#the patterns were there in my thought processes

[xxxstraightfromtheheartxxx]

Read my tags first, ran out of space.

Note: I change my mind a few times throughout this text post, what I began with is not entirely what I ended with. And I’m not even sure of the ‘conclusion’ I got to. However I’m too tired to try and figure the rest out about it right now. Might change this post later when I have made up my mind or got more questions about it. Heads up! Spelling- and other mistakes in writing, were made. Frequently.

I know my tags make me a hypocrite and that’s one of the judgemental thought processes I’ve been fighting/growing against most for a while now.

I expect people to think similarly to me about this and that’s not within my right, they don’t owe me anything for the choice I decided to make and put the hard work in for. That I’ve suffered for it and for the patience I’ve had to bring up towards others being judgemental and having prejudices they didn’t fight within themselves. The frustration I keep feeling every time I have to explain to other adults how to respect accept and see minorities or marginalised groups as equal in worth to themselves. It’s so tiring, and I’m just white, I can’t imagine what it must be like to try and have these conversations to protect yourself and your family and friends and loved ones over and over again whilst still experiencing racist comments assumptions treatment behaviour bullying exclusion exploitation… through systemic racism, racist communities,through so many facets of their lives.

I feel like I’ve been shouting for equality. Not sure if that’s the best most respectful word for it in english, in my language literally translated our word means ‘equally worthy”. And to me that means that from birth we should all be treated with the same amount of respect love and acceptance. It’s only society, nurture that causes this inequality to exist, that not only allows but encourages prejudices and othering for power. Shouting at people who seemingly just refuse to open their eyes, minds and hearts and keep humanity from growing into healthier behavioural patterns in the future. They refuses to put in more effort to try our best to avoid wars, make the idea of hurting another person out of anything other than self defence, be heavily rejected, punished. Instead of not saving each other out of fear for economic and political threats to our own habitants and countries. To be unified so firmly by the absolute belief that violence is wrong, that those fears wouldn’t even be an issue because we’re all know all the other countries will still have our backs and we’d be able to function without the country that’s trying to start or continue a war, while only having to put in mild effort to be entirely independent from the threatening county, as humanity instead of as “individual countries”. It would cut the county/group at war of their resources entirely, which would endanger them to much to be able to actually be able to hold out being at war and making an actual big difference in the big picture of our common humanity. I know there are many weapons that could destroy so many at the same time, yet they would be poisoning the ground they so gladly wish to live on. (Ofcourse this is an ideal that is almost utopian).

This is the goal I thought we were all collectively working towards throughout our entire lives. To eventually be able to all come together in the far away future. All of the warmhearted people in the world.

And therefore we have to start within our small circle of influence and be open to try and learn to understand and respect each other with our differences and similarities, To expect people to be good and ourselves to put effort in it.

However completely swerved away from my original point. But it is the root of that frustration, hurt, disappointment and envy I experience when I see or hear or feel negative judgement .

People have been calling me stern and too strict and rigid in thought more in the last 4 years. It’s because I’ve been responding to prejudices and discriminatory behaviour and ideas verbally, and I have to admit about 50% of the time quite hard, not disrespectful, but clear. I’ve been setting boundaries over what way there can be spoken about others and myself with me. This week I even threatened to leave the room and wouldn’t continue conversing with them if they didn’t then stop casually using the n-word, while knowing it is wrong and hurtful and what my opinion and feeling was towards it. They called my stern and frowned and sighed but at least could bring it up not to say it with me around anymore. I know I haven’t changed their behaviour without my presence this way and it saddens me to feel them rejecting that part of myself that’s at the core of me. My moral core believe of equality.

When people won’t widen their view for one minority it makes me feel unsafe as part of multiple other minorities. I’m a queer womxn with persistent mental health issues, who isn’t able to work because of it and I’m neurodivergent and have some invisible fysical issues (I have loads of allergies which used to give me big rashes of eczema in my envoys and knees and later hands and feet, it has improved a lot, the amount of allergies keeps expanding though) ( I have a very small amount of energy compared to most people my age because of having to put in too much effort as a child and teen) to take care of others and secretly fighting feelings of depression). I’m lucky to be middle-class, white and have affordable healthcare here. All of these other aspects have made life harder for me throughout my entire life. Yet others have mostly blamed me and pestered me, excluded and avoided me for my inabilities and difference, including the inability to l love men.

It feels unfair that I try so hard to be accepting, understand and respectful of others, and not get the same amount of effort and care back… which is hypocrite of me, because the people I want to make the biggest changes never asked me to do all that. And while their lives are often so much easier specifically on the those societal aspects, does that make them owe me that effort back?

