those of us who grow up in it, and it can come later for you, too. Start in the somewhere you have been placed. 

The first thing we learn how to ask for as babies is the result of every prayer: being heard. So cry out.

<3 Johanna

[crushedsweets]

Do the other proxies get pissed at Kate when she has these "episodes", like the one in the VN where she attacks Y/N? Or is it something they know she can't control and don't judge her for? Do the episodes cause any tension or affect their dynamic and relationships in any way?

Also, are any of them animal lovers? I need to know who is naturally sweet to Max.

its complicated, but...yes, they get angry and yes, it causes some drama. and yesss some are animal lovers.

all of the proxies have these episodes(to varying degrees), so they all understand it. but the chaser is the worst of them

do the other proxies get mad at kate for her "episodes"?

in general, they KNOW kate can't control it - but they all have anger issues and need to direct it somewhere, so it falls on kate.

plus, there are usually signs before these "episodes." she gets dizzy, spacey, headaches, nausea, etc. the proxies are normally good at knowing when the chaser/masky/hoody are coming

thats why tim yelled at toby about "why did you let her get like that?" tim knew there were probably signs the chaser was coming, and he's angry neither of them acted accordingly. but as you can see, kate wasnt really the one being yelled at for it ...partially because they know shes not gonna react, though

Do the episodes cause any tension or affect their dynamic and relationships in any way?

yes!

again, they'll get mad at her for not taking precautions when she's experiencing symptoms, or they'll just be misdirecting their anger at her. even if they know better, it's hard to get rid of lingering resentment

she already has 0 trust in brian and tim, so it just cements her wariness of them. she trusts toby a lot, but hearing him throw her under the bus really irritates her. she wont communicate healthily, but she might later mumble about him being a dick and refuse to talk to him for a while.

additionally, there will obviously be strain if the chaser successfully hurts them. for example, when tim was in college, the chaser was the one dragging him around in a lot of those clips. tim hasn't fully forgiven her for it, regardless of it being her fault or not

they tend to forget that slenderman is the root cause of their issues, though. misdirected anger and all that

are any of them animal lovers? YESSS. toby and brian love dogs! tim is friendly with dogs, but not particularly obsessed. kate is more of a cat person

which. ok . i know toby was the one making jokes about max. he loves pets, he's just a dick and wanted to provoke Y/N cuz he's mad.

in another situation, he'd have been playing catch with max!

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Happy Anniversary!

Toxic!Russell Adler x Toxic!F!Reader

Ah, what's married life without a little toxicity? (Pretty good, allegedly.)

It's your twentieth wedding anniversary, and Adler seems to have forgotten all about it. However, you are the perfect match to his toxic nature, and are going to make sure that he makes up for it... and then some.

'"Divorce" and "therapy" are for normal people' - reader, probably

God, you should leave him. You should. You will, this time. You will. You won’t pick up the phone, call back the attorney’s office and cancel your appointment do discuss beginning divorce proceedings against your husband. You won’t, not this time. 

He knows that you’ve made it. Yet another appointment, with yet another attorney. You’d made sure of it, by leaving a scattered mess of business cards out on the hallway table - a fallen snow of lawyers, specialising in family affairs. Which specific one you’d ended up going to, didn’t matter. What did, is that Russell Adler knew, beyond any doubt, that you’d gone to one.

When he gets in from work (late, past dinner late… again), he sees them immediately. He doesn’t say anything to you, sat on the stairs at the end of the hall. He simply brushes them off the table, spreading them out across the floor, before walking over them as he heads for the coat rack. He changes his jacket and his shoes, still neither of you saying anything, even as you refuse to move so he can sit, which would make putting his shoes on easier.

He manages despite your cruelty, and turns to leave again, pausing at the door. Russell makes sure that you see him light up a cigarette, while he’s still inside, in your hallway. He ignores how you respond, by opening the bottle of whiskey in your hand, and tossing the lid-cork thing at his retreating back. It bounces off the hallway floor, but still stops short of the front door, now once again closed, with you left alone behind it.

You stand, finish walking down the stairs and start to drink. 

Him and his stupid fucking job. Him, and his stupid fucking devotion, body and rotten soul, to an equally rotten government. He’d sooner ball up and make love to an American flag, than he would to you.

