#not being visibly disabled means i’m getting the all in your head label | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mckkachins · 4 years ago

Text

gif cut-out tutorial

ok ok so @subtledean requested a tutorial on how to do stuff like this post with the gif cutouts and the text effects. hopefully this helps aria ;w; i’m not the best at explaining things but i included some screencaps for clarity. i’ve tried to compress all the sample gifs and screenshots down to under 3mb to avoid tunglr compression on mobile so if they look a little different from the actual gifset, that’s probably why!

what you’ll need:

photoshop, i’m using PS 2021 but any version of photoshop will work out

a basic knowledge of gif-making (i’m assuming you already know how to make a gif and color it).

step 0: storyboard

this isn’t strictly necessary but i HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend it. you don’t have to do any photoshopping this first step, but it’s really important to check out your footage and the shots you have gathered to see what works, especially if you’re trying to combine three or more gifs onto the same canvas. like literally take a piece of paper and draw out where you want the character’s faces to be, where you want the cutouts to be in relation to their faces, and think about whether or not there’s enough empty space to the right or left of characters heads for a cutout to be placed. is there too much movement that would be distracting or messy in an already busy gif?

things like that really help, and it also makes you double check on your footage quality and feasibility. if you end up making a gif where you want one character’s face to be on the left side of the gif but it turns out there’s not enough empty space on the right side of their face to place a cutout and you then have to hunt for new footage or start all over, it’s kind of a trainwreck and you just waste another hour of your time as you deepen your procrastination hellhole. that’s not a real story—

step 1: make the base gif

i’m assuming you know how to color it already. and aria i KNOW you know how to color already so :) size it accordingly to your desired dimensions.

as you can see, i left enough space on the right side of abaddon for the knight cutout to be placed.

save this as a .psd file. you don’t actually have to sharpen and do everything that comes at the end of making a gif right away, but make sure your layers are clearly labeled. do NOT convert to video timeline/smart object just yet.

step 2: make the cutout gif

this is critical: make absolutely certain your cutout gif has the same number of frames as your base gif. otherwise it could get really messy! abaddon has 20 frames, so the cutout will also have 20 frames. again, do not convert the cutout gif to a video timeline/smart object. just keep it as a frame animation. here’s my cutout gif. it’s just a simple b&w gif but i added a touch of purple for color consistency sake whatnot.

now for this particular gif i’ve actually cropped abaddon to be roughly exactly where i would want her face to be in relation to the first gif, but that is unnecessary. helpful, but unnecessary. you do NOT need the cutout gif to be cropped exactly perfect in order to make this work.

step 3: combining the two gifs

there are many different ways to combine two gifs onto the same canvas. some people like to do it via video timeline. i prefer to do it by frames and convert everything to a video timeline only at the end (it’s just a personal preference). here’s a tutorial if you prefer working with timelines, but i’m gonna go over how to do it by frames.

first group everything in your base gif into one folder. then group everything in your cutout gif into one folder as well. you can name them however you want to keep track of things.

then, select all of the frames in your cutout gif. in this case, all 20 of b&w abaddon get selected. make sure its not just frames 4-20 or whatever, but all the frames you made. you can click frame one and then shift-click your last frame to double check.

click the timeline tab group options bar and then go to options > copy frames

now go to your base gif canvas. select ALL the frames of your base gif as well (it’s critical that all of them are selected).

now do options > paste frames.

a popup should appear and you’re going to select the “paste over selection” option. do not link layers.

your cutout gif should now be completely or partially obscuring your base gif. however, now you should see two groups on your sidebar of layers. one for the base, one group for the cutout. if you labelled them with names you can tell which one is which.

step 4: creating the cutout

in order to create the cutout, we use my favorite thing in the whole world of photoshop. layer masks.

to make a layer mask, you simply select a layer or group you want to mask and then click this little icon on the row of icons at the bottom of your layers panel.

white on a layer mask means whatever group or layer is getting masked is completely visible. black on a layer mask means that the group or layer is invisible. if there is 50% gray on a layer mask, then its 50% visible. so on and so forth.

i love these so much i abuse them on the daily. i’ve made a few gifs where i’ve masked every frame one by one because i wanted to get some cool effects. admitting that kind of embarrasses me but oh well.

anyway this is simple though. just find a picture or an outline of a knight. i used these boyes:

obviously i cropped out the knight of the bunch, got rid of the watermark, and then i placed it on the canvas where i wanted it to go.

select the interior of the knight with the magic wand tool. should be pretty simple since it’s all black.

now click over to your layer mask. make sure you have selected the mask and not the group. you can tell you have selected the mask when a little white rectangle pops up on it.

when you know you have the mask selected, click command+i or control+i to invert. if for some reason you do not have this keyboard shortcut, just take a brush tool and color over the area in complete black. as long as the magic wand tool is still selecting just the interior of the knight, it should be fine.

now once again, black means a layer will NOT be showing, white means a layer will be showing. so right now after i disable the visibility of the top layer we used as a reference for the silhouette, it looks like:

do not fear the clownery. layer masks are great because they are always non-destructive. meaning that even if you somehow mess up and your canvas is showing something completely gross, you can always go back and edit your layer mask and your original gif would be unharmed as long as you did not touch any layers in the group, only the mask. simply invert the mask (again, make sure your mask is selected and then command+i or image > adjustments > invert) to get:

for a layer mask that looks like:

you could have also just made a black layer mask to begin with and then inverted the knight outline to be white. many different ways to do the same thing.

another tip: if you select your outline and then click layer mask upon a group or layer with no mask at the current moment, it will automatically make a layer mask with your selection as white and the unselected pixels as black. this is normally how i do my cutouts, because it’s a time-saver even if it like. saves a few seconds max. but i typed out the above for explanation and clarity, so hopefully i didn’t just make anyone more confused.

anyway.

now say you don’t like where the cutout abaddon is positioned. layer masks can also be linked or unlinked, depending on the little link icon you see between the group and the layer mask in the image above. if the icon is visible, the layer mask and the group are linked. if you cannot see the link icon, they are unlinked.

linked layer masks will move in conjunction with the group if any type of transform is done upon them. if the group moves, the layer mask also moves. but if a layer mask is unlinked, you can move the mask and the group independently of one another. for instance, i can change where the cutout is located on the overall canvas of the gif by simply moving ONLY the layer mask (and thereby changing where the blacks and whites of the layer mask occlude the cutout gif contents). but i can also transform the cutout gif layers without changing where the overall outline is located relative to the canvas itself. basically, i can transform the interior contents of the cutout independently. so here (make sure all of your frames are selected):

group unlinked. i’m also making sure that now i am selecting the GROUP (ie. the frames of the layers you are actually going to move) and not the layer mask. you can tell because the little white rectangle around the layer mask can no longer be seen.

now i can transform/adjust the contents of the cutout solely “within” the cutout, and i don’t have to worry about changing where the cutout is located in relation to the overall gif. when transforming, make sure all the frames of your gif are selected. like select the whole group and not just an individual layer, basically.

i’ve seen a lot of how to combine and cut out gifs tutorials on this website, and here is a really good one that i know sully also used <3 big shoutout to all the photoshop queens being inspired by each other!! however i haven’t seen anything that mentioned the linked vs. unlinked layer masks, which i really feel like deserves a shoutout. you don’t have to crop your gifs out perfectly every time, you can always adjust them later. for demonstration, i’ve positioned abaddon in a few different positions with an unlinked layer mask.

step 5: creating the outline

so in order to emphasize the shape of the cutout (the knight), i simply delete the white space surrounding the picture of the knight in the original silhouette that i used. magic wand tool + delete. you can also make a new layer, then paint bucket tool it. many ways to do the same thing.

now with only the knight on a transparent background, i double click the layer to pull up the effects. select outer glow. i used these settings:

when you are doing this, make sure you are on frame one of the frame animation and the “propagate frame one setting” is selected, otherwise you might end up only applying the effect to one out of your many frames, which blows.

then i go change the fill setting to 0%, BUT i leave opacity at 100%. fill is basically like opacity, but it doesn’t affect layer effects (whereas opacity does). so you basically get only the outline but not the black. you can also set the blending mode of the layer to screen and get the same effect, etc, etc. feel free to adjust however you see fit, in addition to the outer glow settings.

i move this layer over a couple pixels to give it the little offset effect, but you don’t have to.

step 6: adding the text

okay the two fonts i used are avenir and perla. i think a LOT of gifmakers use them because they’re really pretty.

i make TWO different text layers, one with avenir in a smaller size and one with perla in a bigger size. this is because for the perla one, i’m going to be changing the blending mode whereas i don’t want to be changing the blending mode for the smaller text. i position the text where i want it to be and make sure the perla font is in the color i like:

then i change the blending mode of the fancy text (perla) to difference. ONLY that layer, and again make sure to check “propagate frame 1″ and make changes on the first frame to apply the change to all of your frames.

but i still don’t think it produces enough of a difference. so i right click on the text layer for knights of hell, and then go to: select pixels.

then i click the curves adjustment layer. this will automatically make a curves layer with a layer mask that occludes everything BUT the area you selected. beautiful. i drag the curves around until i get enough of a difference that i like. normally i make the lights lighter and the darks darker. yeehaw.

again there are sooooo many different ways to achieve the same effect on photoshop. this is just want comes easiest to me, and it’s totally okay if you find a different way that works better for you at producing the contrast you want or the colors you want.

step 7: export and cry

NOW you can convert everything to a video timeline, put your video frame layers to smart objects, and then apply your finishing sharpening filters. export, cry, and hope tumblr compression doesn’t screw you over.

hopefully this was helpful! pls like... idk support my edits if you found this helpful or reblog this post. feel free to dm me about how u do some of the text effects as well bc i’m always trying to learn new things and i am by no means an expert on like. any of this.

aria please go write your fucking thesis before i delete this entire tutorial challenge. :D

#subtledean #THIS IS FOR YOU #I FEEL LIKE THIS TUTORIAL HAS MORE WORDS THAN UR THESIS ATM SO!!!#tutorials #mine #idk what to tag this but PLS pls pls feel free to talk to me abt ph*toshop #or ask for help or point me towards other tutorials <3 #shoutout to sully too its in there somewhere #resources #100n #ps

190 notes · View notes

writemymemoir · 5 years ago

Text

Stowaway Pt 2. (The Mandalorian x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: Meeting the pilot

A/N

I have more direction as to where this is going. Kinda excited.

T/W

Violence, and adult language

Part 1

Part 3

You awoke to the sound of silence. When you had fallen asleep, the scream of the wind outside was the only thing to be heard. Now, there was an eerie quietness. It was not completely silence, as the ship hummed, and beeps could be heard from what you assumed was the cockpit; not far from you.

You could only guess that you had left the planet. You were thankful but now came the hard part. Staying hidden. Unfortunately, due the nature of you coming aboard the ship, you did not know two of the three vital things about this ship. You knew how big the ship was, but you had no idea how many people were on it, or where it was going. For all you knew, the ship was crawling with unsavoury people that could easily throw you out the airlock.

Huffing, you shifted your position. Your legs were dead, your back ached, and your cut was screaming for attention. Shifting your legs out to stretch, you pulled up the sleeve of your parka to look at the cut. It was getting worse.

It was risky, but you had to find the ships med kit. You had no idea how long until the ship stopped again, and there was no way you would be dying in a dusty corner of a ship, with your blood poisoned from the cut.

Getting slowly up onto your feet, you pocked your head out of your hidey hole. Nothing was around you; the corridor was empty. You could see the flash of lights leading up a ladder.

The cockpit.

From your perch from the ground, you looked around to find anything that visibly looked like a med kit. You couldn’t see anything that resembled it.

For fucksake, you thought, Always gotta make it hard for me.

Slowly moving out of your crouch, you stood up. A little too quickly, causing block dots to dance across your vision. Righting yourself on the wall, you began to creep forward towards the cockpit, since behind you was the dead end of the ramp.

You passed a stand of lockers,

Med kit wouldn’t be in there, you thought, It’s not easy access enough. You scanned your eyes forward. Oh great, a carbon freezing chamber. It looked like he didn’t have any poor souls trapped in the carbonite, so it seemed you could work your magic on the controls.

Creeping towards the screen of the machine, you pulled a pin from your parka jacket and pulled the front screen off. Underneath was a bunch of cables. You had disabled a freezer before, so it was simple to pull a few wires here and there. Soon enough, the freezers light dimmed out, and you could breath a sigh of relief. No matter what happened, would wouldn’t be some popsicle in the back of a dusty ass ship.

Closing the front screen, you turned to asses the rest of the quarters. The ladder to the cockpit was on the left wall, followed closely by a vac tube. Next to that was what looked like sleeping quarters. Only big enough for one person.

Who needs privacy, when you’re the only one on the ship, you were feeling better, you could piece together the clues to asses that there should be little to no crew other than the pilot. You could tell by the design of the cockpit that the ship was only made for one pilot, so that led you to believe that this ship could only have one life form on it. You liked those odds.

Looking hopeful, by the looks of it, your suspicions where coming true.

So, for the benefit of the doubt, lets say that this ship has two crew members. Your odds were not increasing, but you at least had a decent chance of winning if you had to fight.

Creeping closer to the ladder, you peered into the sleeping quarters. It was cramped and had minimal personal items. None at all it seemed. Turning back to the ladder, you spotted a green cabinet hanging to the left.

Ah, you had found the med kit. Great, you thought, of course it has to be next to the ladder. You prayed that the pilot was fast asleep, or at least had hearing difficulties.

Walking toward the cabinet, you clicked the open button, the box swung to reveal a plethora of medical supplies. You felt like crying. The inside was organised into little drawers, each labelled with the names of what was in them. You quickly went to work and started loading your pockets with bandages, pain killers and disinfectant. Once you were satisfied with what you had collected, you closed the door, and began to prepare yourself to walking back to your hidey-hole.

That was until you heard the sounds of gurgling. Slowly looking up, you came eye to eye with a pair of big, round, black eyes at the top of the ladder. It was a toddler of some unknown species you had never seen, green and very short.

Oh fuck, you thought, things were going downhill fast. Giving the toddler a slight smile, you put a finger up against your mouth. This caused the toddler to giggle slightly, hairs stood up on the back of your arm, and you made the gesture again.

Shut the fuck up, you thought, pleading the little creature with your eyes.

Backing away, the toddler did not make any more noise, thankfully. It just watched you back up with its huge eyes. You made it quite a distance, passing the freezer. Until, suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed the toddler, lifting it away from your gaze. Your stomach plummeted; you made quick work of closing the distance to the lockers and jumping behind them. Covering your mouth, you tried to quiet your breathing. Your heart was racing.

Double fuck, you heard the sounds of someone coming down the ladder. You pressed yourself against the back of the locker. The footsteps were slow, but precise, whoever that was coming towards you seemed to not be stressed.

Creeping around the back of the lockers, you squeezed between the lockers and the wall. After reaching the other side, you peaked your head out, and saw the back of a heavily armed man. Helmet and all.

Looking back to the ladder, you saw the little green toddler watching you. Giving the little one and quick smile, you turned back to the man, quietly pulling out you staff, you prepared to take him down.

Coming fully out into the corridor, you faced the back of the man. Aiming, you swung full force against the side of the man’s helmet. The hit didn’t seem to faze him, pulling out his blaster at his side, he spun pointing at you. Ducking, you slid under his aim hit him square in the gut with the end of your staff. You pulled your staff around to knock him off his feet, but he was already moving. Hitting your staff out of your hands with his feet.

You both seemed to pause, looking up you saw his blaster pointed straight at your head. Smiling slightly, you raised your hands.

“Hi,” you said, drawing out the word.

The man stepped forward, not saying a word. You stepped back. He continued walking forward until he had you cornered into the freezer.

“Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?” He said, voice monotone and robotic due to his helmet and a tad bit due to his aesthesis you guessed. Smiling a slightly lopsided grin, you looked up from his blaster to his helmet.

“Was just looking for a way off that planet,” You said, “Was getting a bit too cold for my liking.”

He pointed to your face, no doubt still bloody from your fight at the cantina.

“I would guess it wasn’t just the cold,” His head tilted.

“Well, the cold, mostly. And pissing off a few people didn’t help the situation either,” you smiled your most trusting smile.

“I’m guessing there’s a bounty on your head, looks like your going to pay for you fare one way then,” reaching up he went to turn the freezer on. A beep sounded and silence filled the corridor. He pressed again, and still nothing happened.

His head turned from the screen to you. Acting on instinct, you dodged around his blaster to grab him by his throat. Pushing with all your strength, you pushed him to the ground. Landing on top of him, you started punching wherever you could. You needed your staff, looking up, you saw it out of reach nearby.

With you distracted, the man flipped you over, and pinned your hands up above your head. You were both unarmed. Gritting your teeth, you snarled as you bucked underneath him.

You managed to release one of your legs, kicking up, you lifted him slightly. Pulling, one of your hands came free. Looking up, you spotted your staff. It was closer now, just out of arms reach. The man above you looked up.

“You’re not going to reach it,” He said, not fazed by one of your arms out.

You kept reaching and he looked down at you.

“How did you find my ship?” you ignored his question and kept reaching for the staff. Huffing, he reached over you to push the staff away.

“I won’t ask again, how did you find my ship?” All your focus way on the staff on the ground. You felt a pounding through your ears, you felt the air around your hand. You felt something close to a wave of energy shoot out of your hand towards the staff. One second the staff was out of reach, the next it was in your hand.

The mans head shot up, but before any one of you could react to the situation, you blacked out.

______________________________________________

You awoke, greeted by the same low hum of the moving ship. This time however, instead of your arms and legs being cramped due to the quarters you found yourself in, your arms and legs were shackled together. Your face felt hot, and your head spun, even though you had not moved.

You were seated behind the pilot’s chair in the cockpit. You groaned, lifting your head. You were met by the little green toddler. Its eyes staring right into yours. You heard shuffling, and the words that resembled ‘Get away from there’ before the toddler was lifted away. You couldn’t think properly, your nose felt stuffed and your arm screamed. Something dripped down your arm, most likely blood, meaning you hadn’t been out for that long.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the man looking at you. He still had his helmet on, he also had the little green thing on his knee.

“Who are you?” he asked, you groaned again. Your head was pounding, you had never felt this way before, ever.

Blood continued dripping down your arm. Your breath was raspy. Whatever you had done fighting the man before you had major consequences to your health. It felt as if your arm was about to fall off.

Your throat screamed for water, and blood dripped from your nose as well.

You looked up to the man, no doubt your face was horrifying.

“I need help,” was all you could say before your head dropped and you blacked out again.

#the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #star wars #the mandalorian #baby yoda

150 notes · View notes

marvelmando · 5 years ago

Text

tempest [p.parker x o.c.] - six

notes: this is my longest chapter yet. when i was initially writing this, i intended this story to be uploaded to wattpad, so most of my chapters ended up being around 3-4k words, but this obviously takes the cake.

don’t forget, if you’d like to be added to the taglist, shoot me an ask or message, or reply to this chapter!

contains: canon-typical violence, mention of dead parents, angst

pairing: peter parker + fem! o.c.

word count: 5.8k

previous chapter next chapter tempest masterlist

THAT NEXT MONDAY, MIDTOWN TECH WAS BUZZING WITH SPIDER-SPIRIT. Everyone was whispering about the events in Washington—whether it was about the Decathlon team taking the championship or Spider-Man saving the day. Some students even wore t-shirts and buttons with the Spider-Man insignia on them. Where they'd found such merchandise was completely lost on Marin.

Peter was not expelled, much to Flash's dismay, but a genius decision to try and skip school did land him in after-school detention. And Marin, with nothing better to do, joined him in his misery. It appeared that Michelle had a similar idea, choosing to sit in on the punishment and sketch the designated supervisor, who looked absolutely bored out of his mind as he surfed the internet on the computer.

"So," Captain America said on an old box TV, sitting down on a back-facing chair. "You got detention. You screwed up." Glancing up from her own drawing, Marin saw Peter sigh heavily and clench his jaw in frustration. Captain America was still lecturing, and Marin abandoned her drawing as she noticed Peter's patience deteriorate.

Suddenly, Peter stood from his desk and snatched his backpack forcibly. As he marched out of the classroom, the coach called out indifferently, "Hey, where you going? Get back here," without moving a muscle.

Marin followed to scramble out of her seat, giving her goodbyes to Michelle and the coach.

"Pete!" She jogged after him. He stopped at a row of lockers and crouched to the ground.

Then he picked the lockers like a garage door, grabbing something from the hidden compartment underneath. "I've got an idea, Mare." He told her, and she flushed at the nickname. Besides 'Rain', no one had ever cared enough to give her one. It sent flutters through her stomach, and she didn't know how to process that reaction. But she didn't have the time to, because Peter was thrusting out a glass bottle at her. She took it, reading the label taped on, 'Web Fluid'.

"Okay..." she trailed off, clutching the vial of web fluid. "What's the plan?"

+++

Peter finished catching her up as they traveled back to the apartment. He'd explained that in D.C. when he’d hacked into the suit, he'd also disabled a subsystem called "the Training Wheels Protocol". This was what he'd told her the night they returned to Queens, but now he told her that Karen—the feminine voice that belonged to the suit's AI—might be able to help him identify the dealers from the night of Liz's party.

May had left a note saying she'd gone out for the afternoon, so they didn't have to worry about her overhearing their scheming. In the safety of his room, Peter pulled on his mask. "Hey, Karen, what's up?"

Marin assumed that Karen was speaking to Peter from an earpiece inside the suit, because she didn't hear a response before Peter answered, "Listen, I was wondering if you could help me. I'm trying to figure out who the guys under the bridge were that night, but I mean, I can only kind of remember part of a license plate."

A pause as Karen responded. "Footage?" Peter asked.

"Everything?"

"Like, all the time?"

Peter threw his hands up, tossing his pen. "Baby Monitor Protocol," he muttered grumpily under his breath, causing Marin to giggle. "Yeah, of course, it is. Um, yeah, just roll it back to last Friday."

"No, no, no—no, no, no. This is me just messing around. Go... later in the day, later in the day." He said flippantly. "No, no, no, no, no! That's definitely... no. That's definitely not what we wanted to watch. Just..." he waved his hand frantically, and Marin wondered what he was shown to make him sound so embarrassed.

"Fast-forward to the arms deal." Peter stood from his chair to pace the room. "Okay, the two on the right, who are they?" He put his hands on his hips. "Nothing?"

Another pause. "Well, let's pay him a visit." He stepped toward his bed, where Marin sat next to the rest of his suit. "Uh, yeah."

Taking off his mask, Peter filled Marin in. "We've got an identification on the buyer, we're gonna go track him down."

Just as Marin was about to acquiesce, the front door clicked open. "I'm home!" May announced, followed by the rustling sounds of paper grocery bags. "I found this really awesome eggplant lasagna recipe I want to try!"