I feel like yes, they should, because they have more space for it, for questioning their prejudices than us. Because of the privileges of the main beliefs in their society, they didn’t have to lift a finger for throughout their entire lives. For all of the freedom and respect they’ve just got thrown in their laps, that took up so much of our lives for us to assemble a resemblance to their quality of life.

(Many people who have to fight for their lives daily, do not have that time or space so they only get to grow slower and are part of minority or marginalised groups as well. Bc evidently their is a lot of prejudice within those groups towards the other groups who are also being pressed down.)

I don’t know if I still think it’s hypocrite of me to expect people to put effort in being good. I don’t think so. The length they are able to go through to make those improvements however, I should bare in mind stronger again, like I used to.

If I give up on following my moral compass on this, I’ll never be the person I hope to be one day. I do feel like I deserve to give myself a break and be forgiving about those negative thoughts because they come from a desire for righteousness and good. Recognise, reject, correct, forgive and trust that I’ll do better next time because it is what I truly want to in the long run. I show myself to not always respond and to better pick my battles, so I can persevere and rebuild my energy for when I can make a bigger impact In the braided context or my own. However when I notice bad behaviour or judgement towards others, I do use little parts of it to give them a correcting look or to speak up for someone else or recently even for myself.

Totally did not see this rant coming!!

I knew this theme has been more at the front of my mind again recently and that I’ve been prickly about it, yet I hasn’t reflected on its origin as deeply as I did just now. So here, little amount of people this will reach, have some personal information from my brain and my heart.

.

I’ve been typing this for so long and my attention span has loosened throughout writing. I don’t supposes I’ve managed to make everything clear, I got more and more tired and created some weird sentence structures and maybe grammar and def phrasing to try to get my point through or at least comprehended.

Don’t come at me about the war part, I know it is unrealistic to achieve anything like that in our lifetimes.

Yet I’m holding onto this dream for dear life. Otherwise what is there? To grow towards, to live for? It all comes to recognising, appreciating, sharing and maintaining the good there is now and nurturing the good to come.

The way you change your immediate reactions to things is that you catch yourself having an uncharitable/bigoted/overly judgmental thought and you catch it and replace it and then you do that a hundred times a day for your whole life and eventually one day like five years later you realize that you think differently now and you’ll always be working on something but that’s how life goes and that’s fine.

[cantcompetewhereudontcompare]

A BRIEF ANALYSIS OF HARRY STYLES LYRICS

I've been thinking about how to approach the last part of the Louis' songwriting deconstruction (Part I, Part II, Part III, plus a bonus).

I mulled over different ways to go about it, and ultimately decided that before I delve into an analysis of Louis' lyrics, I need to analyze some of Harry's. Why? Because, as I said multiple times, I hate hypocrisy, so if I'm going to pick apart an artist's work, I need to show what my criteria is with art that I appreciate and like. Otherwise, I could very well cherry pick and be unfair, and that's not what I'm about.

Because we've established that Louis isn't really the one writing the music or melodies, I'm going to leave musicality, chord progressions, instrumentation, etc, out of this analysis and only focus on lyrics. But let me be clear, Harry is very intentional with that part of his music, and taking that part of the composition off this analysis is in detriment of his overall "score".

In fact, in my entire time as a fan of his, I thought Harry's lyrics were his weak point while his strength was melodies and instrumentation, and I while I haven't necessarily changed my mind, after analyzing his lyrics in a deeper way with poetic structure and rhyming schemes in mind, I've come to the conclusion that I underestimated him in that regard. His melodies and instrumentation are still the best ingredient, but his lyrics aren't as far behind as I originally thought they were.

I'm going to analyze Harry's songs by the following metrics:

Poetic intent: 1- Rhyming schemes and patterns 2- Effectivity and comfortability of the rhymes 3- Syllable distribution and cadence

Vocabulary*

Clichés, commonplaces, and overused tropes

Nonsensical elements and overall storytelling

Theme and execution of it

*In regards to vocabulary, initially I wanted to use the CEFR levels, but all the online tests I could find gave me the same result for every song, so it just became a useless metric. I wanted this to be impartial, but my own biased opinion will have to suffice.

In all regards, the benchmark I'm using is your average pop song, not a masterpiece work of art by the best lyricists of our lifetime. Essentially, I'm grading on a curve. Some metrics will have a baseline that's a 7 and gets upped or lowered. Some others will start at a 10 and get lowered if they mess up. I'll explain my thought process for each as I make my case for the first song.