At this point in your marriage, after twenty fucking years, there was nothing good, nothing healthy, left between the two of you. If there ever had been. Everyone you knew said you should leave - for both of your sakes. By staying, all you were doing was burning each other up, tearing out pieces of each other’s flesh, pound for pound, and if you didn’t stop now, you’d both end up dead.

The first time you’d talked about leaving him, no one had got it. They’d said, oh well, he doesn’t hit you, he doesn’t cheat on you, he gives you a lot of money, (emphasis on ‘a lot’, meaning, not as much as ours give us), you don’t have to work, you get your own house to lie about in all day; and you always complain about how he’s never around, surely that’s a good thing if you hate him so much?

That had been the only time you’d actually been serious about divorcing him. You’d ignored everyone’s cautioning about it, what it would do to your reputation, socially, how you had no real cause, that legally, you had to be able to prove fault on his side; and gone to see an attorney anyway. Then, some pimple faced, fresh out of school upstart told you exactly how much goddamn money it would cost to do that, so you’d reconsidered your options, and stayed. Over the years, the people around you saw you changing, and realised they probably shouldn’t have stopped you leaving. Most thought that they probably should have helped you then, and even though they hadn’t, they could help you now – you were in California, you could go for no fault divorce, if you wanted.

Those three words were the kicker. Because now, you didn’t. Talking divorce was an empty threat; simply your way of communicating that you needed something from him. 

It’s not like he was any better than you. He would (sometimes literally) throw money at you, then smile and pat your head, like you were a fucking dog, and the wad of notes had fixed everything. Like all your marriage boiled down to was a series of threats and exchanges, trade between two independent, completely self-interested parties that just happened to be inescapably, legally bound to each other. 

You say all that, but it sure felt good to spend it, though. And, he was a free man too. If he didn’t want to stay, he didn’t have to.

After a last swig or two, you abandon the whiskey (typically his drink) and go in search of your own, something a deal more civilised in your own opinion. It just so happened that when you abandon the whiskey, the bottle is lying on its side over the sink, all pouring out. A complete accident, you swear. 

A good, cheap beer is more your thing. Not a dirt-cheap beer, like the stuff college students pool together their last dollars for; but something that, when drunk cold, tastes decent enough by your standards, and cheap by Russell’s. Which is really the whole point. You don’t care about what you drink, just that you get drunk, and when (if) he gets home, he has to taste some ‘cheap shit’ on his wife’s lips and not complain about it. God, what about this do other people not get? How can they not get that this is what works for you, what makes you feel alive? 

You wander from room to room as you drink, upstairs, downstairs, back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room to the lounge, to your office, then upstairs again, roaming between the bedrooms, second sitting room, and shaking the handle of the door to his office - locked, like always. You leave the empty cans on the floor where you finish drinking them, only taking breaks to stare at the nearest clock as you will for time to start passing by faster. Just for you, you know? As a treat?

You get restless when you’re angry. All this energy, and you don’t know what to do with it. 

You want to break something. 

You head down into your basement, one last can of beer in hand. You open it, then leave it on the stairs as you drag out one of your most prized possessions: a cardboard box full of already damaged chinaware, that had no purpose beyond being thrown away. In fact, that’s how you’d gotten it, by persuading your neighbour to give it to you, rather than throwing it out, with some pretty story about how you made art out of broken things, (the five dollars hadn’t hurt either), allowing you to stow the unassuming box down here in the cool concrete box underneath your floors.

It was the perfect place, to take already broken shit and break it further, by hurling the chipped ceramic against the walls, and losing yourself in the body shaking laughter as you watch it shatter. After a while, you get tired of it, and sit back on the stairs, taking delight in your last, forgotten beer, sipping it slowly as you contemplate whether or not you should go walk bare foot through the mess, make him find you when he gets home, make him take you to hospital and put his lying to good use, for once, that he’s a loving, caring husband who’s clumsy wife dropped a cup and trod on the broken pieces in a panic. 

You lean against the wooden panelled wall, face hurting with the smile of how much you’d enjoy seeing him squirm under a doctor’s inquisition, only to hear the rumble of a car pulling into your drive way. 