Peter looked to Marin, who grimaced. "Maybe tomorrow?"

Marin shrugged, then grinned. "Tomorrow it is."

+++

"Shouldn't we tell Ned about this Aaron guy?" Marin had asked the night before as they munched on their delivered Thai food.

Peter had only shaken his head. "Nah, he'll just say he has school stuff to do."

Oh, yeah. And they'd skipped school to follow the buyer, too. Marin and Spider-Man approached the parking garage where the suit's drone followed Aaron Davis out of the local grocery store.

Peter crawled onto the roof and Marin casually walked along the concrete walls. Keeping her presence hidden wasn't much of a concern—her identity wouldn't be compromised as long as she refrained from using her powers in front of anyone. The garage was practically empty except for a few parked cars, and a man in a white shirt approaching his own vehicle. As he went to pack away his grocery bags, Spider-Man leaped down from the ceiling, webbing the buyer's hand to the open trunk. Aaron Davis winced as the spider drone scanned him with a flash of red light, presumably to confirm that it was, in fact, the right criminal.

"Remember me?" Spider-Man startled Marin with the rumbling timbre of his technologically-altered voice. Spider-Man walked towards Aaron with large, fast steps, and the man became visibly frightened by the approaching figure.

"We need information, and you're gonna give it to us now." Spider-Man's metallic voice demanded. Marin stepped out away from the wall with her arms crossed as she stared down Aaron.

Aaron Davis looked nervously between Marin and Spider-Man. "All right, chill," he stuttered.

"Come on!"

Aaron faltered, narrowing his eyes at the masked hero. "What happened to your voice?"

"What do you mean, what happened to my voice?"

"I heard you by the bridge, I know what a girl sounds like." Aaron answered, causing Marin to snicker lightly beside him.

"I'm not a girl, I'm a boy!" Spider-Man corrected. "I mean, I'm a—I'm a man!"

Aaron shook his head, resuming loading his trunk with groceries. "I don't care what you are, a boy, a girl..."

"I'm not a girl, I'm a man!" Peter insisted angrily. "C'mon, man. Look, who is selling these weapons? I need to know! Give me names, or else!"

Aaron stared at Spider-Man, and suddenly slammed the trunk shut, startling Peter. Marin shook her head at his jittery reaction.

"You ain't ever done this before, huh?" Aaron asked, then turned to Marin. "What 'bout your girl? You ever done this?"

"Not his girl," Marin corrected, nonchalantly, taking a menacing step forward until she was a couple feet from the criminal. "But you will give us those names, Aaron Davis." His eyes widened a tiny bit, realizing that they knew his name. Marin tilted her head mockingly, tapping her chin. "Or, I'm sure the police would love to hear all about yours..."

Aaron stared Marin in the eye, the only sign of the effect the threat had on him was the visible gulp and the slight sheen growing on his brow. Still, he hesitated.

Marin didn't break the stare or her determination, but Spider-Man sighed, impatient. "Deactivate Interrogation Mode," he muttered to Karen, the drone flying to reattach itself to his chest. "Look, man," Spider-Man pleaded, his voice back to normal. Aaron's eyes followed Marin as she walked around the car to stop at Peter's side. "These guys are selling weapons that are crazy dangerous. They can't just be out on the streets. Look, if one of them can just cut Delmar's bodega in half—"

The mention of Delmar's was what ripped Aaron's gaze from Marin. "You know Delmar's?"

"Yeah, best sandwich in Queens."

"Sub Haven's pretty good."

"Eh, it's too much bread."

"I like bread."

"C'mon man, please."

Aaron went silent, looking off into the middle distance with his brows creased. Peter was taking it as a sign that Aaron wasn't going to budge and began to walk away, grumbling to Karen, "Stupid Interrogation Mode. Karen, don't ever do that again." Marin watched Spider-Man retreat, baffled.

"The other night," Aaron addressed Marin, causing Spider-Man to stop and turn around. "You told that dude 'if you shoot somebody, shoot me'." Marin nodded affirmatively, tilting her chin up and folding her arms across her chest. "It's pretty ballsy, especially for an unarmed little girl. I don't want those weapons in this neighborhood, I got a nephew who live here."

Marin took a heated step forward, ready to attest to the 'little girl' comment, but Spider-Man walked up to the car and spoke first. "Who are these guys? What can you tell us about the guy with the wings?"

"Other than he's a psychopath dressed like a demon, nothing. I don't know who he is or where he is."

Peter sighed, turning to lean his back against Aaron's car, tilting his head back to rest it on the roof. Marin looked at his unprofessional behavior with slight disdain—she may have been a terrible X-Man, but at least she knew how to compose herself during an interrogation.

Aaron shifted his gaze back at Marin. "I do know where he's gonna be."

This piqued Spider-Man's interest. "Really?"

"Yeah, this crazy dude I used to work with, he's supposed to be doing a deal with them."

"Yes! Yes." Spider-Man giggled delightfully to himself, and began to walk away, but turned while walking backward, "Thank—"

"Spider-Man, we still—"

"Hey, hey. Hey, hey! I didn't tell you where; you don't have a location." Aaron pointed out.

Spider-Man jogged back. "Right, of course. Yeah, my bad. Silly. Just... yeah." he leaned on the roof of the car eagerly. "Where is it?"

"Can I give you some advice?"

"Hmm?" Peter tilted his head.

"Your girl needs to show you how to be better at this part of the job." Aaron gestured around them as if referring to the interrogation as a whole.

"Not his girl." Marin corrected again, but it went unnoticed. "And for the record, I'm fifteen!"

"I don't understand," Spider-Man said, folding his arms across his chest and narrowing his bionic eyes. "I'm intimidating."

"You're really not." Marin shook her head.

Aaron nodded in agreement. "Staten Island ferry, eleven."

"Oh, that's soon!" Peter exhaled. Pointing at Aaron's webbed hand, he began to walk away. "Hey, that's gonna dissolve in two hours."

Aaron shook his head furiously. "No, no, no, no. Come fix this."

"Two hours—you deserve that!"

"I got ice cream in here!"

"You deserve that, you're a criminal! Bye, Mr. Criminal!"

Aaron looked hopefully at Marin, who shrugged unhelpfully, and hurried after Spider-Man.

Climbing onto Peter's back was much less awkward this time around. They arrived at the Staten Island ferry terminal just as a missive orange ferry pulled out of the dock. "Hang on tight!" Peter warned her before taking a running leap and spreading his arms, revealing the glider wings attached to the underarms of his suit. They flew through the air, and Marin was surprised at the amount of control Spider-Man still had, even with another body attached to his.

Landing and clinging onto the hull of the ferry, Spider-Man crawled up to take a peek through one of the Saloon deck's windows. He located one of the dealers sitting at a bench, and said, "Okay, Karen, activate Enhanced Reconnaissance Mode."

Marin watched over his shoulder as the dealer and a man seated behind him conversed, assuming that Peter was able to listen in. Eventually, he whispered, "It's the guy from the bridge, right? Who's that other guy?" A brief pause passed. "I can't talk right now; I'll call her back." Marin furrowed her eyebrows. Sensing her confusion, Peter informed, "May. Hey dronie, keep an eye on that guy. We can't let anybody get away this time."

With the dealers on the move, Peter advanced up the side of the ferry, swinging them up onto the Hurricane deck, then onto the roof of the Bridge deck. Marin climbed off, and Peter filled her in on their short conversation. They carefully approached the edge of the roof and counted four men standing idly around on the platform of the Main deck.

"Who's the guy on the left?" Peter asked Karen, referring to the man leaned casually against an orange support beam. Peter waited for her to respond so he could relay the information to Marin. "No, Karen, stop it with the Instant Kill already!" Then, to Marin, he said, "That one's Mac Gargan."

Marin raised her eyebrows at him, but he didn't seem to notice. Even Marin could hear as the dealer from earlier approached Mac Gargan and said to him boldly, "White pickup truck."

"Dronie, scan the ship for a white pickup truck." He instructed. "Oh, this is too perfect. We got the weapons, buyers, and sellers all in one place."

Peter was suddenly startled into action. "No, no, no. No, no, don't answer!" He pressed against his ear frantically. "Uh—uh, I'm actually at school? Ah—okay," Peter sounded in pain. "Uh, I'm kind of in the middle of something right now, Mr. Stark?" He emphasized to Marin; whose eyes widened.

Suddenly, the ferry horn sounded, and Peter panicked. "Uh, I'm at... band... practice?" Marin glanced down at the dealers, as one of them was handing Gargan a set of keys, a set that Marin assumed belonged to the white pickup. "I gotta go—uh, end call! I'll take those!" Spider-Man reached out and snagged the keys with a web. "Yoink!" He said and hopped onto the Main deck.

Marin scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Really?" She dangled from the Hurricane deck, landing on the Bridge deck. "Who says 'yoink', anymore?"

After judging the distance from the Bridge deck down to the Main deck, Marin leaped through to catch herself on the railing of the Saloon deck's balcony, before vaulting onto the Main deck, where Spider-Man had just slammed Mac Gargan into the hull of the ferry. In front of her, the dealer from the night of Liz's party charged at Spider-Man, but he easily dodged him.

The dealer stumbled, the fancy electric weaponry attached to his fist getting caught in a barrier gate, where Spider-Man stuck it with a sheet of web fluid. The weapon looked like an over-sized Taser gun. In her head, she called the dealer Blue Guy, if only for the color of the electricity crackling within the device on his wrist.

As she was going to help Peter, Marin's feet were yanked out from underneath her. Hitting the floor, Marin twisted in her attacker's grasp and kicked her leg up and out of his grip, sending it forcefully into the sensitive apex between his thighs. She scrambled for purchase, finding Spider-Man unbothered as he watched the trapped Blue Guy struggle against the webs, and was replacing a vial of web fluid in his wrist shooters. From under the cargo hold, a man charged at the teens, but Spider-Man calmly launched a web grenade at him, trapping him to the wall. Marin nodded at Peter, who returned the gesture.

A banging coming from the same direction caught Marin and Peter's attention. They both turned to see a man bashing in someone's head against a white van. The man then caught sight of the teens and stared them down with a growing smirk. They were about to run after him when a voice stopped them in their tracks. "Freeze, FBI!"

At least a dozen agents dressed in civilian clothing emerged from every entrance, all with weapons drawn and aimed at Marin and Spider-Man, who whipped their hands up simultaneously.

"Wait, what do you mean 'FBI'?!" Peter exclaimed. "I know what FBI means, but what are they doing here?!"

The sound of metal bursting caused everyone's attention to shift to the cargo hold, where a ginormous set of metal wings erupted from inside the white van. It was a man, wearing a mask with glowing green eyes and carrying a blaster in his hands—and he was flying straight toward them.

"Get out of the way, get out of the way!" Marin screamed at the FBI agents who began shooting at the approaching figure, but they didn't stop. The winged Vulture-looking guy shot a blast from his gun, the shot barely missed the top of her head as it flew into a gate behind her. As the Vulture guy got even closer, he grabbed a car with the mechanical talons attached to his feet, chucking it at Peter, Marin, and the agents.

Marin tackled into the side of the agent, moving him out of the car's trajectory—but the car hit Peter instead, sending him flying back into a support beam. Hovering above the ferry, the Vulture fired another energy blast at Blue Guy's arm, successfully disintegrating the web that attached him to the fence.

"Get to the top deck; we're getting out of here!" The Vulture instructed his goon, while Spider-Man and Marin corralled the agents to safety.

Before he could disappear, Peter tried shooting a web at the Blue Guy, but the Vulture only fired again, disconnecting the web. As the Vulture was distracted with Spider-Man and the persistent agents that had returned to fight him, Marin sprinted off after the Blue Guy. She followed him through the sliding doors. Noticing her with a quick glance behind him, the Blue Guy picked up his pace as he took the stairs three steps at a time.

Reaching the Saloon deck, Marin was grateful that the front of the deck wasn't heavily populated, and the few stragglers scampered to the stern side of the ferry once they caught sight of the Blue Guy, and Marin chasing close behind. The dealer was trying to make it to the staircase in the center front of the ferry, but Marin was too quick for him, and grabbed the back of his outer jean jacket, using all of her strength to hold him back. She used the momentum to shove her foot into the back of his left knee, causing it to buckle.

Marin had lifted her elbow, intending to jab it into the suprascapular nerve in his right shoulder (where she knew hitting the pressure point would incapacitate him enough to gain leverage), but he twisted to his left, away from her elbow, and sent the electrified weapon on his right hand into her gut.

The impact of metal against her flesh hurt more than the electricity did—bruising her abdomen and hipbone as she fell back on her ass. The distraction gave the Blue Guy the chance to escape up the steps, and Marin recovered as fast as she could, sprinting up the stairs, just as a blast of energy exploded through the front of the Saloon Deck.

She took the stairs three at a time, tackling the Blue Guy just as he was stepping out of the threshold. The two rolled on the ground, each trying to gain dominance over the other. Though Marin thrashed about, the dealer was stronger, and he quickly pinned her hands above her head with his bare left hand, using his right to crash into Marin's jaw.

Though the pain radiating from her chin caused her eyes to tear up, she noticed that the Blue Guy paused briefly, most likely out of disbelief to see that the electricity didn't harm her. Marin used his hesitation to her advantage—yanking one arm from his grasp, which had loosened in his shock (she laughed to herself), and slammed it into his crotch.

The damage wasn't as detrimental as she'd hoped, but he was debilitated enough for her to squirm out from under him. They both recovered at the same time, dancing around each other as if to size up their opponent. The Blue Guy threw out the decorated right fist, but the weight of the weaponry slowed the swing down enough for Marin to dodge it easily, ducking to the side and sending an uppercut into his exposed chest. He hunched slightly as the air was knocked out of him, so Marin took it further. Stepping so her body was just beyond his, she elbowed his sciatic nerve with as much strength as she could gather, sending him sprawling forward.

She whirled around to block him from the stairs leading to the Bridge deck, watching as he scrambled to his feet. Marin crouched in a defensive position, huffing away a piece of her bangs that had dropped into her line of sight.

Marin was moving to attack again, but a groan that rivaled the ferry's horn sounded from somewhere on the vessel. The ship jolted, throwing all of its passengers off balance, and giving the Blue Guy the leverage to knock a particularly strong blow to Marin's head.

Marin fell to the ground, landing hard on her left wrist as a pained cry fell from her lips. She hardly noticed the dealer getting away, too preoccupied with the beams of purple light shooting up from the floor, bisecting the ship down the middle.

The ferry was filled with the sounds of shrieking adults and wailing children, and Marin hurried to her feet, pushing passengers away from the center of the ferry.

With a burst of radiating energy, the purple light exploded, leaving a glowing line of blackened metal down the entire length of the ferry—floor, ceiling, and benches all included. Now curious, people cautiously moved towards the line but were jostled back to their places clinging to the edges of the ship as it gave one final lurch, and the halves of the ferry began splitting down the glowing line.

"Shit!" Marin yelped, leaping to snag a woman who got too close to the middle and was beginning to lose her balance. Screams erupted once more, as Marin yelled to them, "Stay calm! Stick to the edges and grab onto the railings!"

Twirling to face the bow, Marin glimpsed Spider-Man readying for action. He was screaming instructions to Karen, telling her to find the strongest points of the ferry. As he moved to attach webs to pillars down the split section of the ship, he yelled to Marin as he passed, "You need to keep the water out of the ship!"

Nodding frantically, Marin hopped down the split center, catching herself above the water flowing rapidly into the cargo hold, sending vehicles floating down the deck. She rushed to the middle of the ferry so she had even control over the water. Perched on a shelf of water hovering around the Saloon deck, she ignored the frightened stares of the passengers and thrust out her hands.

After realizing that they'd be fighting on a ferry, surrounded by nothing but water, Marin was ecstatic that if it came to using her powers, she might actually stand a chance. But she didn't anticipate the ferry would start sinking into the bay, and the thought of keeping thousands of tons of metal afloat was suddenly incredibly daunting.

Somewhere above her, Spider-Man was flipping around the ship, keeping it held together with strings of spider-web, and Marin trembled violently with the amount of exertion needed to keep the water from rising above the Saloon Deck. If she thought cushioning Peter's fall into the lake was hard, this was nearly impossible.

At the sound of Peter yelling orders to Karen, Marin squeezed her eyes shut, focusing only on the water; she visualized the power flowing through her veins like the water flowing from the bottom of the ferry. A calm moment passed, when Peter had finished attaching his webs and the ship was no longer falling apart. Though Marin struggled with the amount of water she was keeping out of the ferry's cargo hold, she carried through the moment of stasis and opened her eyes carefully.

"Yeah, Spider-Man!" A man cheered from somewhere on the ship. "And weird water-girl!"

Marin smiled brightly despite herself. She heard some clapping follow his cheer.

But then the webs started snapping, and Marin felt a new, intense rush of water push against her control. Spider-Man rushed to grab the snapped webs, and Marin tried desperately to block out the screams. She closed her eyes at the sight of Peter dangling in the air in front of her, falling to her knees as the water pulled her down towards it like gravity. She felt it calling to her, and Marin barely managed not to completely collapse as her hold on the water wavered.

Suddenly, the water released her hold slowly, and she popped her eyes open. The water level was beginning to slowly level out, as one half of the ferry drew upright. The floor of the Saloon deck pushed together underneath her, and Peter was lowered to the floor as well. Marin released the water with a gush, her body immediately sagging to the ground. Peter ran over to her, helping her to her feet.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she assured him, settling on shaky legs. They both looked around, trying to figure out what had saved them. A singularly intense bang caught their attention.

Outside one of the windows, Iron Man lifted his head up. "Hi, Spider-Man," he greeted with sarcastic cheerfulness, then outright sneered, "And Rain."

Marin felt the blood rush from her face. Her eyes widened, she inhaled sharply and clenching her jaw. He knew.

"'Rain'?" Peter looked at Marin. "Who's that? Who the hell is 'Rain'?"

Iron Man ignored Peter's confusion. "Band practice, was it?" A series of smaller clanks echoed around the perimeter of the ferry, and Iron Man pushed, as did whatever devices he'd attached, and the halves of the ship closed together.

"Yeah, Iron Man!" Clapped the same man from before, and Marin's stomach twisted as her chest constricted.

Once the halves reunited, Iron Man flew off, Spider-Man leaping off to try and help. Distantly, Marin heard the whir of metal being welded back together, but the rush of blood in her ears overwhelmed her. Her body ached, her vision was blurring, and her mind raced at the realization that Tony Stark knew who—and what—she was.

She was completely, utterly, absolutely screwed.

+++

By the time the Coast Guard had brought everyone to safety, and Iron Man had carried Marin and Peter to the mainland before flying off to continue helping them move the ferry, the sun was beginning to set over the Manhattan skyline.

Contrary to the beautiful pinkish-orange glow set against fluffy white clouds, Marin's stomach tangled and gnawed with nerves. She paced the walkway while Peter sat dejectedly on the concrete edge of a building lining the coast of Brooklyn Heights, waiting for Iron Man to return and reprimand them. Peter had tried to ask her about Mr. Stark calling her 'Rain', but Marin only shook her head lowly, tears filling her eyes and cramps tearing at her insides.

Eventually, Iron Man flew up to where they waited, hovering as they turned to face him. "Previously, on Marin and Peter screw the pooch; I tell you two to stay away from this. Instead, you hacked a multimillion-dollar suit so you could sneak around behind my back, doing the one thing I told you not to do."

Peter only seemed concerned, even though his voice trembled with disappointment. "Is everyone okay?"

"No thanks to you two." Tony denigrated.

Peter visibly bristled, and Marin narrowed her eyes defensively.

"No thanks to us?" Marin couldn't help but challenge, despite knowing that antagonizing Tony Stark was probably the worst idea at the moment. But Marin never said she was good at controlling her emotions.

Peter roughly hopped down from the ledge, looking offended. "Those weapons were out there, and I tried to tell you about it, but you didn't listen." He testified, growing agitated. He stepped toward Iron Man, whose suit was descending onto the walkway ahead of them. "None of this would've happened if you had just listened to me!" Peter cried, then laughed humorously. "If you even cared, you'd actually be here."

At his words, the front of Iron Man's suit opened up, panels turning outwards to reveal Tony Stark in the flesh, looking both livid and pained. Peter took a few startled steps back, almost bumping into Marin. Mr. Stark continued to advance on them, walking them back a few feet as he sniffed, almost out of habit.

"I did listen, kid." Mr. Stark attested, his face revealing nothing, but his tone was defensive. Betrayed, almost, that his mentee didn't have trust in him. "Who do you think called the FBI, huh? Do you know that I was the only one who believed in you? Everyone else said I was crazy to recruit a fourteen-year-old kid."

"I'm fifteen." Peter defended weakly.

"No—this is where you zip it, all right? The adult is talking." Mr. Stark snapped, his composure crumbling under the heavy weight of his frustration. "What if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right? Cause that's on you. And if you died... I feel like that's on me. I don't need that on my conscience."

"Yes, sir." Peter relented, looking desperate as he nodded. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Sorry doesn't cut it."

"I understand," Peter pleaded. "I just wanted to be like you."

"And I wanted you to be better." For a fraction of a second, as Mr. Stark looked at the ground, he looked as if he was going to break. But it disappeared as fast as it had shown up, and Tony Stark looked like he was completely indifferent. "Okay, it's not working out. I'm going to need the suit back."

Peter's face hardened. "For how long?"

"Forever." Mr. Stark responded flatly. Peter tried to plead with him, but the billionaire didn't want to hear it. "Yeah. Yeah, that's not how this works."

"You don't understand—please," Peter begged, his eyes growing glassy. "This is all I have. I'm nothing without this suit."

"If you're nothing without this suit, then you shouldn't have it. Okay?" Mr. Stark snipped, rubbing his left wrist, then sighed. "God, I sound like my dad."

"I—I don't have any other clothes." Peter stuttered.

"We can work that out." Tony Stark nodded, then after a moment, his gaze slid to Marin, who was standing behind Peter. Marin's face went white and her pulse picked up. "And you. Did you seriously think I wouldn't figure out where you really came from?"

Peter's eyes flickered between Marin and Mr. Stark. "Marin, what's he talking about?"

"Mr. Stark, please—" Marin whimpered, tears filling her eyes. Tony stepped around Peter, approaching her leisurely as if he didn't have a look of hatred crossing his face. Marin took frantic steps backward as if she could back away from the reality of her past catching up to her.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find out who you are?" Tony Stark's eyes burned with something sickeningly close to disgust, and Marin's heart cracked viciously in her chest. He straightened his back. "Well, I'm sure you'll be pleased to learn that I've contacted Charles and arranged for someone to come and retrieve you."