Harry has recorded and released 35 songs total, and Louis has too (in the second part of this series I said he'd recorded and released 34, but that was not including Copy Of A Copy Of A Copy, which wasn't recorded in a studio but is part of his live album). That amounts to a grand total of 70 works. I simply won't be analyzing that many songs, so I'll pick a handful.

For both of them, the choices will be songs that I find interesting or think are their strengths. I promise I won't cherry pick the best of one and worst of the other. You're welcome to suggest other songs that you think represent Louis' strengths better.

When I type down the analysis this type of metric: [10S] will mean the amount of syllables of the line.

ONLY ANGEL

POETIC INTENT

VERSE 1 Open up your eyes, shut your mouth and see [11S] That I'm still the only one who's been in love with me [14S] I'm just happy getting you stuck in between my teeth [13S] And there's nothing I can do about it [10S] Broke a finger knocking on your bedroom door[11S] I got splinters in my knuckles crawling 'cross the floor [13S] Couldn't take you home to mother in a skirt that short[13S] But I think that's what I like about it [10S]

The stanza has 8 lines, which are neatly divided in two groups of four by both rhyming pattern and syllable distribution. The rhyming pattern is A A A B C C C B, syllable distribution is 47+47.

This is mirrored in the second verse:

VERSE 2 I must admit I thought I'd like to make you mine [12S] As I went about my business through the warning signs[13S] End up meetin' in the hallway every single time [12S] And there's nothin' we can do about it [10S] Told it to her brother and she told it to me [11S] That she's gonna be an angel, just you wait and see [13S] When it turns out she's a devil in between the sheets [13S] And there's nothing she can do about it [hey, hey] [10S]

Once again, the stanza has an A A A B C C C B rhyming pattern with a 47 + 47 syllable distribution.

All the other elements of this song (mainly chorus and bridge) are repetitive and playing into the instrumentation and the melody first and foremost. There isn't a rhyming pattern to analyze.

Rhyming schemes and patterns:

The verses have an interesting rhyming pattern. It's clearly not half-haphazarldly through together, but actually well thought out and with intent. It's not your run-of-the-mill rhyming pattern (those are usually A A B B or A B A B). There's something disruptive about the "about its". While I can't rate the chorus or bridge, I'm not going to deduct points for that, because if I were analyzing the music alongside the lyrics, they would be elevated by it, so while I can't add extra points for that, I think subtracting them would be unfair.

For this metric, the baseline will be a 7, and I'll be adding or subtracting points on that baseline.

Score: 9/10

Effectivity and comfortability of the rhymes:

They're good. Not amazing, but good. None of them blows my mind, but none of them are uncomfortable or feel forced either.

With this metric I'm starting at a 7 for "average pop song" and adding or subtracting points from that baseline.

Score: 7/10

Syllable distribution and cadence:

I'm not gonna lie, the symmetry is really appealing to me.

This score is pretty arbitrary. it's a very random metric, that will only apply to very specific songs. I'll start off with a 7 and add points if it stands out. Most songs will just be a 7.

Score: 9/10

Vocabulary:

It's good. It's not Bob-Dylan-esque good. It's not even Alex Turner good. But it's good. The scores here are in comparison to the average pop song, and I think Only Angel's vocabulary is slightly more elevated than the average pop song.

A standout lyric to me is "I must admit I thought I'd like to make you mine, as I went about my business through the warning signs." He's saying, "You may have all the red flags, but I have my rose-colored glasses on, so all I see is flags" in a more sophisticated way.

For this metric, I'm starting at a 7 for "typical pop song vocabulary" and adding or subtracting points based on that.

Score: 8/10

Clichés, commonplaces, and overused tropes:

When it turns out she's the devil in between the sheets.

This is the only cliché I can identify in this song. I can't expect singers to never include clichés, but I will take notice of them, and if overused, deduct points. Also, the clichés have to make sense with the rest of the song. In this case, it fits perfectly.

Would calling her an angel be classified as a cliché? Meh, that would mean literally every love song is a cliché.

The rest of the song is a well-executed romantic-adjacent song that doesn't rely on clichés.

For this metric, I'm starting off at 10 and deducting points for clichés.

Score: 9/10

Nonsensical elements and overall storytelling:

There are no nonsensical elements to this song. It's pretty well contained within its logic. It presents a relationship that isn't serious, but sexual in nature. While the lover's brother and the speaker's mother are mentioned, it's not to allude to a serious relationship, but the opposite. The speaker's mother is mentioned in the context of not taking the lover to meet her. The lover tells her brother that she's "gonna be an angel," but the speaker tells us that's not what ends up happening.