One last swig of beer and you’re done. You toss the can across the room, wincing as it dings like a bell against the wall, then clatters unceremoniously down among the rest of the mess. You go up the stairs, two at a time, and emerge into the kitchen at the same time the front door closes.

“What time do you call this?” You pick up the now nearly empty bottle of whiskey, and turn it upright on the counter.

“Good time.” He calls back, his shoes thudding as he takes them off and drops them on the hallway floor, rather than putting them away. 

“Do you really?” You try to round the corner into the hallway, only to bump into him as he tried to do the inverse. You both stand there for a minute, then you give him way, both of ending up in the kitchen, leaning on either side of the table. 

“Yeah.” He takes the bottle of whiskey and swigs meagrely at what’s left, mouth stretched in a tight line. 

“On today of all days?”

“What day?” He glances at the calendar. “Valentine’s was last week. You making up another anniversary on me?”

“Not making it up.” You point to the picture above the calendar - the only decent photo to come out of your wedding, with the date embossed along the bottom of the frame.

“Oh.” He sips again. “We’ve been married long enough that only the big one’s matter, right?”

“It is a big one.” You bite back a smile, feeling like you just burst his balloon, loopholed his own logic.

He sighs and reached into his jacket, taking out a wad of cash. The clip scraps against the wooden table as he shoves it at you. “There.”

You scoop up the wad, shaking it back at him. “You can’t give me money like it’s going to fix this.”

“But it will, though.” He finishes the bottle of whiskey. “Go buy new clothes, a car, a goddamn house. Whatever will shut you up.”

You advance on him around the table, pulling the money out of the clip, tossing the metal pin back at him. It thuds softly against his jacket, before clattering down on the tiles between his feet. “You think I’m that easy to buy?”

You say, but you’re leafing through the notes, counting the hundreds quickly to a thousand, two, and you’ve barely made a dent in it when he sets the bottle down and advances right back at you, shoulders back, arms wide. “You’d stay for a lot less than that. This is generosity.”

He called you cheap. CHEAP! You should hit him for that. Instead, you furl the notes into a roll in your hand, and leap into his arms. He kisses you, then recoils from the flavour of your mouth, so you can chase him, and be the one to make husband and wife kiss. 

He lets that be as it may, before he’s the one to cage you against the wall; then you’re the one who threatens to ruin his beloved jacket if he doesn’t take you up to bed. He’s the one to oblige, half leading, half guiding you upstairs and into your marital nook, then you’re the one who shoves his jacket off his shoulders, tossing it onto the floor rather than hanging it up nicely. 

He’s the one to pull you down on the bed, you’re the one to rip the collar of his shirt, he’s the first to swear; you pull those fucking sunglasses off this face and toss them somewhere behind you, kissing him again, making him let you see his eyes. He responds by flicking his hand under your waistband, sliding down and cupping his hand over your cunt, grinning as he leans down to your ear, telling you that at least your body still recognises that he’s your husband. You reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, then pull, so hard he has to crane his head back, hissing through his teeth as you spit on his scar, eyes glazing as you watch your saliva drip off his chin, and not at all because his fingers are circling your clit; before he sits up, tugging your pyjama shorts down, until you lift your leg, lock it around his arm and tell him, “you first.”

He obliges, continuing your effort of destroying his perfectly good shirt, the loud tear down the front hiding the muttered comment that the replacement is going to come out of your allowance. His jeans and briefs follow, and you’re treated to the view that only you and all his fellow soldiers are treated to – a reminder that no matter what airs he puts on, Russell Adler is a man made of flesh and blood, as flawed and fucked up, if not more so, as the rest of us. Definitely a man too, the way he hides his soft cock from you beneath the bunched sheets, nodding for you to get your shirt off too, after you release his arm. 

You oblige, since he did so nicely, and he hides his groan when he sees your tits. He’s lucky to see them even once more, as he dips a finger inside your cunt, meeting your eyes as you silently mock him that, really? You think that does it?

He feeds two fingers into you, neglecting your clit as ever, other fingers scraping against your pubes, keeping any choice comments about it to himself – if he’s even got the brain space to think about it, as you see the bulge rising beneath the sheets bundled at his crotch, the prospect of real intercourse actually, finally, making you excited. 