"What the hell is going on?!" Peter demanded, voice hardened and his eyes beseeching.

"Your friend Marin, here," Tony started, and Marin's eyes snapped opened impossibly wide as she shook her head incessantly at him—begging him to stop. "Is a mutant."

A gush of air left Peter like it was punched out of him. "What? That's ridiculous, Marin's not—"

"Oh, but she is." Tony insisted, looking Marin in the eyes aggressively.

Peter looked at Marin. "Is—is he telling the truth?"

"Peter, please—"

"Is he telling the truth?!" Peter yelled at her, causing her to flinch. She'd never seen him angry like this—not the night they met, or the night she ran away, or the night he abandoned the Decathlon team to track down the dealers. It terrified her. "Are you a mutant?!"

"Y-Yes, but—" Marin moved to take a step towards Peter, but her heart positively shattered to see him back away quickly, like her touch was infectious. Her outstretched hand snapped back as she cradled it against her chest.

"She ran away from the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning twelve days ago." Tony told Peter while not moving his gaze off of Marin.

"You told me they kicked you out," Peter breathed, tears dropping down his cheeks.

"They kicked her out of the X-Men program five months ago, after years of repeated disobedience and disrespectful behavior. The last straw was the night she went against orders and abandoned her team to go stop a bank robbery—the night she met you." How did he know so damn much? Tears flowed steadily down her face. "I did some research, Marin, into your name—your parents."

Marin didn't know it was possible for her face to grow so pale, but she was getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen. She clutched the concrete like a lifeline as she clenched her eyes shut while Tony continued his excoriation.

"Nine years ago, Marin was found in her destroyed home, both of her parents had died, but Marin was miraculously untouched by the destruction." Tony towered over her, as Marin wrapped her arms around herself. "I didn't understand it, until yesterday, when I received a call from a Charles Xavier, who was more than happy to fill me in.

"You see, Marin has been developing these new powers, and I was warned that she was unstable and extremely dangerous. After all, it was those same powers that had killed her parents."

"No..." Marin choked. Her breath was escaping her; she was hyperventilating. She risked a glance at Peter, who was looking at her with wide, horrified eyes. "No, you don't understand..."

She tried to beg, tried to explain, tried to say something but her throat was so dry and the watery words that she tried to expel got caught, and she choked on them.

Tony stepped between her and Peter, shielding him like he needed to protect the boy from her. Her friend. "You're going to go back to the Institute, you're going to forget about everything that's happened, and you're going to leave Peter the hell alone." Tony hissed at her. "Am I clear?"

Marin still couldn't speak, so she nodded shakily. No one said another word as Tony climbed back into the Iron Man suit, and scooped Peter up, who avoided her gaze like the plague as he tugged his mask on hastily.

"Someone will be here for you shortly." Was the last thing Tony Stark said to her, before flying off with Peter.

Once they were out of sight, Marin collapsed to her knees and began to cry.

taglist

@dark-night-sky-99 @pushmeinablackhole @demi-starzak @-thatgirloverthere- @silver-winter-wolf

24 notes · View notes

tlbodine · 6 years ago

Text

Writing Disabled Characters

Okay. So. I am unwisely wading into this because I’ve seen way too much about this on my dash this week, and I feel like there are some really good points being made but also a lot of people getting angry and talking past each other.

In case you’ve missed the debate up to this point, it goes something like this:

Person A: I wish there were more representation of disability in fiction.

Person B: It just isn’t realistic, though. How is a disabled person going to do all of the cool stuff a story character is supposed to do?

Person A: Actually it isn’t that hard. You can do this and this and this. Also what about This Piece of Popular Media Already Featuring a Disabled Protagonist?

Person B: But that media doesn’t count because that person Isn’t Really Disabled and also wtf why do I have to write disabled characters into everything? Why does every story suddenly have to have all this representation shoe-horned in there?! WHY CAN’T I JUST TELL A STORY?!?!?!

Person A: *now visibly angry* Just admit you’re being ableist.

Person B: You’re not even answering my question so obviously you’re just being a jerk right now and hiding behind labels

*cat-fight snarling and cartoon dust cloud ensues*

Okay y’all. We’re done. We’re finished. All of you go to your corners and calm the fuck down.

Let’s take a deep goddamn breath and talk about disability* in fiction. Buckle in, because this is a long one.

*(Note: I think all of this also probably applies, in one way or another, to any other type of representation, be it racial or sexual or whatever, but right this second I’m gonna be focusing on disability because I want a can of worms not a dumptruck of worms)

Nobody is saying that your story has to have a disabled character in it (and if someone actually is saying that, they’re being kind of a dick).

There is no Representation Police that will show up at your doorstep and pound on your door and confiscate your laptop if you are not hitting the appropriate quota of disabled characters in your fiction. If you don’t want to tell a story with a disabled character in it, that is your prerogative, and literally no one is going to hold a gun to your head and force you to do it.

However, you gotta accept some responsibility that you are choosing not to write a disabled character. Because there is nothing stopping you from including one, aside from your own decision not to do so.

And maybe you should take a step back and ask yourself why you are making the decision not to write a disabled character.

Do you think it would just be physically impossible for a person with a disability to do all of the things you need your character to do? You might be right! On the other hand, someone with no legs reached the summit of Mt. Everest, an athlete with a wooden leg won 6 Olympic medals in 1904, and a man with cerebral palsy traveled across 20 European countries in a motorized wheelchair.

Just for starters.

No, not all disabled people are going to be capable of amazing feats of whatever, and no, disabled people don’t exist to provide inspiration porn etc. etc., there’s stuff to unpack here, but my point is that physical disability does not immediately preclude a character from being able to do cool and heroic shit. So if that’s your justification for not writing a disabled character into your story, maybe you just need to do a bit more research because you don’t realize what’s actually possible.

Have you never seen a disabled character in media and you’re afraid it would be too fucking weird or niche or only appeal to the SJW-type subset and not have mass commercial appeal?

You know what? I actually sympathize. I totally get that concern. You don’t want to look like you’re pandering. You’re just here to tell a good story, you don’t want to have to shoe-horn in a character just because somebody told you that not putting them in was ableist.

But like. There are already highly successful, commercial, mainstream pieces of media with disabled characters in them.

Professor X. Bucky Barnes. Edward Elric. Matt Murdock. Bran Stark. Gregory House. Toothless (and Hiccup by the end). Just to name a couple off the top of my head.

And you know, their representation isn’t always perfect and ideal (it always bothered me that Daredevil’s blindness is often conveniently ignored for example) but it’s already there. In wildly successful pieces of media. The presence of a disabled character does not automatically make your story less commercially viable.

Would making your character disabled mess up the story you’re trying to tell in some way?

Be honest with yourself. Would it really? Why?

Maybe you’re absolutely right! Maybe you’re trying to tell a story about a very specific thing, and introducing extra variables into it would detract from that story. And you know what? That’s totally fine. It is absolutely fine to write your story however the fuck you want to write it.

But if you don’t want to write it because:

It seems unrealistic

It seems too logistically difficult

“People like that wouldn’t exist in this setting”

It literally never occurred to you and now you’re embarrassed and defensive about it

You are vaguely viscerally uncomfortable at the idea for a reason you can’t explain

Then, well. Maybe you have some internalized ableism and you need to tend to that. Or maybe you just haven’t thought past the surface, and you should take some time to figure out why you forgot that disabled people exist. Or maybe you’re being intellectually lazy. And maybe all of those reasons are why disabled people are angry at you, and maybe taking a second to (shudder) check your privilege and see where they’re coming from is more important than rushing to defend your own wounded ego.

Because, I feel like I need to reiterate: Nobody is forcing you to write stories in any particular way - which means that everything in your story is part of your own conscious or unconscious decision-making, and you need to own that and accept responsibility for it one way or another.

And you know what?

You in the back! You over there with your disabled characters! You, who is at this very moment inching your mouse cursor over the reblog button with the intention of smugly pointing out that your book is full of disabled characters, and you always care about representation. Good for you! Also, I do not care. Until you also tell me what the book is about, and why this character is interesting, and your writing is solid -- I do not give even the single tiniest of fucks.

Because writing diverse media isn’t enough to make it good.

Diversity is not a sole goddamn selling point for a story.

And if the only thing you can tell me about your story is how much representation is in it, I have no way of knowing whether or not it’s any good or whether I’ll enjoy it, so you don’t get to claim any kudos points.

You gotta ask yourself the same question as hypothetical Mr. “That’s Just Not Realistic” McGee over there:

Am I writing this just to get brownie points with someone?

Am I writing this to target a specific niche (ie, a disability-focused magazine)?

Am I writing this to feel morally superior?

Am I writing this because I’m disabled and I want to tell a story about someone like me?

Am I writing this because I want to understand disability better?

Am I writing this because I want to explore some or another topic or theme or trope and it seemed interesting?

Am I writing this because it would work with my setting so why the hell not?

I don’t care what the answer is, but you should. Art demands intellectual honesty. Know your motives and fucking own them. If you’re writing something in a particular way so that it will get reblogged by a particular person? Just admit that. If you’re writing something in a particular way because it’s your experience and you want to write a goddamn story about it? Say that!

But don’t let yourself get caught in the trap of believing you’re morally superior to somebody else because you’re Doing This One Thing Right, okay?

Do I have any advice on writing disabled characters?

Damn right I do. I mean. You know me. I’ve got advice about fuckin’ everything.

But that’ll have to wait for a future post, because this one’s gone on way too damn long already.

#writing advice #psa #disabled characters #disability #representation #rant #this is a behemoth #and I could keep going #but jfc #who would want me to

133 notes · View notes

collectivedreamscapes-moved · 6 years ago

Text

Today I am thinking about limitations and disabilites and the fact that words of encouragement hurt me.

I grew up on ‘Anything is possible if only you believe.’ But the truth is you can’t be something you’re not.

Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. Everyone has things they can and can’t do. Success isn’t based on your IQ or your intelligence. I should know.

I will go to the mat defending anyone else I care about. Telling them what they can do when they feel worthless, offer encouragement, remind them they matter to me. I try to offer suggestions or a shoulder. I try to be supportive in the only way I really can.

I’m really good with words sometimes.

But for us? Sometimes words are just words.

Words don’t change days when I am physically incapable of sitting up without support, when just using my arm hurts, when walking is actually more dangerous than staying in one place but I still have to do it. Crutches help, but when my shoulder is also fucked up, they’re useless to me.

But resources only become avaliable with a doctor’s diagnosis proving you NEED the help and even then you have to fight for it. I don’t even have that.

Physically alone, not even getting to anything else, from the time I was 12 you know what I’ve been told? It’s not great but it’s not bad enough to need more help than 'this’. Physically, I have been diagnosed with 'minor’ scoliosis, degenerative bone condition (by one doctor at 16 and then never spoken of again by any other) and 'mild’ lupus (by one doctor after extensive testing and denied by four after an inconclusive blood test). I have had every inch of my body scanned, I have had multiple x-rays of every part of me (I joked at fucking 17 I should glow in the dark). I have been told I have fibromyalgia.

Every single doctor seems to think the amount of pain I am continuously in is more than I should be but none have any suggestions that are helpful. (Like yeah, I would totally exercise… if I had the energy to move and if the exercise didn’t cause as much painas not.) None seem to know why we fall as often as we do, why we have intermittent but persistent tremors.

When I have access to a wheelchair, I am a rock star. Because I can use them, because I don’t worry about random collapses, because I rely less on needing help. You know how much a wheelchair costs? Or how it doesn’t help in a house like this one?

I get tired of fighting the system. There are half a dozen specialists I have been told I should see over the last 15 years. My insurance (when I have it) makes that a helluvalot harder.

And this… is just the issues with pain I have had since I was 12. Since I was 12 what I have learned is that if there is no VISIBLE reason for something to be wrong, no OBVIOUS reason immediately discernible, then NOTHING is really wrong.

You see where this is going?

My disability determination is based on my PTSD and bipolar diagnosis. I get paid once a month because I’m too unstable to hold a job. But most people who encounter me casually don’t see that. Even therapists have said we appear to be such a 'bright, intelligent woman’.

In this society, people expect anyone with THAT kind of label to be a functioning member of society. I’m not. I never have been. I cover well. I learned the game. I can even play it fairly well. Or used to. Lately… not so much.

My father lost his leg in the Vietnam War before I was born. I never knew him with two legs. And he resented the word ‘disabled’ and everything attached to it. He wouldn’t even get a handicap licence plate or use the parking spaces (on days when he legitimately needed them) until he was in his 60s as a point of pride. I grew up with this man and hearing people praising what he’d done despite the lack of a leg. Is it any wonder we have problems with this concept of accepting limitations? Because we hear in our head 'he was legit disabled and did all that shit what have we got to bitch about?’

In our teens and 20s and 30s we were 'too young’ to suffer all our physical problems. And the psych shit? The only people who seem to care are those who have to deal with it personally.

And none of this was what we came here to write. We came here to write that sometimes things are legit beyond one’s physical or mental capabilities. And on days when I know I can’t function even to MY 'normal’, much less a NORMIE’S 'normal’, all I wanna do is cry.

I have spent my entire life pushing myself to exceed a 'normal’ I should never have had to be reaching for in the first place. But… as my father so eloquently put it, I was starting with two strikes against me: being black and being female. having to work harder to get the same consideration is a reality. You add the OTHER shit in there?

I’m now 44 (or the body is anyway). After four decades of pushing ourselves so fucking hard, is it any wonder we’re fucking tired and hopleless all the time? We’ve spent so much time fighting to appear normal, is it any wonder that accepting the word 'disabled’ is like a punch to the gut?

The truth is we’ve been disabled for a damn long time. The truth also is that in my family ‘disabled’ was another word to mean ‘excuse for laziness’. It hurts way deep down every time the word is applied to us, even knowing how accurate it is. Because we’ve seen how people treat those who are disabled. Because we’ve never really considered ourselves part of their number deep down. Because we have fought tooth and nail to be… everything but what we are.

My dad used to say he never told us that asking for help is bad. And we could never, as a kid, articulate why that statement rang false. Because no, he never said those specific words. But kids learn by observation and everything he did screamed that you don’t ask for help. And 35 years later... this is still one of the biggest problems we have. We have been told that we honestly should ask for help a LONG time before we actually do, which continuously boggles our mind. Because in our heads, you are supposed to exhaust EVERY option and push yourself to the absolute limit before you ever consider asking someone else for help.

So most ‘positivity’ posts and words of encouragement... hurt us. So much. It’s like poking half healed wounds. They feel, to us, like empty words uttered to make the person saying them feel better. And we get that’s not always the case, but it doesn’t change our gut reaction to it. It has nothing to do with wanting to be jaded and cynical and edgy and everything to do with emotional wounds that still fucking hurt.

#long post for ts #personal #amelie #lanie #we have no idea how long this has been sitting in our drafts #but we're gonna post it

1 note · View note

paradisobound · 7 years ago

Text

Light in the Dark

Summary: Phil is the RA (Resident Advisor) for his local college where he manages the residents on the floor of his dorm building. But his junior year in college is about to take a turn when one of his residents, who’s named Dan, is blind. Soon, Phil develops a friendship with Dan as he soon discovers that they were meant for much more than just a platonic relationship. He just hopes that his Alpha abilities won’t scare away the timid Omega.

This is a chaptered work. This is chapter 15.

Word Count: 1,952

Warnings: medical disabilities (blindness). Strong angst at the end and a fight!

For Phil, Christmas was really special this year. Mostly because he wasn’t with his own family for the start of it. When Dan left to go back home after his stay with Phil’s family, Phil had left with him, not wanting to spend any more time without his mate while they wait for the semester to begin again.

Of course Phil missed not being with his family but there was something much more spectacular about waking up next to Dan on the morning of Christmas.

The exchanging of gifts went by fast but Phil wanted to give Dan his gift to him in private. Although Dan was too eager to wait to give Phil his so Phil had opened it with Beth, and Dan’s family all staring at him. As he opened up the gift to find a signed Muse album, he instantly grabbed Dan in a hug and kissed him. He knew that finding a signed album was really hard and it must have been even harder yet knowing that Dan couldn’t possibly have known whether or not the album was actually signed or something someone was telling him was signed.

But after he thanked Dan for his gift, he gave Dan his own. He bought Dan a simple gift of a bracelet that his initials on it. It was a silver one, one Cornelia had helped him pick out. She told him that if Dan was his mate, he should wear his initials somewhere on him. So Phil decided a bracelet would be best because then Dan could wear it all the time and not worry about forgetting it anywhere.

When Phil first gave Dan the gift, he explained what it was to him and Dan seemed confused at first until Phil told him the special meaning behind it. And as soon as he got done speaking, Dan’s eyes lit up and he began to put the bracelet on himself, which made Phil so damn happy.

Following Christmas, Phil went home reluctantly to spend the rest of the time with his family. Departing from Dan was hard but he decided that next year, he and Dan would be mated and by law, be eligible to purchase the lease for an apartment. And he was fully ready to live with Dan.

Luckily for Phil, the winter break went by much faster than he had anticipated because the college asked all the RA’s to return back to campus one week before everyone else arrives back. So on a Monday, Phil returned back to campus with his bags in tow.

Ashlee was already there, along with her new mate who was helping her move in. Phil said a quick ‘hello’ to her before he headed off to his room to look over the list on instructions the college gave him that he needed to do before the resident’s arrived.

By late afternoon, Phil had most of his things done. He had the new name tag for the doors ready: he did a superhero theme this semester. He went around to hang all of the name tags on the door when he spotted Ashlee in the hallway, walking towards him with a smile on her face.

“Hey, Phil! How did break go?”

Phil shrugged, taping up the name “Jesse” to the door labeled 216. “It went by fast.”

“Did you see Dan?”

Phil nodded. “Yeah, only a few times though.”

Ashlee pouted her lips. “Oh no! Couldn’t find the time?”

Phil shook his head and continued on to the next door where he taped the next name up to the right room. He then set down all of his supplies and turned to Ashlee, only now fully spotting the dark bruised neck she was sporting. “You’re mated now?”

Ashlee nodded with a giant smile plastered to her lips. “Yes! Jake and I mated exactly two days ago! My mating bite hasn’t resided yet but I went to the doctor yesterday about it and he gave me cream to put on it. Apparently my skin is just really sensitive.”

Phil smiled. “That’s really awesome to hear!” He found himself leaning up against a random door behind him. “I really want to mate with Dan.”

“When is his next heat?” She asked, arms folded over her chest.

Phil shrugged. “He doesn’t know. His body is completely out of whack right now from being denied heats for so long.”

“Oh no.” Ashlee bit her lip. “Well, hopefully it’s soon! But you should convince him to see a doctor that specializes in Omega biology. He might need to go on a birth control to regulate his heats.”

“Birth control does that?” Phil asked.

Ashlee nodded. “Yeah. It did for me anyway.” She paused. “Wait, Dan’s not on birth control and you guys have been having sex? That’s not safe Phil.”

“It’s fine.” Phil said with a smile. “We’re safe.”

“You say that now and then when a little Phil is running around here in nine months, you’ll think otherwise.”

Phil rolled his eyes and chuckled. “That’s not happening.”

Ashlee laughed. “I’m just kidding Phil. I know you’re not that stupid.”

Phil laughed along with her as he bent down and picked up the rest of his name tags. “Dinner later?” He asked.

Ashlee smiled. “Sure! I’ll meet you in the lobby at 6?”

Phil nodded and walked by her, taping the next name on door 218.

The day Dan arrives back on campus is the best day of Phil’s life...again. Dan doesn’t even bother to move anything back into his room, he just moves it into Phil’s room where he’ll be sleeping anyway. And after a quick round of sex that Dan asked if they could do, they were now on their way to meet up with Louise and Ashlee at the plaza.

Holding Dan’s hand, he was happy to see and hear the bracelet that was on his wrist jingle and gleam as they walked.

Ashlee and Louise were already to the plaza when they arrived there, so Phil and Dan took a seat across from them in the booth as Louise passed them both paper plates for their pizza they had just ordered.

“How did your breaks go?” Louise asked them all.

“Great!” Ashlee said. “I’m mated now!”

Louise clapped and Dan smiled at her, reaching out to tap arm but missing slightly and almost hitting her boob (Ashlee didn’t mind though. She just laughed.) Phil then explained how he didn’t do much his break, only talked to Dan and hung out his room. And Dan answered the same way, just slightly opposite.

But as the pizza was about to be brought to them, Louise said something they all weren’t expecting. “I saw Devon a lot over break. His sister started working at the bookstore with me and he had to pick her up from work every time she was scheduled.”

Phil flattened his lips in a straight line and Dan paid no attention as he began to grab a piece of pizza for himself, nearly burning his hand in the process before Phil had to help him a little.

“Oh really?” Ashlee asked. “What’s he been up to?”

“He said he transfered schools.”

Phil nearly dropped his pizza onto the ground before he caught himself and evened out his shaking hands.

“Yeah, he told me he didn’t like our college anymore so he applied quick decision and got into a university about forty minutes away. He’s gonna commute every day.”

Louise continued. “I mean, I’m kind of glad that he’s gone if I’m being honest. The past few months he’s been causing nothing but trouble for you and Dan, right Phil?”

Phil had been distracted for most of the conversation, absentmindedly cutting his pizza with a fork and knife but cutting the plate by mistake and not realizing it. Dan was busy eating his own slice, and taking a sip of his drink, clearly not paying any mind either.

“Oh yeah.”

“I thought you’d be happy to hear that news?” Louise said. “You know all the shit Devon put you and Dan through. Look at the scene he made at the Halloween Dance? He had to be escorted out by security who took him to the health center because they thought he was too drunk to be by himself.”

Phil shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m glad he’s gone but it’s gonna be weird not seeing him around.”

Both Ashlee and Louise furrow their brows. “What are you on about?” Ashlee asked. “Your mate is sitting right beside you and you’re not the slightest bit glad that your old mate is gone?”

Dan stiffened in his seat and set down his pizza, pushing away the plate and leaning with his elbow on the table, his head resting in his palm. “For fucks sake, Phil, Devon used to harass Dan after their joint class every day! Aren’t you happy he’s out of your hair?”

“Well yeah...but…”

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Dan announced, scooching from his seat and heading off with his cane in hand towards the bathroom.

“See what you did, Phil?” Louise exclaimed.

“I didn’t do anything!” Phil cried. “Why is it so wrong for me to say I’m going to miss someone?”

“Because you shouldn’t be missing anyone but your mate.”

Phil sat back, his back touching the seat of the booth as he let out a breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

When Dan comes back out a few minutes later, he has visible tear stains down his cheeks and his nose is a dark red. He sniffles once before he wipes his eyes again under his black glasses. “I called Beth and she’s coming to get me. I want to be alone for awhile.”