Your cunt tightens around Adler’s fingers when his knuckles graze over your clit, before he ruins it by moving you, tilting your hips up over his knees, prodding his cock at your hole, staring you down like he’s daring you to tell him to wear a condom. 

You don’t care for that now, just for him to hurry up and fuck you - the exhaustion is suddenly catching you, and you would really just like to cum before you go to sleep. Even if you have to get up and go into the bathroom to finish the job yourself.

Though, you might not have to – for once. There’s a boiling heat inside you, coiling out from where his cock is sunk into your cunt. It has a chokehold on your lungs, making your breath stutter, the half formed words you try to make are falling apart on your tongue, your eyes glazing over as he multitasks, working both your clit and cunt at the same time (honestly, revolutionary for him, it almost makes you want to ask him who he’s been practicing on), as you cry out, his dick settling deep inside you, a smile playing on his lips when you kiss him. 

Your fingers feel the upturned corners of his lips, and you dig your nails into them as he leans over you, still determinedly thumbing at your clit even as his arm gets sandwiched between your bodies, rutting against each other. He grunts into your mouth, and it’s your turn to recoil. God, cigarettes make a man taste awful. You can’t even push through it now, not with how tight your body’s strung. He’s winding you up, like always, but with his cock, waiting for you to snap –

And you do. In your own bed, for once. He cums too, when, you’re not sure, and where, you don’t care, as long as it’s not on the sheets. It’s not like it’s staying inside you, not after you’ve peed and cleaned yourself up, lingering in the bathroom even after you’ve changed into new pyjamas, fixed your hair and brushed your teeth; before dragging yourself back to your bedroom, choosing to ignore the not so faint smell of smoke, and how Russell is closing the barely open window, as you retrieve your money, folding the stack of notes over and tucking it away into the drawer on your night stand. 

You get into bed, back turned to him as he gets in behind you. He faces you at first, leaning over the pillows to murmur, “happy anniversary,” before rolling over and turning off the light.

“Yourself.” You respond in the darkness, taking a deep breath as you close your eyes, marvelling at how that was the most civilised conversation you’ve had in years. 

You sleep in the next day. After staggering down the stairs at a time that resembles lunchtime more than breakfast time, the phone rings. 

“Hello? This is Morrison and Hamble…”

“Ah, yes.” You interrupt the secretary on the other end. “I’m so sorry, I should have called sooner. I need to cancel my appointment.”

“Oh.” She sounded surprised, but caught herself. “That is not a problem, Mrs Adler. I do just have to inform you, that due to the late nature of this request, you will still be charged for Mr. Hamble’s time…”

“Not a problem, at all. I completely understand.” You sigh, shifting the receiver to your other ear, reaching into your dressing gown pocket. “Please offer my deepest apologies to him. My husband and I sat down and worked things out.”

“Just to confirm, you won’t dispute this charge, ma’am?”

“I will not.” You pulled out the roll of ten thousand dollars he’d given you. “I realise now, that I can’t put a price on my marriage.”

“Ah… that’s good.” She sighs on the other end of the line. “If that’s all then, Mrs Adler, I’ll let you get back to your day.”

“Yes, thank you. Again, I am sorry for not calling earlier.”

“Not a problem, Ma’am. Have a nice day.”

Click.

Normally, you’d be writing a complaint in to the firm, about the lack of friendliness in their customer facing staff. Today, however, you had ten thousand dollars in your pocket, and a window in front of you that looked straight out straight onto to your deck. Sorely old, in need of replacing. Improving, might be a better term. A covered deck, maybe a linen tent, or a pergola covered in clematis. Whatever you wanted, really. Those were his words, exactly. Or, mostly. In spirit.

And, you wanted a goddamn deck.

Make a great story to tell, when you’re hosting this summer; that it’s the deck that saved your marriage. 

You trample down the hallway, trying to remember where you left the phone book, suddenly reaching out for the wall when you stepped on something sharp. 

One of the business cards from yesterday. You sigh, and stop to pick them all up, straightening the bent corners before tucking them away in a mostly even bundle, ready and waiting for when you would need them again. In a month, three, six. Whenever you get bored of your new deck. 

[marzipanandminutiae]

(sorry to keep reblogging this with Paragraphs, followers; I just keep having Responses come to mind)

so, I understand where you're coming from and as we've both said, I think we largely agree.

however, where you 're still losing me is the idea that correcting misgendering of oneself specifically in a "casual setting" is too far

saying "I don't like this for myself, so don't use conventionally gendered terms as neutral, ever?" bad! we both agree on that!

however. I don't think that there's any scenario in which it's unacceptable to- politely! -correct someone. I will ask someone to please not call me "bro" in casual conversation. I will keep reminding them if they keep saying it. I will make like Janet in The Good Place and cheerfully say "not a bro!" every time, whether they Use It Like That All The Time And See It As Gender-Neutral or not, because...I don't. and basic respect would be making an effort not to call me that.

to me, this is the same as correcting someone who uses the wrong pronouns. mistakes happen and nobody is perfect, but the onus is on the other person to at least try respecting someone else's gender- not on the person being misgendered to let it slide and be uncomfortable for the sake of keeping this person happy

(actually I do avoid using "dude" or "guys" to refer to new non-male friends unless I know they're okay with it, but that may be too much to expect of everyone)

individual gender is a personal thing. it doesn't exist to further any particular sociopolitical ideal; it's about how you live your life and what makes you feel comfortable, happy, and true to yourself. anything goes, and anything should be respected by others. so it's not "enforcing strict gender roles" for someone to have a binary gender and politely ask that they, personally, not be referred to with gendered terms outside of it

I also find the framing of this as "policing language" concerning. to me, that's framing an Interpersonal Communication issue as Structural, with the implied idea that one has to be comfortable with all conventionally gendered terms being used for them or one is somehow letting the progressive side down, so to speak. if correcting pronouns isn't policing- and it's not, IMO -neither is "please don't call me [dude/guy/bro/girl/queen/bad bitch]; thank you"

yeah you're up on all of the latest preferred queer terminology but do you respond normally when a woman asks you not to call her Bro, Bruh, Dude, Guy, etc.?

[my-vanishing-rad]

Men who pay to have sex with prostitutes have less empathy for women and may be more likely to commit rape in the future, finds a new study from the University of California-Los Angeles (UCLA).

Our findings indicate that men who buy sex share certain key characteristics with men who are at risk for committing sexual aggression," said study co-author Neil Malamuth, a professor of communications studies and psychology at UCLA, in a press release. "Both groups tend to have a preference for impersonal sex, a fear of rejection by women, a history of having committed sexually aggressive acts and a hostile masculine self-identification. Those who buy sex, on average, have less empathy for women in prostitution and view them as intrinsically different from other women."

Study authors arrived at these conclusions after studying 101 men who buy sex in the Boston area and 101 men don't, with the latter group not thinking the men who did buy sex were otherwise sexually coercive. The study focused specifically on sexual aggression because that’s often how former prostitutes describe their past experiences. The question of whether prostitution is more like a job or whether it is more like abuse or sexual aggression is an important question to answer at both a societal and political level, the authors said.

In this particular study, paying for sex referred to men who acknowledged that they had bought sex from a woman or man who was a prostitute, sex worker, or massage parlor worker in exchange for something of value, like food, drugs, or shelter; men who didn’t buy sex had neither done this nor viewed pornography more than once a week. Both groups of men were knowledgeable about coercion and sex trafficking, as well as the many reasons women have previously given to explain their entering prostitution. They were also all similar in age, ethnicity, and economic status.

With Malamuth’s confluence model of sexual aggression — this works to identify the type of man at higher risk of committing sexually aggressive acts — the research team found significant levels of sexually aggressive attitudes and behavior among men who paid for sex. Traits of sexual aggression include antisocial behavior, a preference for impersonal sex, and what study authors call “hostile masculinity,” which is a narcissistic personality trait.

Men who scored higher on sexual measures for impersonal sex and hostile masculinity had less empathy for women in prostitution, viewing them as “intrinsically different from other women.” When compared to men who hadn’t paid for sex, study authors indicated that these findings suggest men who buy sex share similar key characteristics. One man who was interviewed for the study said prostitutes were like coffee cups: “When you’re done, you throw it out.”

Another man included in the study said he thought that “a lot of times [women in prostitution] feel degraded,” or at least the ones he knew lacked self-confidence. “So they feel less than a person and more like a commodity,” he explained (though separate research has shown some men who pay for sex crave emotional intimacy).