“Dan,” Phil stood up and put his hands on Dan’s arms in a gesture of solace. “What’s going on, bear?”

“Why is Devon so much more important to you than me?” he asked, his voice wavering. “I’ve been trying so hard to forget Devon even exists but then when he’s mentioned, you act like you care more about him than me. I get he was the first person you thought was your mate, but if I’m really your true mate, then why is Devon worth so much to you? I love you, Phil. But it hurts.”

“I care about you so much more than Devon, Dan.” Phil’s hands moved up and down Dan’s arms in a comforting gesture. “I want to mate you. I want to be with you, not Devon. Don’t even think that Devon means more to me than you.”

Dan’s face scrunched up a few more stray tears slid down his cheeks. “Beth will be here in a few minutes.”

Something inside of Phil’s chest snapped and broke, stabbing his repeatedly every time he took in a breath. His Omega was hurt, slipping from him and Phil’s hands were getting rope burns from his grasp on the rope holding Dan to him.

As Dan walked away, towards the black SUV parked in the plaza parking lot where Beth was standing and talking with him, Phil knew that he needed to do something about his feelings with Devon. Were they still there? Were they almost gone? Why was Phil acting like this when thinking of Devon but being around Devon made him repulsed?

He turned around to Ashlee and Louise who both just looked down at their plates, not speaking. And he knew exactly what he needed to do. If he was ever going to mate Dan and be with Dan, he had to have closure with Devon. And there was only one way he was going to get it.

Last Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

47 notes · View notes

platitvdes · 7 years ago

Text

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: edward michael kaspbrak

NICKNAME(S): eddie, eds, spaghetti head, eddie spaghetti, spagheds, etc. by the losers/party. also wheezy, “sissy little queer boy,” and uh a bunch of other… more aggressive things by non–partylosers according to the book thanks a lot steve (king, not harrington)

AGE: eighteen

DATE OF BIRTH: september 3, 1976

HOMETOWN: derry, maine

CURRENT LOCATION: derry, maine

ETHNICITY: he white

NATIONALITY: americano

GENDER: cis male

PRONOUNS: he/him/his

ORIENTATION: het thanks!!!!! just kidding he’s a homoromantic homosexual

RELIGION: a good christian boiy. he was raised methodist. what is he really? who knows. fighting a giant clown monster demon thing makes you really question a lot about religion and he’s not willing to go too deep into it

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: left-leaning, but very moderately so, mostly influenced by his friends and also by the fact that maine has been a blue state pretty much for the entire time he’s been old enough to think about these things. his mom’s a democrat solely because she lives off the welfare system ( and because she finds bill clinton incredibly charming and charismatic ); otherwise she’d definitely be a republican

OCCUPATION: student, a sad small gay

LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: he lives with his momma in a very toxic environment also his mom is lowkey a hoarder it’s not so bad that he’s embarrassed to invite people over but like she’s a hoarder

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english and…. english

ACCENT: um idk a maine accent

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: timothée chalamet

HAIR COLOUR: dark brown

EYE COLOUR: hazel—sometimes more green, sometimes more brown, sometimes more weirdly gold-ish; depends on the day and lighting

HEIGHT: five feet, eight inches.

WEIGHT: one-hundred twenty-two pounds.

BUILD: skinny af and long-limbed ( for his stature ). not crazy short anymore, but still below average height

TATTOOS: LMAO

PIERCINGS: y’all. pls

CLOTHING STYLE: from my head canons, bc i’m too lazy to rewrite it: eddie often looks like he’s stepped out of the pages of a ralph lauren catalogue not because he is stylish or fashionable at all—he isn’t—but because he wears a lot of polos and shorts, though he doesn’t fill them out nearly as well as the ralph lauren models do. Especially pastel polos. he also frequently wears your good ol’ graphic tee and jeans combo, because you can’t go wrong there, right?

USUAL EXPRESSION: concerned tbh

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS: slightly doe-eyed, extremely doe-bodied, a preppy haircut, an inhaler in hand, and also he’s probably getting squeaky-voiced about something and/or visibly shaking. like a chihuahua.

HEALTH

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: technically? none

NEUROLOGICAL CONDITIONS: LORDY okay so the number one most important one is munchausen syndrome and hypochondria courtesy of being the proxy of his mom’s munchausen by proxy; severe anxiety (including generalized anxiety disorder, panic disorder, and social anxiety disorder); clinical depression; and, finally, i believe the medical term for it is “FOMO"

ALLERGIES: supposedly pollen, animal dander, insect bites/stings, dust, latex, mold, wool, and, like, a bunch of other shit. he does actually have some allergies, especially to pollen/animal dander/dust, that aren’t super severe and therefore don’t necessarily present typical allergy symptoms and contribute to his constant feelings of general illness and malaise that heighten the aforementioned hypochondria. he also is actually allergic to latex. womp womp

SLEEPING HABITS: not the best but not the worst—eddie falls asleep early enough and wakes early enough, especially when left to his own devices, but he’ll often stay up later just to be in the group chat because of the aforementioned FOMO and also because richie will usually show up at his house and they’ll just talk for a while. but even then tbh he has a hard time staying up later than like 1 or 2, and even on the weekends he’ll wake up pretty early. so……… all this adds up to having ambitions of getting a good amount of sleep, not getting Terrible amounts of sleep, but also not getting Enough sleep.

EATING HABITS: you would think he would have some special diet and maybe in 2018 he would be raised eating nothing but kale and granola and gluten free shit but bitch it’s 1994 eddie eats hella processed foods

EXERCISE HABITS: that’s cute idk he gets exercise from running from bullies and riding his bike w his friends although they don’t do that as much anymore now that people have cars

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: 1 probably eddie is always on the verge of a nervous breakdown. in actuality he’s probably around a 7, which is much higher than you might think; as much as he is indeed constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he’s done a pretty good job of pushing down literally everything into a well so deep that most people, including himself, can’t really tell what’s wrong or what’s going on, and it’s been that way for a long, long time. or anyway, repression is the only version of emotional stability he’s learned to manage and maintain, which probably doesn’t actually count as very stable, so who knows, maybe he’s a 3.

SOCIABILITY: not as introverted as one might think; he’s definitely an introvert and needs some time alone to recharge, but in general, he prefers being around his friends to not being around them and will go out of his way to be with the people he’s closest to

BODY TEMPERATURE: runs cold, typically, which also means he gets cold easily, which sucks when you live in fucking maine

ADDICTIONS: none

DRUG USE: a seasoned pill popper of all kinds of vitamins and various placebos. he’s also on like 35 different mental health related medications. i know this isn’t what you were looking for but this is eddie kaspbrak

ALCOHOL USE: fam, come on

PERSONALITY

LABEL: “the little nervous one,” according to me upon my first watch of IT (2017); the crepehanger

POSITIVE TRAITS: loyal, feisty, energetic, brave

NEGATIVE TRAITS: defeatist, anxious, rambling, hypocritical

GOALS/DESIRES: to overcome his biggest fears, mainly—which means to be able to leave derry ( and his mother ) behind; to accept that he is not some sickly boy in need of protecting; to feel comfortable in his own skin.

FEARS: disease, death, abandonment, intense feelings of any kind honestly, his sexuality, exposure of said sexuality, change, his mom, disappointing his mom, independence, failure

HOBBIES: comics, movies, spending fucking HOURS reading medical websites and learning that all roads lead to cancer, hanging out with The Gang™, annoying his friends, lecturing his friends, sneaking out of his house, super mario bros, is candy a hobby? it is now, not dungeons and dragons ‘cause he’s not a fuckin nerd

HABITS: nail biting, compulsive timekeeping, pencil chewing tbh but only at Home, ice chewing also…..it’s super bad for your teeth but man does he love it……., assuming death lurks around every corner and shouting at everyone else about it

FAVOURITES

WEATHER: he likes a sunny day in weather that is slightly crisp, like late september, bc he has seasonal allergies

COLOUR: blu. particularly a good royal blue. sometimes sky blue if he’s feeling festive

MUSIC: pop music mostly…………. he loves a diva. he is a Loud whitney houston stan but he keeps his madonna love much closer to the vest

MOVIES: comedies definitely. he doesn’t care much for movies that are like, cinematically renowned and artsy or whatever. he’s here for something stupid that’ll make him laugh. he really likes dumb and dumber, embarrassingly enough. he also loves bill & ted. it’s his favorite movie. good ol wholesome fun, there.

SPORT: tennis obviously

BEVERAGE: an arnold palmer he’s really wildin out here

FOOD: honestly? a fuckin ice cream sundae

ANIMAL: penguins they’re gay and they mate for life

FAMILY

FATHER: frank kaspbrak. he died of cancer when eddie was a wee bab ( he was five so not actually a wee bab, but wee enough )

MOTHER: sonia kaspbrak, a devil woman

SIBLING(S): none

PET(S): he had a goldfish named arnold once that’s it

FAMILY’S FINANCIAL STATUS: lower middle class. his mom doesn’t work and lives solely off disability checks and the like, but they never seem to be for lack of money for eddie’s extensive medical care or, like, food or shelter.

EXTRA

ZODIAC SIGN: virgo binch

MBTI: ISFJ ( the defender )

ENNEAGRAM: type 6 ( the loyalist ), but actually he’s a type 6 with a type 5 wing that’s almost balanced, which, hilariously, is also called the defender

TEMPERAMENT: melancholic

HOGWARTS HOUSE: GRYFFINDOR FIGHT ME

MORAL ALIGNMENT: lawful good

PRIMARY VICE: envy

PRIMARY VIRTUE: charity

ELEMENT: earth

#( m. — eddie kaspbrak. )#( profile | eddie kaspbrak. )

4 notes · View notes

innie-s · 7 years ago

Text

of mental health visibility

As I’m sitting here in a nice apartment, fresh out of a shower with my hair clean and a face mask on, hot coffee in hands feeling content in my life, it almost seems impossible that only six months ago I was a crying ball of sadness lying on the floor and thinking of ending this misery… It almost seems like a dream I had, that it never happened. But it isn’t and it did. That’s how depression works.

I never though I’d be sharing this online (in this manner), you see, so please excuse a bit of awkwardness. I’ve always been rather open about my mental health state, never really tried to hide it, and yet not many people know or realise. I’d blame that on them not being educated enough but that’s not the problem either, I think. The cause of that lies in a much deeper issue – and that is the invisibility.

You see, there’s one thing to say “I’m ill.” while coughing your lungs up or having a broken leg, and quite another to say “I’m ill.” while smiling and generally showing no symptoms of any discomfort. The invisibility of mental illness isn’t always a bad thing, sure, but it is a bit inconvenient when you need special treatment and people simply don’t believe you. You would never question a physically disabled person needing help up the stairs, but when a person who seems completely okay tells you they cannot do a task because they feel terrible, you’d think them lazy or looking for excuses. Oh, how many times have I heard “Just start – that’s the most difficult thing, from there it’ll flow.” Oh yes. If I could only start. For you, as a neurotypical, having difficulties starting might mean that you have to give yourself a little push or simply sit down and do the thing. For me, it means overcoming five different weights holding me down while constantly hating myself for being like this because look at them, they can do it, why can’t I? It’s sitting down in front of my computer with my thesis open and watching it with dread while shaking and crying because I would love to write the thing that’s been sitting in my head for days now but not being able to. There’s a chain on my hands and they just won’t move, no matter how much I tell them to. My head is spinning a little and the words don’t make sense. It’s finally giving up and starting a new episode of that TV show I was watching or scrolling tumblr until I get to my own posts from the day before. I call that procrastination but it’s so much more, really. It isn’t just putting work off until the last moment, it’s also hating yourself for it more and more every day while being physically unable to do it.

We all understand and accept that the society has a bit of a problem accepting mental illness. We all know that it’s still a bit of a taboo, and although it is spread quite wide we still seem to think that it either doesn’t exist or that it only exists in the most escalated forms of “crazy people who belong to a mad house”. This has been changin lately, for which I am gratefull, but the outcome has been confusing to say the least. Neurotypical adults call their children lazy while completely overlooking symptoms of depression or labeling them as a typical pubescent behaviour (When did it become normal for every other 13-year-old to have cuts up their arms and down their legs? When did it become typical for primary school children to starve themselves because of forced body images? When did it become common to oversleep and romantic to be sad all the time?), we have been called adicted to the internet by people who don’t feel that the only way to express themselves and feel accepted and loved is via internet friendships with people who go through similar things every day. We have been told “It’s going to be alright.” by people who refuse to listen to us and help.

I don’t think our parents understand that when you condition us into thinking there’s something wrong with us, it will stick. I don’t think our teachers understand that calling us lazy or stupid will only ever make us believe we really are. I don’t think adults realise that when they dismiss our symptoms we will grow up thinking we really aren’t ill. There’s nothing wrong with us. We are not lazy and we are not stupid. We are ill. And in many cases we battle that illness without any help, support or guidance and sometimes we lose. Sometimes it’s just too much to deal with and we don’t have the strength to do it. And afterwards adults will say “Such a shame!”, “What a brilliand mind that was.”, “Such potential in that young person.”, and “Didn’t they know they were loved?”.

Now I myself am an adult and rather educated one as well. I can’t say I’ve never dismissed mental illness. I can’t say I came to my knowledge because I cared about others so much I started learning. I wasn’t born educated on the matter and I had to go through some pretty bad experiences myself to even start considering mental illness as a real threat. I’ve only come to terms with my own issues 4 years ago when they became big enough for me to actually consider therapy. At that time I knew nothing and it took me a bit to overcome the way I was thinking of mental health issues and accept that I might be one of “those people” as I used to think about them (us). It took me quite some time to battle my own prejudice towards the idea of being mentally ill and I still haven’t made my peace with it completely. And still as I face a task I simply cannot do, I question myself. Am I being lazy right now? Do I actually need help with this or am I just calling for attention? Am I being stupid right now? Isn’t it just that I’m incapable/not clever enough/not strong enough to do this thing? I don’t think I’ll ever overcome this need to be “normal” and to prove that I don’t have this limitation.

Many people have suggested therapy to me. And I have suggested therapy for many people myself. I believe therapy can be a very helpful thing. Yet I never went myself and I’ve been called a hypocrite for it. My deal with therapy is simple – will it help a person who is open about their problems, doesn’t bottle them inside, is honest to themselves even if the truth is sometimes uncomfortable and has trust issues the size of the sun? What can therapy of a self-conscious person do – will it help me if I dont need to talk about it (I vent to friends/the internet therefore I dont need any other person listening to me) and dont need advice (I know what to do with myself and I’ve been helping myself for years now)? Would therapy give me something more, can they help more? I don’t pretend I can do this alone but I also don’t feel the need to pay a professional just to tell me what I already know. There’s also the fact that I will not talk, I will not open up about this, I will not show weakness. I will not trust a person who does this as a job, I will never believe they care about me personally, why would I go there to sit and stare at the wall? The day I will go to a professional is the day I will feel so low I’ll accept that I need medication.

There’s a bit of an issue with medication. Meds are for the crazy ones, yes? The moment you get pills you’re automaticaly labeled as a basket case. The moment you have a note saying anxiety/depressive disorder, OCD, psychosis of any kind, personality disorder, etc, that’s that. You’ve been labeled. It all became real. And people will treat you differently, not because they want to be rude but because they pity you and don’t know what else to do. There’s a popular opinion that you have to get better to stop using the pills, yes? As if your brain has a better chance at healing than, let’s say, your respiratory system (will you tell an asthmatic to try and stop using their inhaler?), your pancreas (will you tell a diabetic to try and stop injecting insulin?) or your eyesight (will you tell me to try and stop wearing my glasses?) Can you imagine coming up to a disabled person and telling them to just stand up and walk, see, I can do it, why couldn’t you? No? Then why do you tell me to just start thinking of nice things and find something to do and soon I’ll be feeling better?

And you know what the worst part of this is? That the people who need the medication live with the same prejudice. And so they don’t go to a doctor or they refuse to take the pills or they stop taking them the moment they feel better because they think the deal is to stop needing them. It is not. You are allowed to need them and there’s nothing wrong with accepting help, be it from a person or a little bit of hormonal boost. God knows sometimes I feel like asking for them (and I just might this year before exams and writing my thesis, actually).

But then I get better, as I am now, and I start questioning whether I’m actually ill or if I’m just pretending. And that’s how I know I haven’t escaped any of the prejudice I just desribed and I will have to try a little bit harder to get rid of the idea that I’m really just a poser. Doesn’t help that my own mental health is fine compared to some of the people I know. I’ve never tried to kill myself. I’ve never thought of hurting myself. I already said I’ve been helping myself for years now – and it’s true. I recognize when I’m low and an episode is about to start and I get help (seeing as I’ve found the source of my episodes I also know how to get rid of them). And sometimes they’re bad enough to last days but usually it’s merely minutes and then I’m okay. And everytime I come out of them stronger and stronger and I havent had one in such a long time I don’t even remember what they feel like.

(February. I had the last one in February when I failed an exam and I realised I wouldn’t be able to finish my bachelor’s this year. That one almost broke me, I’ve always had this idea that uni will be the first thing I won’t fail and then I went and failed it. There was a possibility for me to make it – it would’ve been hard, it would’ve cost me a lot – mostly my mental health. And so I didn’t. I didn’t fight, I gave myself a month to heal a bit and to realise this isn’t the end of the world and I didn’t dissappoint anybody except myself – and then to forgive myself. And I came to the conclusion that it might not be ideal but it’s what it is and it’s okay. Maybe I would’ve been able to fight through it. But I felt like I wasn’t and I gave myself a free pass on that one. And I don’t regret my choice for I feel healthy, calm and comfortable now.)

I still get mild ones, mostly before exams. I’ll never get rid of that, I’ll always have a bit of a struggle with procrastinating and then hating myself for it. I used to hate myself for quite a lot, and then I worked that out. I stopped blaming myself for my problems and I came to peace with the reasons of them. I had issues with many things and I’m happy school is the only one left. I have hope that I’ll get over that one as well, sometime, maybe. It’s fitting, really, as school was the first one I recognized and the rest only appeared once I started digging into it.

I’m a lucky person. I know what to do to myself, how to help myself and sometimes even how to help others. Not everyone has that. Some have pushed the idea so deep into their mind that they simply cannot find it anymore, some think it humiliating to show weakness, some reject the reality and some don’t, they realise what’s happening to them and they don’t know how to ask for help or have conditioned themselves into thinking they don’t deserve help, that they’re not worth it. And the few who come and ask for help sometimes find that the help they’re getting isn’t enough.

What I wanted to accomplish with this text (Essay? Speech?) is not only spreading awareness of mental health issues but also to show the people who have it that they’re not alone and even a person who is presenting themselves as strong as I am can suffer from it. I wanted you to realise you’re not weak for experiencing this in whichever form and strength you do. And that there is help to get and it’s not humiliating to ask for it. And if you read this and you feel like it has nothing to do with you, please consider your friends, parents, coleagues, spouses, children. I strongly believe you have a person who’s going through it somewhere around you, and they might be needing your help.

#confessions #but please pay attention to this #mental health #depression #mental illness #my thoughts on the matter #my experienced #i am in no way a professional #please dont judge me too hard #please dont call me names for this

50 notes · View notes

coffee-keith · 7 years ago

Text

slightly long update

I just need to process some things so I’m going to share a bit with you all about my chronic pain and why I’ve been having such a hard time lately. This will be a little technical, medical and negative. So I have a genetic disease that causes my cartilage to grow out of control, which in turn causes my bones to grow out of control at those spots. It has many names, but you can find it under “hereditary multiple osteochondromatosis” or something similar. Basically, if you look at my x-rays, it looks like my bones have thorns growing from them, and the ends look like clubs. All of my mom’s side of the family has it. I’ve always had some visible deformity and some restricted motion. But I’ve only had the chronic pain within the last few months, and it’s really fucking with me. This is long and negative, and hopefully the readmore works now. I’m not asking for anything, so no need to reblog lol.

I just feel like everything is starting to pile up, especially since the pain started. And my life is…harder than I expected it to be. And it’s not even that bad compared to others. But I just…don’t feel like myself anymore? I keep losing things that I tied to my identity. Losing a lot of my mobility and independence, losing my motivation…just…losing a lot of things. I can’t do a lot of the things I love to do nor the things I dreamed I would do in the future. I can’t hike, I can’t dance, I can’t skateboard, I can’t ride horses, I can’t work out. I can’t concentrate, I’m majorly struggling with my schoolwork for the first time ever… ask anyone who knew me since before a year ago, and I guarantee they will describe me as “smart”, “determined”, “motivated”, “strong” and I feel like none of those things right now. I feel like a failure. I don’t think i can show my face at classes tomorrow. My body is failing me and so is my mind. And now I’m being told things like: “if you get this extremely complicated and painful surgery, you probably won’t have to get hip replacements until you are 35!” So now I have to start planning around being in chronic pain for the rest of my life at the best, and in a wheelchair at the worst. The only thing that doesn’t cause me pain is lying down. And I just want to run away from all of this. Run away from my body, from the expectations others have of me, and the expectations I have for myself. God, I just really don’t want this. None of this is what I planned. But I guess that’s how life works? I’ve known that there would probably be complications with my disease, but I’ve always believed that I am more than my genetics, and I can overcome any obstacles it tries to put in my way. I’ve overcome all the obstacles so far, and I thought I could just keep pushing onward for my whole life. Legs aren’t straight and you’re not flexible enough to do ballet? Fuck you I’m going to have a good time anyway. Can’t get on the horse the proper way because you can’t bring your knee to your chest? Well fuck you I’m going to find a way to do it on my own, even if I look ridiculous and get laughed at. Don’t think I should play soccer because I can’t run? Fuck you I’ll be the goalie and kick ass. But it appears my days of saying “fuck you” and doing it anyway are behind me due to the pain. I can’t just say “fuck you” to walking and sitting and my everyday life. I feel like certain people get heavier crosses that they are expected to carry, and that’s just not fair. Yes, people have it harder than me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be angry. And I think my cross has just been getting heavier and heavier lately and I want to say “no, fuck you” and put it down and walk away. I don’t want to live like this. I really don’t. I can live with the lack of flexibility and the bent legs and short arms no problem. I always thought I was stronger than my physical issues. I believed I wouldn’t have to label myself as “disabled”. I could just be “normal”. But now, the pain…it’s just….taking over my life, messing with my head and soul and my whole being. I wish I could go back, be who I am, do what I want. But I can’t. I have to move forward, I’m just not sure how to do that yet.