[theokusgallery]

There aren't enough toxic sunflower AUs. I need to make another one. I have so many ideas

[bookinit02]

i really do think there’s a huge disconnect on here w/ people who have never used tiktok as to what it actually is and who actually uses it. the number of people i’ve seen call it a “teen dancing app” is actually insane. it has not been a teen dancing app since i was in high school, around 2016 - 2020. the main communities i saw on a daily basis were 1) black history/anti-racism educators, 2) high school & college teachers sharing in-classroom strategies and frustrations with the education system, 3) local/state political leaders giving real-time updates on behind-the-scenes government decisions, & 4) community activism & leadership. like tiktok is an adult platform. almost every person i interacted with was my age or older. and yes it completely depends on your fyp and how you interact with the app, yes there’s still teenagers and dance videos and literally anything else you can think of. but these communities of adults aren’t insubstantial at all, they have literally millions of interactions on a daily basis. there’s about a million other types of communities that i could name just off the top of my head, because the range of users was SO diverse and thriving. it’s a long-distance community tool, just like any other social media—and honestly much better than any other social media, because it relies primarily on the kindness of strangers. i saw at least 5-10 videos today of queer people in rural areas panicking because they don’t have any access to queer community on any other platform or in real life. and before i end this i do want to say i think tiktok is coming back, i think this is a highly orchestrated political move, etc., but i do know it won’t ever be exactly the same. people are panicking about free speech violations because tiktok was a place where people fucking SPEAK. i have never seen mass mobilization and communication in this same way for as long as i’ve been alive. it is the people’s app, not just a silly teenage thing. if you’re not on tiktok and never have been, please stop talking about it like you know anything at all😭

[stasis-shatter]

Yoinking this for Klein-4 (She/they):

1: Asterion (He/it. Aggressive Shell with a purple and gold shader that I don't remember the name of)

2: Rezzed in a peat bog around Old Chicago.

3: Rezzed Early City-age. Helped build the walls.

4: Hammer titan, was gifted Lorelei's Splendor. Only ever really uses Solar - not for any reason in particular aside from Solar being their most honed and proficient subclass.

5: They reacted mostly out of instinct to being rezzed - completely bewildered, then realizing with the help of Asterion that they had to escape the peat bog. They had little time to dwell on "why" or "how" they were risen, it taking them many deaths and nearly a month to get our from their muddy prison.

6: They struggled with Arc and Void - Solar being the first class they could really grasp.

7: They don't want and are not interested in knowing their past life. They made it this far, why look back?

8: More of a loner. They get really attached to people but when they die or drift away, Klein is left empty and heartbroken again and again. She tried to convince herself that she's better off alone but then some New Light will stumble towards them and their protective instincts will kick in.

9: Neither Dredgen nor snitch because it'd put her in an uncomfortable situation but if she were to involve herself, she'd side with The Drifter for two reasons, 1/ She heavily dislikes the Praxic order & 2/ She enjoys Gambit.

10: She has no qualms about Darkness wielders and wielding it herself, though she'd only use it with caution. She leans more into Stasis than Strand as it is more straightforward for her. (They also hate the feeling of being unraveled.)

11: They aren't quite certain what to think of the Traveler, though they are grateful for its existence. They'll defend it and the City, even though they won't delve into ontologies.

12: She gets along with Asterion, though the latter is mostly quiet and stays hidden. Both of them communicate via a private frequency/wavelength, finding it more efficient and intimate.

13: Their motivation for being a Guardian isn't one of seeking heroism, moreso to protect the City that they helped build up and all those within it. They'll seldom be on the front lines, moreso patrolling.

14: The shape of their Nightmare is that of their non-Lightbearer lover, Reuben, who passed away in the City during the Red War.

15: The Dawning always leaves them bittersweet but it's the time of year for indulgences for them. They'll celebrate, and make sure they don't remember who they celebrated with, the day after.

16: Off duty, they mostly rest and roam the city streets aimlessly, helping civilians with various tasks if asked to. Since the Red War, they've always somewhat been on guard - concerned about another attack.