#rant #negative//#and this isnt even counting the medical bills...#good thing my mom has really good insurance???#sorry for the rant #i'm also sorry if you are an irl friend and i haven't actually talked to you about this #I got the news as to how bad the outlook is on friday and i'm still processing everything and typing it up helps a bit #no need to reblog #i would prefer if you didn't reblog this #not that any of you reblog my stuff anyway..#i'm also sorry if this looks like i am just trying to get attention #that's not the point #also I typed this up earlier today #I just now got the time to edit it on desktop

1 note · View note

thejovianmute · 7 years ago

Text

A Different Way Home, Ch 2

Author: TheJovianMute

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (any, since it's AU)

Pairing: Ed Elric/Roy Mustang

Tags: Alternate Universe, Modern Setting, Prostitution, Hooker Roy, Student Ed, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rape, Violence, PTSD, Disabilities, Vision-Impaired Roy, Eventual Happy Ending

Summary: Roy's standing on a freezing street corner, his body for sale and his pride long-since gone, when the boy in the red coat approaches him.

Notes: So the first few chapters of this are going to be pure fluff and smut. Basically, I wanted to develop the relationship a little before everything goes to hell. So if anyone's just interested in the happy porny stuff, read on and I'll warn you when things are about to get dark so you can bail.

I had intended to include both Roy and Ed's POV in this chapter and get through the entire evening, but I hit 10k words and still wasn't done and realised I really needed to split it in half. On the upside, that means I already have 3k of the next chapter done!

Still pretty terrified about posting, but people were so lovely with feedback on ch 1, it was incredibly encouraging! Thankyou to everyone who reads, kudos or comments, you're all wonderful!

Ch 2: In which Roy is fed, Ed is kissed, labels are contemplated, and there are orgasms all round.

Read on AO3, or read under the cut:

Ed leads Roy to a large apartment block made of grey stone. They take the lift up to the fourth floor and head down a corridor to the door at the end. Unlike Roy's apartment block, this one is relatively tidy and clean, even if the peeling and faded paint gives away its age.

Ed fumbles his keys before managing to get the right one in the lock, and Roy notices that he has a little plastic suit of armour on his keyring. The silver paint is chipped and scratched, marking it as a long-time favourite. Roy wonders if Ed fancies himself something of a knight in shining armour.

Once Ed's managed to unlock the door, he holds it open and gestures for Roy to go through. "So this is my place," he says, somewhat unnecessarily.

Roy enters with a touch of caution. He's not expecting Ed to try and pull anything unexpected or untoward, but old habits die hard.

Directly inside there's a little entrance hall, with a bookcase crammed with books on one side and a shoe rack on the other, above which are a row of pegs. As Ed divests himself of his long red coat Roy follows suit, taking off his jacket and hooking it onto one of the unoccupied pegs. Ed proceeds to lean against the wall to unlace his boots and tug them off, so Roy assumes this is household protocol and removes his shoes as well. He places them in a spare space at the end of the rack, noting as he does that there are two distinctly different sizes of shoes present. The smaller size likely belongs to Ed - a supposition borne out as Ed dumps his boots haphazardly beside the smaller set of sneakers - but there's no explanation for the latter.

"You have a housemate?" Roy asks casually, gesturing towards the larger sets of shoes. It's not likely to indicate anything sinister, but if Roy needs to keep an ear out for a boyfriend returning home early, that will definitely change the tone of the evening.

But Ed doesn't look in the least abashed, nodding and visibly brightening. "My brother, Al. He's a year younger than me, but he's fucking brilliant." There's unvarnished pride and affection in Ed's tone; it's obvious the brothers are close.

"He's not here tonight," Ed adds. "He's staying with his girlfriend." His nose wrinkles, and Roy wonders if it reflects Ed's opinion of said girlfriend, the idea of a girlfriend in general, or the idea of his brother being sexually intimate with anyone.

Ed heads through the archway and into what Roy presumes is the main room of the apartment. Roy follows, looking around curiously. It's a reasonably-sized lounge, with a kitchen directly attached to the right. In the lounge area two couches are arranged with a television opposite, and a dining table is strewn with textbooks, notebooks, paper and pens.

Ed dumps his satchel in the corner by the dining table, pulls off his gloves and tosses them on top, and then turns back to Roy.

"Payment up front, right?"

Roy nods, surprised - he often has to prompt tricks to remember that part, especially first-timers who don't know the drill yet.

"Be right back! Feel free to make yourself comfortable, or whatever."

Ed disappears down the hallway, and Roy uses the opportunity to look around. The apartment has a lived-in feel, with evidence of the occupants' personality in everything from the carefully-repaired furniture to the assortment of geeky nick-nacks arranged along the windowsill. There's no coherent colour scheme, but the mismatched curtains, cushions and throw rugs - which should in theory clash rather horribly - simply make the place look bright and homely.

Best of all, Ed must have flipped on the heating as they entered, and warm air is already circulating, slowly defrosting Roy's numb extremities.

Roy finds himself drawn to the table and it's haphazard spread of books and papers. The notes are written in two different hands - one neat but cramped, the other a chicken-scratch scrawl - neither of which his vision can make out. But the titles of the textbooks are printed in bold, clear capitals, and he aches at their familiarity: "Fundamentals of Materials Science", "Introduction to Electrodynamics", "Malchion's Inorganic Chemistry", "Classical Mechanics". The texts range across the sciences, from biology to chemistry to physics and several crossover areas in between.

One of the textbooks is open, and he lifts the front half of the pages so he can read the cover. The design on the rust-coloured background is immediately familiar, and he doesn't even need to read the title to know what it is: "A History of Chemical Discovery". He runs a finger over the bonds of the molecule on the cover, an odd sense of nostalgia stealing over him.

In his peripheral vision he sees Ed return and approach the table to stand beside him.

"Rifamycin," Ed comments, looking at the cover Roy is still staring at, lost in memory.

"Rifampicin," Roy corrects absently, and then freezes as he realises what he's just revealed.

Ed's eyes widen and he looks down at the cover and then back up at Roy.

"You've studied chemistry?" Ed asks, surprise and confusion in his tone.

"A long time ago, yes," Roy says stiffly. He carefully re-opens the book to where he'd marked the place with a finger, waiting for the inevitable question: so how the fuck did you go from studying chemistry to whoring yourself on a street corner?

But Ed surprises him yet again. "That's so cool!" Ed says, his delight seemingly genuine. "What was your favourite? Organic or inorganic?"

"Inorganic," Roy replies automatically. The sudden, vivid image of flames blazing against a starlit desert sky reminds him of the uses his chemical knowledge was put to, and he shuts the memory down hard, his hands clenched into shaking fists.

"Mine too!" Ed enthuses, oblivious to Roy's distress. "Al's totally into organic, he's probably going to go into medical research or biomedical engineering or something fancy like that. He really likes people, wants to do something where he can work with them, not just be stuck in a lab all the time. I'm still undecided. I mean, materials engineering would be fascinating, but I'm not sure what I'd do with it, y'know? Astronomy is kinda tempting, too, but it's not all that practical. Al says it's more important to do what you love than what's useful, but there's a lot to be said for not worrying about where your next meal is coming from."

Speaking of income seems to remind him of his errand, and he holds out his hand, in which is a folded bundle of notes. "Sixty thousand," he says, sounding oddly cheerful about the amount.

Roy's not even going to ask. He takes the money and slips it into his pocket. Normally he'd count it first, especially if it was from a trick he didn't know or didn't trust, but he wants to trust Ed. More than that, he wants Ed to be trustworthy. His self-preservation instincts mutter their discontent, but he forces himself to ignore them.

"And speaking of food, I'm starving," Ed says, with enough fervour to imply that he hasn't eaten in a week. "I'm gonna cook. Stir fry all right with you? It's not real Xingese style, as Al's girlfriend likes to point out repeatedly, but it's pretty damn tasty all the same."

Ed looks at him expectantly, waiting for an answer while Roy stares back at him blankly; he's never in his life had a trick offer to cook for him before. He was relatively sure he knew how the evening was going to go once they got here, but Ed's just veered completely off-script and Roy feels like he's been caught flat-footed.

Ed, however, misinterprets his hesitation. "If stir fry isn't your thing, I make a mean quiche. I'm pretty sure we have enough eggs, lemme look…" he trails off as he opens the fridge and begins to rummage through the contents.

"I have no objections to stir fry," Roy says, managing to finally find his voice. "But you don't have to feed me."

"When was the last time you ate?" Ed asks, peering around the open door of the refrigerator.

Roy pauses, trying to remember. He's only been awake since the early afternoon, but he has no idea whether or not he ate when he got up today. He often forgets to eat if he's not hungry, and he hasn't felt particularly hungry lately. He hasn't really felt much at all.

"If you have to think about it, it was too long ago, and it's time to eat again," Ed declares.

"All right," Roy says, his shock slowly fading into amusement. Ed's the one paying for his time, so if Ed wants to spend it cooking for them both, Roy's not going to argue.

Ed starts rattling around the kitchen, pulling out pans and knives and ingredients and setting everything on the bench.

"Can I do anything to help?" Roy asks.

Ed waves him away without even looking. "I've got it under control. And besides, you're a guest! I'm not gonna put you to work."

Roy finds this both amusing and perplexing; few people would consider a hooker they've hired to be anything resembling a 'guest'. The dismissal does give him a convenient opportunity to watch Ed as he works, however, so Roy takes advantage of it. Although Ed prefers his left hand, he seems quite willing and able to use the right when he needs to, and its dexterity is impressive. He also crouches down to reach things stored on the lowest shelves, without even a hand on the bench for balance.

The functionality of the prosthetics is extremely impressive, and he finds himself curious about exactly how they work. Not a conversation he's going to initiate, of course - regardless of how sensitive Ed is to the topic, Roy's here do a job, and he doubts talking about missing limbs is going to get Ed in the right kind of mood. He wonders idly what will get Ed in the mood, and spends the next half an hour alternating between watching Ed and thinking about what sort of tricks he can use to get Ed writhing and begging for more.

By the time Ed serves the stir fry into bowls and clears room for them at the table, the house smells of the savoury sauce Ed fried the meat in, and Roy has to admit it smells pretty tempting.

"Would you like a drink?" Ed asks.

Roy would kill for something alcoholic, preferably neat, but he knows that drinking on the job usually leads to making bad decisions, and he really doesn't need any help in that department.

"I'll have whatever you're having," Roy says instead. He's expecting some kind of soda, but Ed surprises him yet again.

"Juice for me," Ed says, heading back to the fridge. "But there's milk if you'd rather." The shudder in Ed's voice suggests that drinking ditch water would be preferable.

The set-up is too perfect for Roy to resist. Any other trick and Roy wouldn't bother trying to engage, but he can sense the tentative beginnings of a rapport between them, and Ed's earnestness makes him too tempting a target.

"What's wrong with milk?" Roy asks. "It's good for growing bones." He pauses for effect, and then adds: "Although it rather looks as if yours have given up on the attempt."

"Hey! No!" Ed exclaims, incensed, "I'm still growing!"

Roy smirks, having hit the target dead-on. "Perhaps if you drank more milk they'd put more effort into it."

Ed splutters indignantly, cheeks reddening, obviously working himself up into some kind of rant in response.

"Juice is fine," Roy says before Ed can let it loose, unable to suppress a grin.

Ed gives him a darkly suspicious look before pouring them both a glass and delivering them to the table, finally collapsing into a chair in an untidy sprawl. Roy takes the seat opposite, so he can watch Ed as they eat, as well as his vision allows.

Fortunately, when faced with food Ed's ire quickly vanishes, and he dives into his bowl. Roy follows suit more sedately.

As it turns out, Ed's assessment of his own cooking isn't actually hyperbole: the stir fry is quite tasty, and after the first couple of mouthfuls, Roy's body begins reminding him of exactly how hungry he is. He makes an appreciative sound as he swallows, and Ed grins at him, obviously delighted.

"See! It's good. Mei's just a food snob," Ed declares.

"Mei is Al's girlfriend?" Roy asks.

"Yeah," Ed says, in between mouthfuls. "She's all right, I guess. Not really sure what he sees in her. She seems to adore him, at least - but who wouldn't, he's Al. He's like, a kitten in human form or something."

Roy is amused by the description, especially considering the size of Al's shoes compared with Ed's - Roy is guessing that he's significantly taller.

"Mei is from Xing?" Roy asks.

Ed nods. "Came here to study, Al met her in one of his classes. What about you? I mean, where are you from?"

"I'm from Central," Roy answers, tone a little flat. He dislikes the the way too many people ask him the question, as if his exotic looks make a lie of his assertion that he's Amestrian, despite having been born here. He's never even been to Xing, doesn't speak the language or know anything of their culture. He never knew his mother long enough to learn.

To his relief, Ed doesn't seem to see any need to question his nationality. "I figured as much," Ed says, "from the fancy accent. Al and I are country bumpkins, we're from out East. Risembool, if you've ever heard of it."

Roy is amused to hear his accent described as 'fancy', especially considering his background, but if there's one thing Madame Christmas taught him it was how to socialise with the elite as if he'd been born one of them. Her informal elocution lessons over tea (for him) and gin (for her) were a regular part of his week, his accent being gradually 'corrected'. By the time he reached the Academy, he only had to introduce himself and the well-bred young men there simply assumed that he was one of them.

So he supposes that to a country kid he would sound rather formal. It's a strange juxtaposition, considering their current roles; Ed the one with money and a bright future ahead of him, while Roy has lost everything and returned to the gutters he was born in. He shuts down that line of thinking, knowing it can lead nowhere good.

"I know of Risembool," he answers. "I spent some time in the East."

"Neat," Ed says. "It's a nice place, but there isn't all that much to do there. Me and Al both knew we wanted to study science when we finished school. We researched every university in the country, but we heard that Central University had the best science department in Amestris, so we moved here."

"That's what I've heard, too," Roy agrees.

"Where did you study?"

Roy freezes, and then forces himself to swallow the mouthful he was chewing. Admitting the truth would reveal far more information about him than he had any intention of admitting to a trick he's just met. He knows he could easily lie, come up with something convincing that Ed would have no reason to question. But he finds that he doesn't want to. Ed's been nothing but honest with him so far, and he feels like it would change something between them if he broke that tentative trust, whether Ed was aware of it or not.

"CAA," Roy says finally, knowing that even someone as provincial as Ed will have heard of it. Central Army Academy is well-known throughout Amestris as the only choice for officers who aspire to the upper echelons of the military hierarchy.

Ed's eyebrows fly up. "You're military?"

"Not any more, obviously," Roy retorts, with more bite in his tone than he had intended.

Ed stares at him, wide-eyed, obviously aware that he's just stepped on a verbal landmine and not quite sure what to do about it.

Roy takes pity on him, smoothing things over with the skill he's cultivated since childhood. "I'm sure the Academy did things rather differently than the University, of course. Tell me about your studies, and how you've been finding it so far."

The relief on Ed's face is obvious and Roy wonders what his life has been like, that he's never had to learn to school his expression the way Roy did to survive.

Once prompted, Ed is more than happy to ramble on about his studies and his experiences at the University to date, and the brief tension which had flared between them quickly dissipates. Ed is an engaging speaker, his enthusiasm contagious, and Roy listens with genuine interest. It helps that he has the background to understand the things Ed's learning, and is able to ask relevant questions that get Ed shooting off on fascinating tangents.

"What drew you to study science?" Roy asks eventually. "And what about Al - did he choose to follow in your footsteps, or just happen to be interested in the same areas?"

"Al got into science because he wanted to use it to help people. Me, I thought it'd be kind of like a superpower: if I could understand the fundamental building blocks of the world and how they worked, I figured I could learn to make them do anything I wanted!" Ed snorts - Roy assumes at his childhood naivety. "It didn't work out like that, of course. Understanding matter and energy doesn't give you some kind of magical control; it's not like waving a wand or having a superpower."

Ed is silent and contemplative for a few moments, getting the look Roy is beginning to recognise as the one that means he's about to go veering off on a tangent. When he speaks again, Roy isn't disappointed.

"I mean, as far as superpowers go, matter transformation would be pretty damn cool. But if you're going for flashy it's hard to go past super-strength, and there are definitely a few assholes that I wouldn't mind punching through walls. But if we're talking about utility - and matter control was off the table - you'd have to go for something like telekinesis or intangibility, maybe teleportation. Something that you could use in all kinds of ways - to rescue people, steal stuff, whatever you wanted." Ed pauses, giving a grateful Roy a moment to catch up; following Ed's mental meanderings feels rather like being aboard a bus taking lefts and rights suddenly and at random, with no actual destination in mind.

"What about you?" Ed asks. "What would you pick?"

Roy considers the question.

If you had have asked him when he was Ed's age, Roy probably would have said pyrokinesis. He's always had a fascination with fire, the way the tongues of flame flicker and dance, beautiful and almost supernaturally alive as they consume all they touch. But now, having seen the horrors he's seen and knowing how he'd be forced to use a power of that kind, the idea makes him ill.

Again he has to force down the mental images and phantom smells of burned and bloody bodies, and give himself a moment for his stomach to stop churning. He tries to breathe through it, keeping his expression bland.

The thought of the wounded and dying makes him tempted to choose healing. Certainly there was a moment in time where he would have sold his soul for the ability, and would have gone happily to his eternal damnation if it had have saved the man bleeding out in his arms. But now there's nobody he cares enough to save.

Now… now he thinks he'd go for mind control. He'd take control of the Amestrian Government and make sure that nothing like Ishval could ever happen again. He'd restore Amestris to the country it should have been, without the political aggression and expansion-at-all-costs philosophy that caused decades of territory wars and destroyed an entire race of its people. He'd be a dictator, he knows, but a benevolent one, working for the good of the people. But then, all dictators probably think of themselves as benevolent, he supposes.

"I don't know," he says finally, unwilling to expose so much of himself by speaking his thoughts aloud.

Ed accepts this at face-value instead of pushing, for which Roy is grateful. A moment later and Ed's quicksilver mind is off and racing again, this time steering the conversation into the realm of superheroes and comic books. It's been a while since Roy's read anything in the way of comics; a while since he's been able to read anything at all. But he enjoyed comics during his younger years, and finds common ground with Ed over the heroes and villains of a decade ago.

By the time Roy finishes his meal, Ed has long-finished his. Roy finds himself feeling satiated and well-fed for the first time in a long while. The sensation settles on him uneasily, making him feel like it's something he hasn't earned. He reminds himself that it was Ed's choice to feed him: Ed's is in control here, and Roy's being paid to go along with whatever he chooses to do, sex-related or not.

Roy helps Ed clear the dishes despite Ed trying to wave him away, and then they move back into the lounge. Ed stands awkwardly for a moment, looking at one of the couches, and then abruptly turns on his heel and disappears down the hallway.

Roy is somewhat nonplussed by his sudden departure, unsure if he's supposed to follow or wait where he is. After a few moments curiosity wins over caution, and he follows the path of Ed's retreat.

He finds Ed in a bathroom, standing at the sink and squeezing toothpaste onto a toothbrush. Ed looks up as Roy appears in the doorway behind him and their eyes meet in the mirror.

Roy raises a questioning eyebrow.

"What?" Ed demands defensively, with a somewhat embarrassed scowl. "It's polite to brush your teeth before you kiss someone."

Roy is amused by Ed's defensiveness but genuinely touched by this small display of thoughtfulness, and his smirk softens at the edges.

Ed pauses with the toothbrush halfway to his mouth, suddenly breaking the eye contact and looking away. "I mean, only if you want to. You don't have to, of course." He pauses for a moment, looking back up to the mirror. "Do you kiss? I mean, your, uh…" Ed stumbles to a halt, obviously unsure what term to use.

"Clients?" Roy suggests, trying not to smile at the kid's verbal fumbling.

"Yeah," Ed agrees, obviously relieved by the save.

Roy contemplates the question for a moment - generally he doesn't kiss, but that has more to do with the acts he's usually performing than any kind of prohibition on his part. It's difficult to kiss with a mouthful of cock, or while he's being hammered from behind. That being said, he certainly has no desire to kiss most of his clients, shuddering to think of that kind of intimacy with those of poor personal hygiene or who get off on the more degrading aspects of his work.

But Ed… Ed, who is brushing his teeth for Roy's benefit, who is forthright and sweet and awkward by turns. He thinks he could kiss Ed. He thinks he might even want to.

"I kiss," Roy says simply, not daring to say more for fear of what he might reveal.

Ed's expression brightens, and he shoves the toothbrush in his mouth and begins brushing vigorously, as if concerned that Roy might change his mind.

"Do you have a spare?" Roy asks. "Fair's fair, after all."

Ed crouches down to rummage in the cupboard under the sink and pulls out a pack of a dozen-odd toothbrushes, only half of which remain. Roy extracts one from the packet and Ed makes room for him at the sink.

They stand side by side as they brush, and Roy tries to make sense of the picture they present in the mirror: two men, pressed close in the limited space. It's an oddly domestic scene, typical of partners or family members. There's nothing to mark Roy as a whore, or Ed as his trick.

The pair of them are a study in contrasts. Ed is in the same black shirt and cargo pants as the previous day, his golden hair up in a ponytail, cascading down his back and forward over one shoulder. Roy is taller by nearly a head, wearing plain blue jeans and a grey t-shirt, his arms bare. In the mirror Ed's eyes are golden-bright, while Roy's are so dark a brown they look black.

Ed spits and rinses, and then makes room for Roy to do the same. When he's done, Roy hands the brush back, and Roy adds it to the little rack where Ed's and his brother's already stand. Roy isn't quite sure how to feel about that, so tries to put it out of his mind.

They head back through to the lounge, which is when Ed seems to run out of steam, looking unsure of himself for the first time.

"So, uh. How do we do this?"

"Well, generally, my clients tell me what they want, and I get on with doing it." Roy takes a step towards him, letting his hips tilt a little and offering the knowing smile that gets him the attention of both genders; Roy knows he's good at this particular game. "But if you like, I can make some suggestions. Would you like me to kiss you?"

"Yeah," Ed says, voice low with want. "Yeah, definitely. I'd like that."

Roy closes the distance between them, until he's standing directly in front of Ed. This close, he can see how richly amber the depths of Ed's eyes are, currently alight with anticipation.

But he can also sense the tenseness of Ed's body, shoulders as tight as if he were braced for a blow. Ed's obviously nervous and uncertain, but Roy can't discern the cause. Is it because Roy's a stranger? Because he's a man? Because Ed expects something in particular to happen that he doesn't want?

"Here, let's sit down," Roy says, putting a hand on Ed's shoulder and guiding him towards the couch, nudging Ed to sit when he's close enough and taking a seat beside him when he does. He hopes that the casualness of the position will help Ed relax, with the added bonus of reducing the height difference between them.

Then he slides a hand around the back Ed's neck and guides him forwards with the lightest of pressure. Their lips meet lightly, slide over each other's, and part again. Roy gives Ed a moment to process, and then moves back in to kiss a little more firmly.

It takes Ed a few moments to engage fully, and then he's leaning into the kiss, mouth fitting to Roy's, warm and wet and tasting faintly of mint. Ed's left hand reaches to grip Roy's bicep as the kiss deepens. Roy licks at Ed's lower lip, a gentle request, and Ed opens his mouth for Roy to delve inside.

It's quickly obvious to Roy that while this isn't Ed's first kiss, he's not particularly experienced either. But he's enthusiastic, and willing to follow Roy's lead, and Roy finds himself enjoying a kiss for the first time in too many empty years. He slides an arm around Ed's body to pull him closer, cradling the back of his head with the other hand, silken hair sliding over his fingers.

Roy breaks the kiss off after a few minutes. "How are you doing?" He asks, wanting to make sure Ed's still on board. His enthusiasm seems genuine and his physical responses indicate he's enjoying the proceedings, but people can be complicated, Roy knows.

"I'm great!" Ed says fervently. His breathing a little fast and there's a pink flush stretched across both cheeks.

"Do you want to keep going?" Roy asks.

Ed nods. "Definitely!"

Roy smiles and succumbs to the urge to run a thumb over the blush on Ed's cheek. He kisses Ed just once, and then nudges him to lie back, using the arm around him to help guide him down until Ed's reclining along the length of the couch. Roy follows him, shifting until he's lying atop Ed's body. Ed's eyes are wide beneath him, and it takes a few moments before Ed lets his arms come up and fold around Roy's body.

He kisses Ed gently, letting Ed dictate the intensity. Ed shifts beneath him, and Roy can feel Ed's cock, hard against his pelvis. Roy has little doubt that Ed's just as aware of his own erection, pressing into the hollow of Ed's hip. The kisses slowly become more heated as Ed's confidence increases and his arousal builds, and Roy is pleased when Ed gets game enough to slip his tongue into Roy's willing mouth.

Ed pulls back to gasp a breath, and Roy moves his attentions to Ed's neck, nuzzling and kissing at the soft place beneath his jaw, sucking lightly and then scraping his teeth lightly along the skin. Ed bucks beneath him at that and Roy smirks against his neck. After that Ed can't seem to hold back the little twitches and jerks of his hips. Several times he presses up deliberately and then stills again as if he isn't sure he's allowed to seek his pleasure against Roy's body.

Roy rolls his hips in response, a deliberate grind, and Ed groans. Roy can't wait to get Ed out of his clothes, to have no barriers between them, nothing but skin against skin. He remembers Ed asking if Roy was willing to fuck as well as be fucked, and his cock twitches just at the thought of sinking into Ed's body.

"Do you prefer to top or bottom?" Roy asks against Ed's neck.

There's no immediate response, so Roy pushes up so that he can see Ed's face. "When you're with men," he elaborates.

Ed's gaze slips off to the side and he reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Well, uh…"

"You've never tried either?" Roy asks.

Ed shakes his head. "Not so much, no."

"What have you tried, with other guys?"

"I've never really, uh…" Ed trails off with a shrug. "Yknow. Anything, with a guy."

Roy sits up and moves off of Ed's body, knowing that there's a conversation here that needs to be had without distraction.

Ed follows his lead, sitting up and trying to sweep his hair into some semblance of order, looking at Roy a little warily.

"I'm the first man you've been with?" Roy asks, gentling his tone.

"Yeah," Ed admits. He gives an embarrassed sort of smile, and then suddenly looks worried. "Is that a problem?"

Roy shakes his head. "Of course not, but it's useful for me to know. I don't want to rush you or do anything you're not comfortable with, so we'll just take it a little slower than usual, all right?"

Ed looks relieved by this. "Yeah, that would be great," he says.

"And if there's anything you find you don't like, please tell me. There are always plenty of other things we can try."

"I will," Ed promises. He looks as if he wants to say more, so Roy waits patiently.

"Are you into guys?" Ed blurts abruptly.

The question isn't what Roy expected, and throws him slightly. "I'm a male prostitute," he says sardonically, resorting to deflection. "It would be problematic if I wasn't."

"Yeah, but…" Ed shrugs. "It's not like you'd have to be into it to do your job, would it? I mean, if you aren't, uh… the one doing the fucking, then it wouldn't matter if you weren't into it, right?"

And damn this kid for being one of the insightful ones, for not accepting Roy's prevarication at face value. Roy wonders for a moment what would happen if he said 'no', whether it would make a difference to Ed, whether Ed might halt the evening altogether out of respect for Roy's stated preferences. But Roy has no reason to lie.

"You're right, of course," Roy concedes. "But as it happens I am sexually attracted to men. Why do you ask?"

Ed fiddles with his sleeve. "I had a girlfriend," he says after a few moments, and Roy realises that Ed's issues might not be limited simply to his inexperience. It would hardly be the first time he's been rambled at by a trick working through their own hangups, though, so Roy settles himself more comfortably as he waits.

"We practically grew up together," Ed continues, "and just sort of fell into a relationship when we were pretty young. We broke up a bunch of times but we always got back together, until this last time."

"What was different about this last time?" Roy asks.

"She wanted to have sex," Ed says. "And I realised that I didn't. I mean… not with her. I love her, I really do. But I just didn't feel that way about her. When I kissed her, it felt… nice, I guess. But it didn't make me want to do anything more."

"It didn't turn you on?"

Ed shakes his head, and then shrugs. "I mean, she sat in my lap and I got hard - but it was a physical thing, y'know? She was rubbing against my dick, it paid attention. But that's all."

"Did you have sex with her?" Roy asks.

Ed shakes his head again, and Roy is oddly relieved, glad that Ed wasn't pressured into doing something he didn't want. "She didn't get why. I'm a teenage guy, I'm supposed to be desperate for it, but I turned her down, even though I was sitting there with a hard-on tenting my pants. She got pretty angry at first, and then she cried." Ed winces a little at the memory. "She thought it was just her I didn't want, but it wasn't. I've never felt that kind of thing about any girl."

"Did you think you might be attracted to other men?" Roy asks.

"Well, at that point, it hadn't really occurred to me. I know that sounds stupid - I mean, how can someone not even know what floats their boat? But the thing is, for most of my life I never really thought about sex at all," Ed says. "I was so busy taking care of Al, making sure we stayed together, trying to fix our bodies, plus studying and working on top of that, that I just didn't have room in my head to think about sex as well. I mean, I jerked off, but it was just a physical thing, I wasn't really thinking about anything in particular. At school the other guys would talk about sex all the freaking time, but I just… didn't. It was only after Winry said she wanted to that I really stopped to think about it."

"What conclusions did you come to when you did?"

"I realised that I just wasn't into girls."

"And?" Roy prompts.

"And I tried thinking about guys, and that did make me want to do more."

"But you haven't had the opportunity to try it out in practise, as yet?"

"No."

"So, is that why you hired me, then? To test out your theory, see if it works the same way in reality as it does in your head?"

Ed doesn't answer for a moment. "Well," he says, looking somewhat abashed but with a hint of a grin, "to be honest, I just saw you and wanted you. I didn't really think about it much further than that. But I guess it works out, right? Means I can try stuff out with a guy and if I don't get into it, it doesn't matter! It's not like having a date that'll be pissed if you realise you're just not into dick halfway through." He pauses and then the grin spreads wider as he reaches down to adjust himself in his pants, erection still obvious. "Not that I think being into it's going to be a problem."

Roy smirks. "I'm flattered to have caught your attention." He's definitely getting the impression that Ed's not really the sort to look before he leaps, jumping into the things with wholehearted enthusiasm, but not always a lot of forethought. In this particular instance, however, it seems to have worked out well for both of them: Ed gets to experiment with his sexuality without the anxiety of trying to please a partner, while Roy gets the easiest night's work he's had in years, and gets to stay warm in the bargain.

"And you're right, I certainly won't be offended if you choose to stop the experimentation at any point during the evening. You've paid for my time and you get to choose what to do with me, even if you decide to do nothing."

Unexpectedly, Ed's expression twists in a grimace of embarrassment. "You must think I'm a total loser," he says, looking away. "Hiring a hooker to lose my virginity. Like I couldn't get a guy any other way."

"Not at all," Roy says, frowning. "My first time was with an escort, too." The words escape before he can corral them, and Roy curses himself for opening yet another chink in his protective armour of anonymity. He's only ever told that story to one other person, and he certainly hadn't planned on divulging it to a trick he barely knows.

But Ed's looking at him with sudden hope in his expression, so Roy tries to push the self-recriminations aside and continue.

"She was kind and gentle with me - she made sure I enjoyed it, as well as teaching me some useful things about how to please a woman."

He didn't mention that it was at the request of his foster mother, who had specifically chosen one of her girls to initiate him, once she decided he was old enough.

"Really?" Ed stares at him, wide-eyed. "And you don't regret it?"

"Not at all," Roy says. "Look, Ed. There are a whole range of reasons why you might want to hire a sex worker, and other people have no right to judge you for it. It doesn't mean you're a loser, or that you couldn't find a partner to have sex with if you tried. It just means that you're choosing to take control of the experience in a particular way."

"I guess so," Ed says, not sounding entirely convinced.

"When you have sex - especially when it's your first time - it should be with someone you feel comfortable with," Roy presses. "And someone you trust to stop if you need them to. If that person is someone you hire, so what?"

"I feel comfortable with you," Ed says, a touch shyly. "I trust you."

"I'm very glad," Roy says, trying not to let Ed's hesitant, earnest smile get to him, while fearing that he's not entirely successful.

Roy wants to tell Ed that he has entirely too much faith in people, that it's not safe to trust anyone, particularly someone you know so little about. But he doesn't want to be the one to disillusion the kid, or expose him to the fundamental assholery of humanity. At the same time Roy recognises the hypocrisy of the thought, considering he's broken several of his own rules this evening already because he trusted a kid he'd only just met.

"So you like girls, too?" Ed asks, obviously contemplating Roy's earlier statement.

"Yes. I'm bisexual." Roy ends up drawn to men more often than women emotionally, but finds women more convenient for casual sex. He used to, anyway - he hasn't had the urge for any kind of sex in a long time.

Ed seems to digest this silently. "I guess that makes me gay," he says, as if only just coming to the realisation. Roy gets the feeling that Ed's recently-discovered attraction to men is something he still hasn't fully processed.

"Ed, they're just labels - try not to get too hung up on them." Roy reaches out to cup Ed's face in his palm, stroking Ed's cheek with the side of his thumb. Ed tilts his head into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before refocusing on Roy's face.

"People like labels to conveniently pigeon-hole others, but not everyone fits neatly into one box or another, or even identifies with the same box from day to day. Don't let other people's labels push you into doing something you don't want, or keep you from doing something you do want."

"I want this. I mean, I want you," Ed says, no uncertainty in his tone this time.

"Good. That's the only thing that matters, right now."

"So, does that mean we can keep doing stuff?" Ed asks hopefully, seeming to have shelved his sexuality-related anxieties for the moment. "Like what we were doing just before?"

"Of course," Roy says, hiding his amusement. "We can do anything you like."

"I liked it when you were on top of me," Ed says, with a mix of embarrassment and defiance. "Kissing me."

"In that case…"

Roy presses Ed back down onto the couch, settling himself between Ed's thighs and covering Ed's body with his own. Ed immediately grabs Roy's hips, pulling him down while pressing up against him, making his desires clear. Roy smirks against Ed's mouth as he kisses him; he's getting the impression that patience isn't one of Ed's stronger suits either.

Roy accedes to the unspoken demand and grinds his hips against Ed's, setting up a regular rhythm, the pleasure slowly building as their cocks rub together, pressed between their bodies. Ed hooks his flesh hand around Roy's neck, holding him in place as their mouths slide over each other's, heated and wet. Ed's making stuttered moans whenever they break for breath, the sounds going straight to Roy's cock. Ed presses his face against Roy's neck for a moment, overwhelmed, and the warm caress of his exhalation against Roy's skin makes him shiver.

Being with Ed like this feels good in a way that Roy hasn't felt in a long time. It's completely unlike the sex he has when he's working; he never makes out like this, clothed and messy like desperate teenagers. Usually he's using his skills to drive his target towards orgasm as quickly as possible, or letting them use his body to do the same. His own pleasure just doesn't enter into it.

But he could come like this, Roy thinks, just from grinding against Ed's body with all of his clothes still on. It's obvious that Ed's already well on his way to the finish post, if the way he's squirming beneath Roy is any indication. But Roy doesn't particularly want to come in his pants, especially when he has to walk home in them.

What he wants is to slow things down, to undress Ed and explore every inch of his body with fingers and mouth, to show Ed all the different types of pleasure his body can experience. But he knows that Ed doesn't have the patience for that right now. He's practically vibrating with pent-up arousal, desperate to come as quickly as possible. Fortunately Ed's also young, and shouldn't have any issues getting it up for a second round, so there's no harm in getting him off fast right now.

But Roy's still not coming in his pants.

Roy sides off Ed and encourages him to turn so that they're both lying on their sides, facing each other. Ed's looking at him inquisitively, impatience held in check for now but lurking not far beneath the surface.

Roy reaches down between them, undoing Ed's belt and pants by touch alone as he watches Ed's face. He pauses with his fingertips just under the elastic of Ed's boxers.

"Do you want me to touch you?" Roy asks.

"Yeah," Ed breathes. "Fuck, yeah!"

Roy pushes the waistband down, freeing Ed's dick, and wraps a hand around it, taking a long, slow stroke.

Ed makes a sound halfway between a choke and a gasp, pushing into Roy's hand in an unspoken demand for more.

Roy obliges, setting up a rhythm, experimenting a little to see what gets a reaction. Some guys prefer firmer pressure down at the root, others like a squeeze over the head on the upstroke. Ed seems to appreciate everything Roy tries, looking half-dazed with pleasure, responsive to every change in Roy's touch.

"Good?" Roy asks.

"Oh hell yeah," Ed says breathlessly. "I didn't think it'd feel so different - someone else's hand, I mean. But it's so much better."

Roy smirks, using a few of his tricks to tease Ed and wind him up even further, while Ed grips his arm so tightly his fingers will probably leave marks.

Meanwhile, Roy's own arousal is a low ache in his abdomen, his dick still clamouring for attention.

Roy releases Ed for a moment, ignoring his small sound of complaint, and quickly undoes his own belt and pants so he can pull himself free. Then he presses forward until his cock is aligned with Ed's and takes them both in his fist, stroking firmly.

"Oh, fuck," Ed mutters, looking down between them to where the heads of both cocks protrude from Roy's fist on the downstroke. "That is so fucking hot."

"Do you want to come like this?" Roy asks.

Ed nods quickly. "Yeah, fuck yeah!"

Roy strokes them both firmly and quickly, foregoing any further teasing and simply pushing them both towards orgasm as quickly as possible. Ed is so wound up he can't hold himself still, his hips stuttering forward and back to push himself further into Roy's hand. It makes Ed's dick drag against his own, and Roy moans at the sensation. Soon they're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, Ed's eyes closed.

Ed is the first to tip over the edge. He stiffens abruptly with a sharp indrawn breath, and then he groans as his dick pulses in Roy's hand and he starts spurting onto both of their stomachs. Roy eases him through it, slowing as the orgasm tails off. Ed is gorgeously flushed and breathing unsteadily, his good hand still gripping Roy's shoulder.

Roy takes a few moments to enjoy Ed's dishevelled state before giving in to his cock's throbbing demand for attention, taking himself back in hand and stroking hard and fast. It isn't long before he reaches his own climax, gasping as the pleasure crashes through him. It's been so long since he's jerked off that the rush of sensation and the relief that follows nearly blindsides him.

Afterwards, they lie tangled together on the couch as they recover.

"That was fucking awesome," Ed declares.

Roy can't hold back a snort of amusement, Ed's combination of enthusiasm and inexperience ridiculously appealing. His unbridled delight at a simple hand-job - the tamest trick in Roy's sexual repertoire - is a novelty completely at odds with the the usual reactions of his clients, who barely seem to enjoy the acts they engage in.

But then, the experience was something out of the ordinary for Roy as well, the intensity startling and unexpected. He can't remember the last time he enjoyed sex. He's certainly never come when he's on the job before, never let himself turn the act into something mutual, or let his own pleasure enter into the equation. There's no denying he enjoyed himself, though, not with the evidence still decorating the front of his t-shirt.

"It was pretty awesome," Roy agrees, both amused and sincere.

Roy's hand is now thoroughly sticky, so after a minute he carefully extracts himself from Ed's tangle of limbs, re-fastens his pants with his left hand, and makes his way down the hallway to clean himself up.

In the bathroom, he stops at the sink and meets his own eyes in the mirror. His hair is in disarray from where Ed's fingers have threaded through it, and his mouth is reddened and kiss-swollen. He's coming down from the high of orgasm and the reality of the situation is starting to intrude in unpleasant ways. His thoughts clamour at him, reminding him how dangerous it is to get attached, to open himself up, to trust in any way, big or small. He should know better, he thinks. He should remember the lessons that were hard-learned.

"Roy," he mutters to his reflection. "What the hell are you doing?"

#my fic #fma fanfic #a different way home #royed #roy/ed #fma

4 notes · View notes

nanyoky · 7 years ago

Note

ALL of the numbers for Wanda and for Pietro

OMG THIS IS SO LONG I TOOK FOREVER. I did a mix of canon and au, especially where canon limits the answers.

1. What does their bedroom look like? Shared one until the bombings, very sparse - parents didn’t have much money. Then homeless until post - ultron.

Wanda: We see wanda’s avengers compound room In cw but I… don’t…. like… many things about that movie so - let’s say more cramped and closed off. Even if given a larger, open space I feel Wanda would fill it in an eclectic way. She nests like no other. When you’re not used to a set space being your own, it’s exciting and novel to surround yourself with things and images of your choosing. She goes to thrift stores and garage sales and collects just dumb things that she likes just because she CAN.

Pietro: Canon: hasn’t ever had his own. Nice happy everybody lives au: pretty plain, but nice. More stylish than people might expect. Some spillover of wanda’s possessions. Entire half of the walk in closet is devoted to sneakers. 2. Do they have any daily rituals?

Wanda: Definitely a tea drinker, at LEAST in the morning and before bed.

Pietro: Not quite compulsive, but he actually falls into routine very fast. In the city, he had a circuit he would travel with things to do along the way- taking food, talking to people from the tent city, taking necessities, scoping out new places to sleep so they did not use one single place too often, checking in on the occupying soldiers’ movements, harassing police officers on duty, etc. 3. Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

Wanda: Not before the Avengers. Now she does, but grudgingly. It helps when the others point out the more varied her skills are, the more people she can help.

Pietro: He always ran, even before they got their powers. Somewhere in their teens, he started doing simple exercises like pushups and situps when they were bored because he thought people wouldn’t hassle them as much if he looked tougher. With the Avengers, he gets bored with all the training- routine that he doesn’t define himself. But he appreciates being able to to something he’s good at. 4. What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

Wanda: She checks with her mind before going into any shared living space. If she doesn’t mind company, she’ll still come in and cook alongside whoever is there or share their food. If she’s not feeling up to it, she will wait.

Pietro: Uses his speed to work around anyone in there, which is annoying exactly 100% of the time 5. Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

Wanda: Organized chaos, for sure. Long bath goblin. We’re talking multiple hours here. Candles and music and a book and maybe even snacks in there.

Pietro: Neat and contained out of necessity for a long time. But the more comfortable he is, the more likely he is to be cluttered and messy. The team starts getting annoyed when he begins to leave his shoes and hoodies everywhere, but those of them good at reading human behavior (natasha, sam, clint) notice the pattern and guess why. 6. Eating habits and sample daily menu

Wanda: Long time not knowing where their next meal was coming from means she eats when and whatever she can. Living in the compound is an adjustment, but she starts getting more discerning and learns what she actually likes an doesn’t like. Sam introduced her to lemon bars and she ate a whole pan and then threw up one time she knew it was coming but they were just SO GOOD.

Pietro: Everything. So much. People know his powers include increased metabolism, but they don’t really GET IT. Steve will go to order pizza like “so you think 20 is good for all of us I know you eat a lot” and he’s just like “20 for me” “haha- right” “No. you don’t understand. You will all starve.” But he also has the terrible habit of eating too fast (surprise surprise) and makes himself sick. 7. Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Wanda: Definitely a “no time you enjoyed spending is wasted” type person. She loves to read and do her nails and listen to music.

Pietro: wasting time makes him anxious- unless it’s quiet time with Wanda. But even that is up for criticism if it lasts too long. He won’t complain to her, but he gets restless and fidgety until she tells him to go do something to get him to calm down.

8. Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

They used to smoke sometimes in Sokovia- mostly when it was cold and they had to sleep outside. They don’t anymore, but sometimes get a craving they have to try to replace with something else.

Wanda: Collecting things like jewelry and decorations for her room. And sweets. Fancy looseleaf tea.

Pietro: Doesn’t really think of things as indulgences. He does what he wants or needs and then moves on. 9. Makeup?

Wanda: Loves it. Feels stupid and underprepared for her day without it.

Pietro: Doesn’t like it on himself, but helps Wanda with hers. 10. Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

Woah boy. Can you say holy codependency batman? I don’t think either of the twins could ever get over this. Canon universe, I think grieving Pietro is going to be a lifelong process for Wanda. There’s just no way she can ever “move on” from the loss of him. Au- I think they could both work on some of their other issues and relax enough to form relationships outside of one another, but the codependency would never go away. They would still bounce back to “no one matters but us” the moment they are threatened. Neither of them will likely ever see this as a problem. They recognize that others do though, which only feeds into their “no one understands” complex.

They both have phobias and ptsd from their chidlhood traumas. Mostly these show as little things, but on a bad day, can be an issue. Claustrophobia and being tethered or incapacitated during crisis are always issues. Typical stuff like night terrors crop up regularly.

11. Intellectual pursuits?

Their formal education ended at 10- as they skipped out on the foster system out of fear they would be separated. They would often spend time in the city’s library, as it was one of the few places that wouldn’t kick them out for not buying anything.

Wanda insisted they learn English. She thought it would come in useful on their mission to kill Stark. She also likes reading, though mostly fiction.

Pietro struggled with learning English because he’s easily frustrated and hates feeling stupid. He reads well when he finds something that interests him, but very rarely has the patience to sit and read for long periods of time. 12. Favorite book genre?

Wanda: Gothic romance and horror. Bronte, Shelley, Morrison, Jackson, some O’Connor.

Pietro: Would rather ask Wanda to read aloud whatever she’s reading than pick his own. He likes them though- particularly things with dry shows of humor and scathing judgements of social norms. He keeps his love of Vonnegut quiet, as Wanda can’t stand him. 13. Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

((we already talked about this a bit))

Wanda: I waffle on this depending on the story I’m telling. My two favorite Wanda sexualities are Bi!Wanda and Ace!Wanda. Like hard ace. Zero interest. Not repulsed, just uncomfortable with the idea of sex in relation to herself and her own body. Not particularly educated about different sexualites. Probably didn’t know there was a word for being asexual until much later in life.