17: On good terms generally with the civilians. They feel more at ease around them. Less attached. Won't hesitate to step in when there is civil unrest though, example, they were stationed at the Botza district for a while, helping the Eliksni settle in and dispersing the more intolerant civilians.

18: They keep a low to moderate amount of Glimmer on themself. Her vault isn't exactly filled to the brim either but she doesn't live impoverished.

19: They have a few small wooden hand-carved buttons in their left flank pocket, a concealed carry sidearm on their right, spare ammunition and a small damascus steel knife that they retained from when they were rezzed.

20: Their secret stems from the conditions of where they were first rezzed; they have a permanent impediment due to sustained damage to their speech systems. If they talk long enough, they'll sound glitchy or their voice will cut out, thus seeming like the stoic and uptight kind, while not really being so in their personality.

21: She would love a permanent Fireteam but the risk of loss is too high for her. She does not deal with grief well, bottling everything up. The New Light distribution system (see: "Kitten distribution system" if confused) keeps hitting her though!

Feel free to dm or ask if you wanna know more about Klein!

I'm going to use this as an info dump for Sera.

So buckle up, y'all about to learn about my Stormcaller ⚡🩷

BTW if anyone is interested, I did reblog this with all of my answers.

[scoriarose]

She came up with a new activity

[chronologically-challenged]

I think that the party's communication issues can be summed up as "man, is it awkward to tell someone that you want to spend the rest of your life with them if you've only know them for a few months? Probably."

[jesuis-assez]

↠ Tim & Lucy ↳ 2x10 - The Dark Side

[loveamongdragons]

The point about Iroh is so important.

That's pretty much it: over the course of the story Zuko developed more and more away from Ozai and closer to Iroh, and we can safely assume, I think, that the seeds that Iroh put into Zuko's character will grow further after the end of the series.

I get the point of op, however. Zuko does struggle with words sometimes, and he has been hurtful before when he didn't have his anger under control. Curiously though, this does not and has never applied to Katara. With her, he somehow was always able to express his thoughts and feelings pretty damn well, and offer her true understanding. Best case in point: him grasping that Katara's anger has to do with more than distrust, immediately offering to atone for the disappointment and hurt he'd caused in her - and then, most importantly, grasping that her anger has even deeper roots, that she is projecting, and managing to connect their argument to an old conversation where she'd shared her grief and trauma about losing her mother. That's complex shit, and he got it. He knew that he had to understand Katara's past to understand their relationship better as well. There are many adults that never show that level of insight, ever.

Zuko is very good with words in oddly specific situations. Basically, whenever he speaks from his heart. Have we forgotten his confrontation with his father?? That shit was communicated perfectly. And even the infamous "you rise with the moon, I rise with the sun" line screams of a person who has LOTS of beautiful words in him, even poetic ones, but keeps them bottled up most of the time.

I will say this: I do not see Zuko as a word-weaving, silver-tongued politician who always has some speech up his sleeve, neither do I think that he'd have an aphorism to share with everyone like Iroh - because imo, crucially, Zuko is only good with words when he fully believes in what he is saying (but then he is VERY good with them). He was terrible during his preparation for the speech for the Gaang because he was trying to be something he was not, he was downright hilarious during his silver sandwitch speech because he was trying to imitate Iroh instead of speaking from his own heart (but this in on itself circles back to my initial point - Iroh is absolutely crucial! Zuko wants to be more like him, and he will continue to develop in that direction, he just has to find his own way)

I have struggled with keeping Zuko realistic in my own fic, and have wondered whether I am making him too good of a talker - but I am also writing a Zuko at age 29, where he had plenty of time to settle into his personality, and to develop the seeds that had been sown in ATLA. He will never be just like Iroh. His wisdoms will always carry a hint of drama, or poetry, and will certainly be delivered with more force - maybe they will even be dry and angry in a no-bullshit way. But it does not mean he won't have it in him.

Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t know who the consent-pilled, emotionally available, and unerringly sensitive Zuko that’s been popping up in fanfic the last couple of years is. This dude is The Perfect Man (TM).

That’s great and all and I’m not trying to knock it, necessarily, but I see it going more like this:

Katara: Aang kissed me! Why would he kiss me? This isn’t the right time! I’m so mad at him! Etc.

Zuko, who never met a woman who couldn’t kill him on sight: Uh…is he okay?