Pietro: I love my dead bi son. Ditto above on education. But definitely observant enough to know differing preferences aren’t all that unusual.

Both of them don’t talk about sexuality much- not in a private or “i don’t like labels” kind of way, just in a “if i want to have sex with you, you will know. and if I don’t, then it’s not likely to come up” kind of way. 14. Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

They both have faded, but still note-worthy scars from the bombing rubble. Wanda low key never has bare legs and Pietro never goes sleeveless.

15. Biggest and smallest short term goal?

Wanda: Depending on what part of canon or au we’re talking about, could be variations on “get through the week” and “make pietro smile”

Pietro: Always “get through the week” and “Make wanda smile.”

16. Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Before AoU, both of them had the goal of living long enough to kill Tony. Smallest would have been “find out what to do after.”

17. Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

I wrote a big long rant about the twins’ costuming/character design once this is MY JAM.

Wanda: Woah boy does she love her clothes. She loves collecting new pieces that she can layer. Jewelry is a must. She feels naked and vulnerable without it. Loves the aesthetic of fashion but doesn’t think much about how her body looks in it. Feels weirdly self conscious in light colors.

Pietro: comfort is #1, but it is not his lone concern. Almost opposite of Wanda- pretty bland aesthetic tastes, but likes how he looks in some things over others. Low key very aware that warm colors wash him out. Used to wear charms from their mother around his wrists or neck but they’ve all since been lost or broken or stolen. Wanda pierced one of his ears when he helped her do hers, but he rarely wears anything in it. (There was a shot in aou where pietro turns his head and you can see Aaron Taylor Johnson has a pierced ear and it just struck me as a very accurate twin scene like *smol Wanda holds up a needle and a handful of snow* “come pietro - were pierce our ears now” “nice.”)

18. Favorite beverage?

Wanda: Teateatea always tea.

Pietro: Constantly hydrating. Metabolism thing.

19. What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

Wanda: Long term plans. Starts with what she has to do the next day, the next week, the next month, etc. Doesn’t always help her sleep though.

Pietro: Short term plans. All the things he wants to get done the next day/should be getting done instead of sleeping. Almost never helps him sleep.

20. Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

Occasional illnesses as children. After the bombings they both got sick on the street a lot. Pietro would always try to steal a wallet and get a hotel room whenever they were ill. Or at least befriend someone enough to stay with them.

21. Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Wanda: Ons: Tall men, women with curly hair, good tattoos, slow hands on her thighs, neck kisses, leaving marks with her teeth and nails, wall/counter sex, drunk/buzzed sex, the low-key voyeurism of whispering dirty things in public, slow, passionate makeouts that slowly and steadily build into faster and rougher sex. Offs: fetishizing innocence/inexperience (certain guys think her stockings are a sign of being into a schoolgirl vibe but any type of age roleplay is a hard stop for her), her partner setting the pace without give and take, being called “cute” or “sweet,” having her hair pulled, anyone who dislikes pietro.

Pietro: Ons: men’s forearms, curvy women, and…. a… few fetishes… biting, hair pulling/playing, drunk/buzzed sex, basic restraints, oral fixation but most of all PRAISE KINK and he doesn’t want to talk about it not at all don’t bring it up please for the love of god don’t make it A Thing. Sam wants to talk about it Sam Wilson wants to talk about it a lot. Offs: people who think sexual intimacy means affection is now acceptable, being laughed at, people who think they’ve “figured him out,” anyone who dislikes wanda.

22. Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

Wanda: vague doodles. Patterns and motifs. Sometimes lists and plans, but most of that is mental.

Pietro: little mini comics that will make wanda laugh. (during team meetings he draws little stick!steve and stick!tony arguing and the scene gets more and more elaborate until stick!stony makeouts happen and wanda just fucking loses it in the middle of tony discussing new tech.)

23. How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

Wanda: Organized to herself. Clutter that only she understands. No one can find anything in her room if they need to, but she knows exactly where everything is.

Pietro: Very simple and organized, but he is That Guy who has The Chair or The Drawer where things kind of build up until he doesn’t remember what’s all on/in there.

24. Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

Wanda: loves literature and language.

Pietro: is a better storyteller than a writer. Wanda says there’s no difference but he disagrees.

After his death she tries writing down some of his stories but he was right.

25.How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

pre ultron: dead. Both of them.

Post: Wanda just keeps trying to find more things she can do to help others and make amends. Pietro would join her if he were alive.

26. Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

Kinda the same as above. No real back up - they will either succeed or die.

27. What is their biggest regret?

pre ultron: not being able to help their parents and not realizing what the true nature of the SHIELD facility was until it was too late.

Wanda in post aou: every single thing about that day.

28. Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Friend - each other.

Enemy: Tony until post ultron, then they wouldn’t really know. Part of the experience of it all is learning things aren’t as simple as friends and enemies.

29. Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

Of course, as children, their instinct was to stick together and hide. As adults, pietro handles any immediate danger, and looks to Wanda for the plan once there is a moment.

30. Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

They didn’t have time to grieve their parents. Wanda screamed for days after sokovia, then was basically catatonic for weeks. In a nice au… I don’t know. If they started getting close to others, then lost someone, I think pietro would get anxious and want to do something, while Wanda would close off and try to keep him close to her.

31. Most prized possession?

Wanda has the jewelry and clothes that Pietro stole from her. She likes mixing up her wardrobe, but those ones are special.

Pietro doesn’t keep much long enough for it to be “prized.” He keeps track of things very well, but once its outlived its use its gone. He still feels guilty about the charms though, and if any had survived, he would take special care of them.

32. Thoughts on material possessions in general?

They both feel they should not get too attached because they have lived so long only keeping what they can carry, but that has also meant they are very protective of the things they have.

33. Concept of home and family?

Each other. Always. They did feel a sense of home and loyalty to their city, which is part of the reason they never tried to leave.

34. Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

Wanda: Wanda is very private. Part of the reason is that she realizes how much of oneself is constructed deliberately due to her powers and natural knack for perception. So she likes giving people as little to work with as possible. It gives her a sense of control. However, she is more likely to feel close enough to someone to tell them things that she wouldn’t tell strangers. Whereas....

Pietro: Private about some things, VERY blunt about others. Sort of the opposite of how most people might be. He’s the one to tell the story of their parents’ deaths, every time. And ah- certain subjects don’t make him uncomfortable. Ex: one time, bruce and helen set the whole team of enhanced avengers down to talk about different aspects of their abilities for their records and when it was Pietro’s turn- “I eat a lot, I’m fast, I don’t need to piss as much as you’d think from how much i hydrate? so that’s nice. I heal fast, don’t seem to bruise from blunt impact, oh- and my refractory period is like- 30 seconds.” and everyone just “.....kay”

And of course, they have no secrets from each other. Zero sense of privacy between the two of them- like how they share a personal bubble.

35. What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

Wanda: Like I said, doesn’t see things she likes as a waste of time- that is, unless there is currently something she can actively do to meet a goal. But she values planning time and that can be done while doing the things she enjoys.

Pietro: Flirting. He is a hopeless flirt (see deleted scenes from aou) and enjoys it, but honeslty he thinks it’s kind of silly. Either someone is into you or they’re not. Flirting is like the “how are you? say hi to your mom” of sex.

36. What makes them feel guilty?

Before Ultron: Nothing but their parents.

After: everything.

37. Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

Wanda: both. Her emotions fuel her, but she’s too practical to go with the first plan that pops into her head. she feels she owes it to the validity of her anger and guilt to take the best course of action.

Pietro: definitely emotional. He analyzes just enough not to make things immediately worse, then acts.

38. Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?

Wouldn’t know what that is.

Post AoU, Wanda reads more about psychology to help understand how her powers work. Once she comes across this, she’s educated enough to know how simplistic and meaningless it is.

39. What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Time together.

Post AoU Wanda: Time alone. Doing something that makes her feel like herself like drinking tea or painting her nails.

40. Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

Wanda: Bit of both, but leaning more towards superiority. But it’s less superiority, more utter confidence and faith in herself- even when misplaced.

Pietro: Bit of both, leaning towards inferiority. Scared he’s not enough to protect wanda or get them what they want.

41. How misanthropic are they?

Can be a weird mix. They hate what people are capable of doing to one another, which comes from the empathy of seeing themselves and others hurt.

42. Hobbies?

Wanda: the reading, fashion pursuits, etc. With the team, she’s gotten to try more things like cooking and music.

Pietro: He feels good when he’s running. Not even to speed. Just running is something he’s good at and he likes doing things he’s good at.

43. How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

(am i going crazy i feel like i answered some of these like four times)

Their formal education ended at age 10. Skipped out on the foster system and the attached public ed.

44. Religion?

Their father was jewish, but somewhere about halfway between “observant” and “christmas tree jewish.” After the bombings, they have almost no residual faith and a pretty antagonistic attitude toward organized religion.

45. Superstitions or views on the occult?

Their mother was Romni and used to give them charms and things to carry for luck and protection. She herself took the customs only vaguely seriously and just followed most out of cultural tradition more than anything. Wanda thought it was all very serious and magical when they were young, but after the bombings refuses to talk about it. As previously stated, Pietro used to carry the charms very carefully, but they didn’t have any on them when they were pulled out of the rubble and he tries to act like it doesn’t bother him that they don’t continue on with the traditions, but it does. He hasn’t told Wanda (she knows anyway), but he found a holed stone a year after their parents’ deaths, but lost it immediately. He still thinks it was a sign he’s meant for bad luck.

46. Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

Wanda: speaks for the two of them, most often. Except when it comes to sharing stories. That’s where Pietro steps in.

Pietro: Makes Wanda’s will into action. Usually leaves the talking to her.

47. If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

Wanda: Someone who doesn’t necessarily understand her, but does not seek to unravel or change her. She might have a tendency to desire partners who are possibly too passive when it comes to her. This prevents her from healthy relationships a lot. She has no patience for criticism, no matter if it is about somethign superficial, or about something genuinely concerning, like her self-destructive tendencies.

Pietro: Tends to confuse what he wants, which ends messily every time. He doesn’t consciously want a serious commitment, but unconsciously sort of... expects it? This goes one of two ways- his partner takes the relationship seriously and he doesn’t, which means he is callous and flippant with them OR his partner doesn’t take things seriously and he’s frustrated and hurt that he is such a minor event in someone else’s life.

The twins are... not good at dating.

HOWEVER, given the opportunity post aou, I think they would both try to improve their empathy and interpersonal skills a little better. Wanda would do well with someone who actively encourages her to express herself and step outside of her own head, but doesn’t get pushy. Pietro would do well with someone conscientious, but who would also coax him not to take himself so seriously.

48. How do they express love?

With one another: Protectiveness. The way Pietro always has his back, but Wanda is always standing between him and known danger. Physical affection/their shared personal bubble.

With befriending the rest of the team, they would struggle for a time. But eventually Wanda starts making two cups of tea when someone else is in the kitchen with her and Pietro starts smiling, just a little, at their jokes instead of rolling his eyes.

49. If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

Wanda: It’s not exactly speed that’s her strong point, she’s just ABRUPT. even before the experiments, she was very good at reading people and situations. She can tell when a fight is inevitable, and once diffusion is no longer an option, she will strike first and not fast, not stopping to let anyone get their footing. Dirty fighting. Knees and nails and big jagged rings.

Pietro: Big surprise- fast. But also very- full bodied. I love the way that with his speed, Pietro’s attacks in aou are mostly just “run into robot so fast it just falls apart.” I feel like that’s not just the powers, but also how he does things. Just kind of throws himself at/on people and hits with anything he’s got. Fast and dirty. No kidney or testicle is safe.

50. Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

Wanda: Pre aou: not if it’s together. Post: no. Would be somewhat of a relief. Finally going home after a long day. Wherever she’s going, it’s the same place as Pietro.

Pietro: Yes yes oh god yes.

#maximoff twins #codependent supertwins #long post #such a fucking long post #i'd say i'm sorry but if this surprises you in any way you probably should have unfollowed a long time ago #character meme #do it for the meme #asks #@essayofthoughts

5 notes · View notes

colorisbyshe · 8 years ago

Text

Linking to this post where @officialcisblog and I were speaking. I’m creating a new post because it got too long.

@officialcisblog said:

Wow you completely ignored the fact that I stated asexuality and aromanticism challenges societal norms!

Also the fact that I’m aspec yeah, but I’m trans/nonbinary and not straight.

You leave out the fact that being asexual doesn’t mean a person is straight. But society has a huge pressure on people to BE overtly sexual and to WANT sex. Which, on one hand is okay, but on the other hand is toxic/harmful to not just ace people.

And trying to compare ace people to just normal straight people is sort of… gross. Asexuality is an identity within itself that has unique characteristics. It’s not comparable to “some person focusing on their career” because that person will probably still be sexually attracted to people and other things that a lot of asexual people wouldn’t. In fact, as an aspec person your blatantly WRONG explanation of asexuality is.. pretty offensive.

Asexual people still have sex. Some do, some don’t. A lot of times it’s just a lack of sexual attraction WHICH IS A FORM OF SEXUALITY.

Part of the LGBT community is that we challenge the norms of society. I mean, look at the drag movement- not the modern one, but the one that occurred during the Queer Revolution/LGBT movement in the 1970’s-90’s. Trans people like Marsha P. Johnson were put out into the spotlight.

Why? Because she challenged a part of society’s construct.

And please don’t act like the LGBT community is “SGA only” because A) you’re throwing bisexual, pansexual polysexual and so on people under the bus- wether it be people who are one of these labels but are primarily attracted to/currently in a relationship with their opposite gender (if they have one) or people who feel like SGA doesn’t fit them because they’re not just attracted to one gender. I mean last time I checked, me being pan doesn’t mean I’m attracted to my same gender. I’m attracted regardless of gender and I don’t want to get lumped in with being “SGA” because it’s not the same experience.

And B) if that was the case Straight trans people need to leave the community. Sorry y'all. Nonbinary people aren’t allowed either.

((Not to mention the term itself, SGA, is a term which has roots in conversion therapy))

The aspec community is fighting towards having what a lot of others want- like nonbinary people, pan people, and other marginalised identities want.

To be seen. To be seen as more than just a joke or a freak. To educate people on our identities and what they are and what they mean to us. We fight for acceptance and awareness like a lot of the lesser-known marginalised identities of the LGBTQIA+ community do.

And yknow, the community is supposed to pride itself on diversity and acceptance. It’s a COMMUNITY. Shoving your head up your asshole and spending more time screeching about “SGA” people as if they’re superior to the rest of us kind of defeats the purpose, and honestly gets you nowhere. Aspecs aren’t doing any harm to the community by being apart of it, just like how bi/pan/poly people who are with their opposite gender and straight trans people aren’t causing any harm by just simply existing in the community.

I want to begin by saying, no, I’m not ignoring you saying that aromanticism/asexuality challenge societal norms. I’m saying they don’t challenge societal norms. Thanks.

Rest of my response under a read more:

I don’t know why you’re listing off your identities as if they’re relevant? No one in this thread said you can’t be ace, trans, and non-straight. We’re just saying that the cis and straight aces aren’t non-heteronormativie. Neither are cis aroaces. It’s... that simple. If you can be trans non-straight and ace, someone else can therefore be... cis straight and ace. Mind boggling concept, I know.

Society really doesn’t give a fuck if you want sex. Society just cares if you have sex and if the sex you have is the right sex (between two cishet people, typically intraracial, typically everyone involved has no visible disabilities, and it should be procreative unless it’s all about the man’s pleasure). And even then?? Society stops caring if you’re dating. No one looks at elderly couples and is like “ah, there’s a chance you’ve stopped having sex. Society frowns on this.”

So, like, cis straight aces are just as straight as straight non-aces. Especially when you remember, there are aces who have/want/enjoy sex and non-aces who don’t. There are some people so sex-repulsed they consider that an integral part of their sexuality but would not call themselves ace. They’re still straight if they only want to date the “opposite” gender or are only attracted to the “opposite” gender. Every relationship you can have to sex/romance is incorporated under “straight” if you are solely attracted to the opposite gender. (This is an abstract you, I’m not saying you are straight.) Just like if you are only attracted to the same/similar gender, it does not matter how you are attracted to them or what you want to do with them, you are gay.

I have a question for you--how is a single woman who never wants to date and doesn’t have time for sex treated differently in society that a straight woman who doesn’t feel sexual attraction and doesn’t date? What does society do to differentiate these women? How does the latter woman challenge gender norms in a way the cishet non-ace woman doesn’t?

How do cishet ace people who have sex challenge gender norms in a way that cishet non-ace people who have sex don’t?

Gender norms aren’t based on whether or not your behaviour is motivated by attraction or not Gender norms are just based on your behaviour, motivators be damned.

If aces can have/want/need sex, what about asexuality is inherently non-heteronormative? What norms are they challenging?

To address your Marsha P Johnson statement, a. fuck you for comparing cishet aces to bisexual trans women and b. did you forget the original post?? We’ve already talked about how transness and gayness are both gender nonconforming and that’s why our activism overlaps.

Where did anyone say the LGBT community is “SGA” only?

Pansexual means “attracted to every gender,” so like... if you aren’t attracted to your own gender... that’s not pan. The only exception being if you don’t have a gender because then... yeah... you can’t be attracted to your own gender. You don’t have one.

Straight trans people are hurt by homophobia and transphobia no shit they belong. We’re talking about cis straight aces and cis araoces. Why do y’all derail posts like this????

SGA doesn’t have roots in conversion therapy. It’s root is “attracted to the same gender” which is an extremely common phrase. It IS used in conversion therapy and it stems from SSA in that case. But it also comes from SGL which is AAVE. Again, same gender attraction is a very common phrase, so it has multiple “origins.”

The ace community A. Isn’t fighting for anything. Seriously can you name a single ace organization that does activism and B. Isn’t fighting for LGBT causes.

Visibility isn’t an LGBT issue. People know LGBT people exist. The LGBT community currently suffers from something called “hypervisibility.” We suffer because people know about us and use that to oppress us.

LGBT people aren’t fighting to not be seen as jokes/freaks. We’re fighting to exist in public and not have our love, lives, sex, bodies, health be legal. We’re fighting for legal protections which we don’t currently have. We’re fighting to not be killed, assaulted, abused, and rejected.

ANY social group can be said ot be fighting for the weak shit you’re listed. LGBT activism has specific goals. Yeah, if you decontextualize it, it sounds just like the ace community’s supposed goals!!

But AGAIN, fighting against coercive sex and romance is actually a FEMINIST issue, not an LGBT one!! In a world where LGBT people are killed for fucking and loving, our goals cannot be also reminding the world “yeah but sex and romance aren’t important.” LGBT people are literally forced into conversion therapy to make them sexless and loveless.

No, we don’t share goals with the ace community.

Aces aren’t doing harm to the community by being part of it. But cishet aces, cishet aros, and cis aroaces are. Because they oppress us.

Bisexuals and straight trans people don’t oppress the community. But thanks for comparing cishets to bisexuals and trans folk. Real nice.

Fuck off.

#q slur //#ace discourse #officialcisblog #long post //

7 notes · View notes

ishiireviewer · 8 years ago

Photo

RATING: 5 Stars.

REVIEW:

God, what a beautiful book! I absolutely loved it. So so so much. It drove me close to tears at one point.

I want everyone to read this book. It’s not like other LGBT books out there because this one focuses on the person instead of the couple.

It had such a flowy quality. So easy to read through in just one sitting.

And I just loved this book so much and I don’t have any words for it.

ANNOTATIONS:-

1. I really love them. I send a steady, visible stream of it—love—from me to them. From my chest to their chests. From my brain to their brains. It’s a game I play. It’s a good game because I can’t lose

2. But it feels good to love a thing and not expect anything back. It feels good to not get an argument or any pushiness or any rumors or any bullshit. It’s love without strings. It’s ideal

3. Ms. Steck reminds me of the arrow—one of Zeno’s arguments. The idea is that an arrow shot at a target has to move through time, but since time is made of tiny moments, the arrow, in each tiny moment, is at rest and not moving. “That’s like saying that if I take a picture of Clay”—I point to Clay, who is wearing his Kurt Vonnegut asterisk T-shirt today—“while he’s running hurdles and I freeze that moment in time… that he never really moved during the race.” Ms. Steck says, “Yes. That’s a little like what Zeno was trying to say

4. Hippocrates. Father of Western medicine. He said this: “There are in fact two things, science and opinion; the former begets knowledge, the latter ignorance

5. She said, “This will be a time of asking questions and not rushing to answer them. A time of poking holes in your own theories. A time of thinking and not knowing

6. Like—moving. He said it was impossible to move because time stands still inside each little split second

7. She sighs and rolls onto her back. “So what’s the big deal about some philosopher who said motion was impossible? Philosophers said all sorts of crazy shit. Wasn’t that their job?” “Their job was to find truth.” “And did they?” I look at Dee and I think that Zeno was totally right, even though that’s not what he meant: For people, motion is sometimes impossible. For Dee. For my mom and Ellis. For nearly everyone. (I wanna understand this)

8. think if we kept a calendar of who gets called gay in high school, there would be a new person on every single day of the 180-day school year. Gay, dyke, fag, lesbo, homo, whatever. Every single one of us has heard it somewhere along the ride. It’s more common than the flu. More contagious, too. Nobody gossips about whether you have the flu or not

9. (Her mum is hating on ignorant people and she believes that she herself isn’t one. We think we know, but we don’t. Not really. What is knowing, though? It’s all thinking anyway, isn’t it? Idk)

10. She leans in to kiss me good-bye, and when she does, I wish I lived on the right planet where kissing Dee Roberts wasn’t a big freaking deal. Where it didn’t mean I have to affix a label to my forehead so people can take turns trying to figure out what caused it or what’s wrong with me. And I wish I didn’t have to lie so much (Yeesss)

11. When Dee kisses me, the taste of her is enough to make me die right here on the spot. I don’t care if some mountain biker zooms through on the path. I don’t care about anything. Not Zeno or Socrates. Not motion or truth. When Dee kisses me, I am alive. I am moving. I am the truth

12. I’ll go,” I say, seemingly out of control of my own mouth. Why did I just say that? I think I can do Thursday,” Ellis says. “Great,” Mom answers. “We’ll go Thursday.” She doesn’t look at me when she says this. Her hand is still on Ellis’s arm. This was like a private conversation they had. My offer to go along stayed in another dimension (Awwwww. Poor baby I love Astrid)

13. We start our unit on the Allegory of the Cave. It’s a part in Plato’s Republic where he wrote a dialogue between his brother Glaucon and his teacher, Socrates. The short version: People chained in a cave are only able to see a wall. The wall has shadows cast from a fire they can’t see. They guess at what the shadows are. Their entire reality becomes these shadows. Clay has read it before. Of course. Knows all about the Allegory of the Cave. “The only life these prisoners know is the sounds and shadows of the cave. Imagine living like that!” he says. “Or maybe we are living like that, right?” Ms. Steck stops him before he can spoil the rest. Apparently there is more excitement to come for the prisoners in the cave. For now, all we have to worry about is a three-hundred-word essay from the point of view of one of these prisoners exploring the realm of belief versus the realm of knowledge (Man) (I wanna read philosophy!!!)

14. “No,” I say, trying to be gutsy, too. “I’m also going to say that if you—if you think you love me, then shouldn’t you treat me like you love me and respect me? And be patient with me?” I realize that I’m saying this not just to Dee but also to my mother. And Kristina. And Ellis. And Jeff. And maybe even myself. (Awwww baby. I wanna hug you)

15. “I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t know.” I watch a plane zoom across the sky, and envy the power and control of it. I simultaneously realize that without a pilot, it would crash. “I need to be my own pilot,” I say. “And I don’t understand why my copilot is saying stuff like shit or get off the pot. It just doesn’t seem like a good team

16. I sigh deeply and lie back down to look at the sky. No airplanes. No passengers to ask. So I ask the clouds. Did you guys know there’s a wrong side and a right side? Why didn’t you tell me? The clouds don’t answer. “So when you said shit or get off the pot, you didn’t mean for me to make up my mind,” I say. “You meant for me to just come out, be gay, and be done with it.” “Well, yeah. I don’t see what the holdup is.” “You wouldn’t understand,” I say. “Obviously, this was a piece of cake for you.” “Are you saying you might not be gay? That this is all just some kind of joke or something?” “It’s not a joke.” “So what is it, then?” “It’s a question. And I’m answering it. But I don’t know the answer yet, and I’m sorry

17. Isn’t it enough to be in love with Dee’s amazing eyes and the smell of her hair? Isn’t it enough that she thinks I’m funny? That we have fun when we mess around at work? Why does everything come with a strict definition? Who made all these boxes? (And then the marriage proposal couple. How cool. The boxes being jewish stuff. I love how the questions she asks has a response from up above)

18. “I don’t know. Isn’t that what you learn in humanities?” I think about what Frank S. would say. But I say nothing (Is that because socrates says nothing? Awesome)

19. Maybe it’s okay that people talk you into things. Maybe if they didn’t, you’d never go anywhere (Yus)

20. I feel an intense paranoia that if I use their toilet paper, they will be even more pissed off with me than they already seem to be (I wanna help her. Why is she so insecure? I feel protective towards her)

21. I hear my dad’s voice: You have to let people get to know you before you decide they don’t like you (Yyaaasss)

22. What does the airport look like at four o’clock in the morning? Did they even have coffee brewing? Was there toilet paper in the stalls? And why don’t I feel ashamed right now? Is that a sign? (Because its not your fault. Passenger’s story about her friend and her and two boys who took advantage. She finally feels okay about it. That’s because she finally accepted that what happened wasn’t her fault. Which is the same in case of astrid and cops busting gay bar)

23. All we can see is the wall Mom wants us to see. On it she’s drawn the people we know in shadow. For me, she’s drawn you and Dad and the residents of Unity Valley. For you, she’s drawn me and Dad and the residents of Unity Valley. Based on Mom’s shadows, I see a sister who will always be better than me. A sister who will always win because I am a loser. She has cast this same shadow for Dad. We are the losers in the Jones family illusion, and you and Mom are the winners ME: Now imagine we were set free from this illusion. Our chains removed, our heads able to turn and look at each other. What would I look like to you? And what would you look like to me? And what would Dad look like to us? Would we still rely on the shadows, or would we see the real people? ELLIS: You’re starting to worry me, Astrid. ME: That’s because you’re still chained ME: I guess not, too. ELLIS: But if I change the way I think, Mom will stop loving me. ME: How do you know? ELLIS: I know because that’s what she did to you (Aw)

24. They say: Did you hear? Did you hear? Did you hear? But no one actually talks to us. (Wow. Yes. They hear it from others but never from us. And they believe what others say.)

25. You’re completely wrong, you know. You’re completely full of shit.” “That’s not what we heard.” They say that in unison, like the creepy girls in The Shining. They say: That’s not what we heard. (Because you didn’t. Not really)

26. She asks, “What do you think Plato meant to say when he talked about the freed people returning to the cave? Did he think they couldn’t handle the outside world? Did he feel they needed to be controlled? What does that compare to in our society? Do we have places like the cave?” She glances at me when she asks this, but she doesn’t call on me, and I send love to her for it. Ms. Steck, I know you sat in that faculty room and heard every stupid rumor. I love you because this discussion is exactly what I needed. I will not be like Kristina and go back into the cave

27. I replace the word gays from her sentence with these other words: blacks, Hispanics, immigrants, women, people of mixed race, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Gypsies, Russians, Poles, Yugoslavians, Ukrainians, mentally and physically disabled

28. Frank Socrates, and he says, in my head, Settle for nothing less than the truth. Even if the answer is I don’t know

29. When I see the first plane, I make a deal with its passengers. I say: Look, this is a loan. I don’t know if love is something I will run out of one day. I don’t know if I should be giving it all to you guys or not. Today, I feel like maybe I should have kept some for myself for days when no one else loves me. Not even my best friend (Awww boo)

30. And then I send the love up. It’s as easy as it always is, and it’s hard, too, because I really don’t know the answer to this mystery. Is love something that will always be available? Will it always be confined and untrustworthy like it feels today? Is there enough to go around? Am I wasting mine on strangers? (Awww. No baby. That’s what makes you a wonderful person.)

31. (God this book is so fucking beautiful. Drove me to tears. After the above, a guy in plane feels bad about not feeling loved and then he receives Astrid’s and he feels happy. And astrid thinks it’s a waste which is proved wrong by this dude. How fucking beautiful.)

32. While I’m brushing my teeth, I think about how our sisterhood deteriorated. I blame Mom. Of course. But as I look at myself in the mirror, I see some other stuff. My snubbing her when she decided to be a small-town girl. Me deciding she didn’t need me anymore when she got old enough to stop watching The Wizard of Oz. Me not inviting her when Dad and I would make stuff together. Me deciding that Mom would always like her more… and having it reflect on her instead of just on Mom. So maybe I helped it happen. Maybe we’d be closer. If I told her the truth, she’d probably accept me eventually, and we could just be sisters again

33. As he walks away, I think about what he said about Justin in the locker room, and I think about Ellis and her gross towel thing this morning, and I figure out what confuses people so much about other people being gay. They think it’s all about sex (Yyyeeesss. As if that’s the only element about their personality.)

34. NO wins, twelve votes to ten. Ms. Steck doesn’t say anything. She just leaves the results on the board above the ugly homophobic signs, and all I can think of is what she called us: Unity Valley’s best and brightest. And we’re three votes short of equality. (Best and brightest being a paradox. And 3 votes short which makes her paradox “equality is obvious” ring true)

35. I think about what she said to me last night. How I had nothing to lose and how she had everything to lose. I count eight people at her table. I count zero at mine (Does this mean in a revengey manner?or was she just justifying kris’ statement?)

36. First, to define equality. Then to define obvious. I mean, I can even try to define is if I want, because equality isn’t really working in the present tense, is it? Because equality isn’t really obvious to most people. And I don’t mean to say the world is filled with racists or sexists or homophobes. I mean to say: Everybody’s always looking for the person they’re better than. In fourth grade, it’s the second graders. In ninth grade, it’s the eighth graders. Adults look at teenagers like we’re the stupidest creatures on the planet, when really we’re just lining up to take their jobs in T-minus five years. I am equal to a baby and to a hundred-year-old lady. I am equal to an airline pilot and a car mechanic. I am equal to you. You are equal to me. It’s that universal. Except that it’s not

37. I feel myself getting pissed off, so I take a minute to try to figure out how to say what I want to say. Frank S. lights Dad’s pipe. I have no idea how he knew where to find it, but I guess if I made him up in my head, he must know everything I know. I feel relaxed by association

38. Still, it’s none of your business until I’m ready to tell you. Calling it a lie is wrong. And kinda hurtful. I really know what you’re trying to say, but try to think about it from my side. It just sucks that you’d hold my own confusion—which tortured me for months—against me. Seriously.” (I agree)

39. Why? I’m right! All those people who are chained here thinking that their reputations matter and that this little shit matters are so freaking shortsighted. Dude, what matters is if you’re happy. What matters is your future. What matters is that we get out of here in one piece. What matters is finding the truth of our own lives, not caring about what other people think is the truth of us! (Yyyaaasss)

40. I take a second to think about him—Frank Socrates—and I decide he’s my new hero. Not because he shows up in my life and talks to me when I want him to, but because of who he was and what he stood for. I just love how he rejected all the boxes

41. The world is made of so many types of different people, and we have to learn that though they might be scary at first, they are not inherently bad because they are different.” He starts this way and goes on to talk about his days in school as a mixed-race Latino and how hard it was for him growing up. He got beat up a lot. Teased every day. I start to feel resentful. You mean to tell me that it’s 2011 and this guy gets paid to have remedial talks with high school students about how they shouldn’t hate other people? Isn’t this elementary? Shouldn’t it be automatic? What kind of species are we if we have to have people come talk to us about this crap? And how, if we’re that stupid, did we get to the moon and help build a space station? He tells a story about how his mother was from Cuba and how she hated Puerto Ricans. He says, “No matter how many times I tried to explain to her how stupid this was, she never changed. It was just ingrained in her. “Some of you have it ingrained in you. You weren’t born with it. You were taught. No baby has hate for anything.” He produces a baby (a real baby) and bounces the kid on his hip. “We were all babies once, right? This little guy doesn’t care what country you were born in or what religion you might practice or how much you weigh or who you might love

42. I just went to my twenty-fifth class reunion, guys. Let me tell you—people change. The girls who passed around rumors about all the weird kids? Are nice and have their own weird kids. The so-called losers who graduated at the bottom of the class? Are driving luxury cars and running big businesses. The kid who made fun of all the gay kids? Is gay. I’m not saying this will happen to all of you, but what I’m trying to tell you is that high school doesn’t end here. You guys will know each other for a long time, and you will get to see how life changes people. I only hope that for right now, you remember that there is no place for hate in a happy life. I don’t care who you are, where you come from or what God you believe in. I can guarantee you that if you hate, you will never achieve true happiness

43. “I don’t know why this is so important for me to tell you, but I’m a virgin. Seriously weird for me to be telling you that, I know, but this whole thing, it’s not about sex. I just fell in love, and it happened to be with a girl.” “O-kay,” he says. “When I told you I didn’t know if I was gay, I was telling you the truth. I just know I’m in love—with a girl. I had no idea of anything past that. It’s very Socrates, you know? I’m not questioning my sexuality as much as I’m questioning the strict definitions and boxes of all sexualities and why we care so much about other people’s intimate business.

44. And if any of you has a problem with any of it, then it’s your problem. Being gay is hard enough without having to worry about your family being weird about it.”

45. How can we say nobody’s perfect if there is no perfect to compare to? Perfection implies that there really is a right and wrong way to be.(but that keeps changing, no?) And what type of perfection is the best type? Moral perfection? Aesthetic? Physiological? Mental

46. By the end of the day, I’m exhausted. Frank S. must have been one hearty guy to argue on the streets of Athens all day the way he did. Our humanities class enjoys a bunch of snacks and a Socrates Project party in the humanities room, where we all debate one another’s paradoxes and are reminded by Ms. Steck to question everything and continue to challenge others with our open minds long after we remove our togas

47. I listen to the air. I don’t hear a thing. Not one thing. They say: They say:

48. The nice thing about the passengers is they can’t say anything back. I can’t see any faces full of disappointment. I can’t hear them saying bad things about me. I can’t hear them call me the politically correct term for Indian giver… on Thanksgiving Day. Anyway, it’s not like I want my love back. I’m just slowing down business. They can have a little. I can say, “I love you!” when I see a plane. I probably always will. But they can’t have all my love. I have too many uses for it now

49. Okay. I sent them my love because I didn’t need it here,” I say. “Mom never loved me, and Dad was too busy doing other stuff, and you didn’t love me because Mom had turned you against me, and then when Dee came along, I knew I couldn’t love her even though I love her more than anything. But I knew I wouldn’t be allowed. Not by Mom, not by Unity Valley. Not by you. Not by anyone

50. will notice, you know, when you find some cute guy and marry him and have a bunch of kids, that you might not be gay and sleeping with your lesbian sister. If they believe lies, then that’s their problem, not yours (True)

51. And then I look out the window and down at the green-and-brown landscape, and I toss my love to whoever might be there to keep it safe. Maybe if you catch this love, you can keep it safe? I ask them. Maybe someone down there knows what to do with it while I go and get brainwashed by people who hate me? Dee says, “What?” I try to think of what just happened, but I can’t explain it. All I know is that a huge, overwhelming feeling of love has just landed in my heart, and I have to keep it safe for a while. “Nothing,” I say. “Don’t worry about it I’m left with this feeling, though. A lucky feeling. I squeeze Dee’s hand and kiss her on the cheek. I can do that now. I can do whatever I want. I look at the plane, and I send my love. Don’t worry. I’ll keep it safe. Stay strong

52. (I thought the ending would be her sitting on a plane and receiving the love of someone else but this is way better. And so much better)

0 notes

goarticletec-blog · 6 years ago

Text

10 Android settings that'll strengthen your security

New Post has been published on https://www.articletec.com/10-android-settings-thatll-strengthen-your-security/

10 Android settings that'll strengthen your security

You might not know it from all the panic-inducing headlines out there, but Android is actually packed with powerful and practical security features. Some are activated by default and protecting you whether you realize it or not, while others are more out of the way but equally deserving of your attention.

So stop wasting your time worrying about the Android malware monster du jour and which security company is using it to scare you into an unnecessary subscription, and take a moment instead to look through these far more impactful Android security settings — starting with the core elements and moving from there into some more advanced and easily overlooked options.

Ready?

1. Google Play Protect

Unless you (or someone else) inadvertently disabled it at some point, this first feature should be up and running on your Android phone already — but it’s worth double-checking to make sure. Google Play Protect is Android’s native security system that, among other things, continously scans your phone for any signs of misbehaving apps and warns you if anything suspicious emerges.

(And yes, it does sometimes fail to detect shady players immediately — something that gets played up to a comedic degree in those misleading marketing campaigns — but even in those instances, the real-world threat to most users is typically quite minimal.)

You can confirm Google Play Protect is working on your device by looking in the Security (or Security & Location) section of your system settings. Tap the line labeled “Google Play Protect,” then make sure all the toggles are activated and everything shows up as being active.

2. Find My Device

Whether you’ve simply misplaced your phone around the house or you’ve actually lost it out in the wild, always remember that Android has its own built-in mechanism for finding, ringing, locking, and even erasing a device from afar.

Like Play Protect, the Android Find My Device feature should be enabled by default. You can make sure by heading into that same Security section of your system settings and tapping the line labeled “Find My Device.” Double-check that the toggle at the top of the screen is turned on.

If you ever need to track your phone down, just go to android.com/find from any browser or do a Google search for “find my device.” (There’s also an official Find My Device Android app, if you have another Android device and want to keep it standing by and ready.)

As long as you’re able to sign into your Google account, you’ll be able to pinpoint your phone’s last known location on a map and manage it remotely within seconds.

3. Emergency contact info

Find My Device is a fantastic resource to have — but in certain situations, you might get a missing phone back even faster with the help of a fellow human.

Give people a chance to do the right thing by adding an emergency contact that can be accessed and dialed with a few quick taps from your lock screen. Go to the Users & Accounts section of your system settings, then scroll all the way down to the bottom until you see a line labeled “Emergency information.”

If you don’t see the option there, look instead under the System section of your phone’s settings. There, try tapping “About phone” and then “Emergency information.”

Either way you get to it, tap that option and follow the prompts to add an emergency contact — a close friend, family member, significant other, random raccoon, or whatever makes sense for you.

The only challenge is that the emergency contact info isn’t exactly obvious or easy to find on the lock screen — go figure — so anyone who picks up your phone may not ever notice it.

But wait! You can increase the odds considerably with one extra step: Head into the Security section of your settings and tap “Lock screen preferences.” Tap the line labeled “Lock screen message” and enter something along the lines of: “If you’ve found this phone, please swipe up and then tap ‘Emergency’ and ‘Emergency Information’ to notify me. Thank you!” (Hey, it can never hurt to be polite.)

That message will then always show up on your lock screen — and as an added bonus, if there’s ever an actual emergency, you’ll be ready for that, too.

4. Smart Lock

Security is only useful if you actually use it — and given the extra level of inconvenience it often adds into our lives, it’s all too easy to let our guards down and get lazy after a while.

Android’s Smart Lock feature is designed to counteract that tendency by making security a teensy bit less annoying. It can let you automatically keep your phone unlocked whenever you’re in a trusted place — like your home, for instance — or whenever you’re connected to a trusted Bluetooth device, like a smartwatch or your car’s audio system.

Look for the “Screen Lock” option in the Security section of your system settings to explore the possibilities. (And if you ever find the Trusted Places part of Smart Lock isn’t working reliably, by the way, here’s the 60-second fix.)

5. Two-factor authentication

This is technically a Google account feature and not specific to Android, but it’s very much connected to Android and your overall smartphone security picture.

You know what two-factor authentication is by now, right? And you’re using it everywhere you can — especially on your Google account, which is probably associated with all sorts of sensitive data?

If you aren’t, now’s the time to start. Hustle over to the Google section of your phone’s system settings, tap “Google Account,” and then scroll over to the “Security” tab. Tap “2-Step Verification” and follow the steps to set things up.

For most people, I’d recommend using the Google prompt as the default method, followed by an authenticator app. For the latter, you’ll need to download and set up an app like Google’s own Authenticator or the more flexible Authy to generate your sign-in codes.

It’ll add an extra step into your sign-in process, but this is one area where the minor inconvenience is very much worth the tradeoff for enhanced protection.

6. Safe Browsing

Chrome is the default Android browser — and as long as you’re using it, you can rest a little easier knowing it’ll warn you anytime you try to open a shady site or download something dangerous.

Chrome’s Safe Browsing mode is enabled by default; you can confirm it’s working on your phone by looking in the Privacy section of Chrome’s settings and seeing that the box next to “Safe Browsing” is lit up and checked.

7. App permissions

Data debacles like the one connected to Facebook earlier this year are powerful reminders of how important it is to keep track of the access you’ve granted to apps over the years. Facebook had the ability to monitor and log calls and messages because, plain and simple, people gave it that ability. And it’s not the only app that’s asked for and been granted long-ago-forgotten levels of permission.

The good news, though, is that Android makes it incredibly easy to pull up common system permissions and see which apps have access to them. From there, all it takes is a single tap to take an app out of the list and cut off its access entirely.

Follow the steps here to check up on your device’s app permissions and make any necessary adjustments along the way.

8. Screen pinning

One of Android’s most practical security options is also one of its most hidden features. I’m talking about screen pinning — something introduced way back in 2014’s Lollipop era and rarely mentioned since.

Screen pinning makes it possible for you to lock a single app or process to your phone and then require a password or fingerprint authentication before anything else can be accessed. It can be invaluable when you pass your phone off to a friend or colleague and want to be sure they don’t accidentally (or maybe not so accidentally) get into something they shouldn’t.

To use screen pinning, you’ll first need to activate it by opening that trusty ol’ Security section in your main system settings and then finding the line labeled “Screen pinning.” (You’ll probably have to tap a line labeled “Advanced” in order to reveal it.) Turn the feature on and also make sure the toggle to “Ask for unlock pattern before unpinning” is activated.

Now, the next time you’re about to put your phone in someone else’s hands, if your device is running Oreo or lower, first hit the Overview button — the square-shaped icon next to Back and Home — and then push the on-screen cards up as high as they’ll go. Tap the pushpin icon in the lower-right corner of the bottommost card, and your most recently opened process will then be locked to your screen. After that, you’ll have to hold the Back and Overview keys together and then unlock your device before anything else can be accessed.

Starting with Android 9 Pie, things are a bit different: You’ll still begin by opening the Overview screen — either by pressing the square-shaped button or by swiping up on the pill-shaped button, if you’re using Google’s new gesture navigation system — but then, you’ll tap on the icon above an app’s card and look for the “Pin” option there to lock that app to your screen. You’ll then hold the Back and Home keys together in order to unpin it and unlock your device.

9. Lock screen limitations

Speaking of locking your phone, Android typically shows notifications on your lock screen by default — which means the contents of messages you receive might be visible to anyone who looks at your device, even if they can’t unlock it.

If you tend to get sensitive messages or just want to step up your security and privacy game, you can restrict how much notification info is shown on your lock screen by opening “Lock screen preferences” within the Security section of your system settings. The first option in that menu, “On lock screen,” lets you control precisely what is and isn’t shown in that pre-authentication area.

10. Lockdown mode

If you’re using Android 9 Pie, a new option called lockdown mode is worth your while to investigate. Once enabled, it gives you an easy way to lock down your phone from all biometric and Smart Lock security options — meaning only a pattern, PIN, or password can get a person past your lock screen and into your device.

The idea is that if you were ever in a situation where you thought you might be forced to unlock your phone with your fingerprint or face — be it by some sort of law enforcement agent or just by a regular ol’ hooligan — you could activate the lockdown mode and know your data couldn’t be accessed without your explicit permission. Even notifications won’t show up on your lock screen when the mode is activated, and that heightened level of protection will remain in place until you manually unlock your phone (even if the device is restarted).

The trick, though, is that you have to enable the option ahead of time in order for it to be available. To do so, provided you’re using Pie, gallop back into the Security section of your system settings. Tap “Lock screen preferences” and then activate the toggle next to “Show lockdown option.”

Now, if the need ever arises, remember this: While on your lock screen, press and hold your phone’s power button for a second or two. There, along with the regular options for restarting and shutting down your device, you’ll see a new option labeled “Lockdown.”

With any luck, you’ll never need it. But it’s a good added layer of protection to have available, just in case — and now you know where it is and how to use it.

One more thing…

Now that you’ve got your Android security settings optimized and in order, take 10 minutes to perform an Android security audit. It’s an overall checkup I’ve created for the state of security on both your phone and your broader Google account — and it’s well worth doing at least once a year.

The best part of this checkup? It’s completely painless — and unlike with most preventative exams, removing your pants is entirely optional.

Sign up for my weekly newsletter to get more practical tips, personal recommendations, and plain-English perspective on the news that matters.

[Android Intelligence videos at Computerworld]

Source link

0 notes