Even the sentence "end up meeting in the hallway every single time," which could sound a bit nonsensical, actually ties the second verse to the first ("broke a finger knocking on your bedroom door"). This sentence also ties back to another song on the same album (Meet Me In The Hallway), which I think is a nice touch.

It's pretty cohesive.

As with the last metric, with this one I'm starting at 10 and deducting points for nonsense or bad storytelling.

Score: 10/10

Theme and execution of it:

As I said earlier, it's a romantic-adjacent song that doesn't rely on typical and overused tropes, which makes it a little different. There isn't an allusion to a serious relationship, but rather, to one that's mainly sexual, which probably helps, as it's typically not that explored within the pop genre.

There's a very vivid image of him at her door, knocking vigorously until he gets hurt, then falling to his knees and crawling, and in that context running into her. The element of "every single time" gives us insight on this being a repeated occurrence.

Starting a romantic adjacent song by declaring that not only has the lover never been in love with the speaker, but also, that nobody else has, is really clever to me. It's self-deprecating and introduces us to an interesting theme, which flips the expectations of what a popstar might sing about, in terms of love, in its head.

I'm starting off this one at 7 for the average pop song. Elements that elevate it will better the score, elements that make it overdone, or nonsensical will lower it.

Score: 9/10

FINAL THOUGHTS:

Only Angel is not a lyrical masterpiece, but it's elevated by its innovative approach at a theme and rhyming structure. It's obviously well thought and its author knows about poetry and applied their knowledge correctly.

Score: 61/70 = A-

CAROLINA

POETIC INTENT

VERSE 1 She's got a family in Carolina So far away, but she says I remind her of home Feelin', oh, so far from home She never saw herself as a West Coaster Moved all the way 'cause her grandma told her"Townes, better swim before you drown"

The rhyming scheme in this verse is a combination of perfect rhymes ("Townes", which is pronounced "Town," and "drown"), repetition ("home"), and assonant rhymes. Assonant rhymes are those that sound similar when spoken but don't look similar in paper. There are assonant rhymes in Only Angel, but they look more similar, so they're more obvious to the untrained eye.

I recommend you listen to the song to check for yourself. Listen to how he says the words "Carolina" and then "I remind her," and then do the same thing with "as a West Coaster" and "grandma told her."

Let's rearrange some things to measure the syllables.

VERSE 1 She's¹ got² a³ fam⁴-i⁵-ly⁶ in⁷ Car⁸-o⁹-lina¹⁰ [10S] So¹ far² a³-way,⁴ but⁵ she⁶ says⁷ I⁸ re⁹-mind¹⁰ her¹¹ [11S] [of] home,¹ feel²-in',³ oh,⁴ so⁵ far⁶ from⁷ home⁸ [8S] She¹ nev²-er³ saw⁴ her⁵-self⁶ as⁷ a⁸ West⁹ Coas¹⁰-ter¹¹ [11S] Moved¹ all² the³ way⁴ 'cause⁵ her⁶ grand⁷-ma⁸ told⁹ her¹⁰ [12S] "Townes,¹ bet²-ter³ swim⁴ be⁵-fore⁶ you⁷ drown⁸" [8S]

The rhyming scheme is A A BB C C DD. I put [of] between brackets because it's there for grammar reasons he glues it to "home" in practice. Once again, as with Only Angel, you can divide this verse into two neat groups of 28 syllables.

B and D are examples of what's called "internal rhymes."

Verse 2 is even more technically intricate, and this time, it doesn't mirror verse 1.

VERSE 2 She's got a book for every sit-u-a-tion [10S] Gets in-to par-ties with-out in-vi-ta-tion [11S] How could you e-ver turn her down? [8S] There's not a drink that I think could sink her [10S] How would I tell her that she's all I think a-bout? [12S] Well, I guess she just found out [7S]

This rhyming scheme is amazing. A A BB CCC D D. It's a thing of dreams. There's two pairs of perfect rhymes ("situation" + "invitation" and "about" + "out"), a trio of perfect rhymes ("drink", "think", "sink"), and a pair of near rhymes ("how" + "down").

While the rhyming scheme differs between stanzas, the syllable structure is once again mirrored, with two groups of 29 syllables each.

BRIDGE I met her once and wrote a song about her I wanna scream, yeah, I wanna shout it out And I hope she hears me now

A AA AA is the rhyming scheme here. "Shout," "out," and "about" are perfect rhymes, they all share the same vowel: /aʊ/ and the same consonant /t/. "Hope" and "now" are assonant rhymes, with each other and with the rest.

As with Only Angel, the chorus is repetitive and elevated by the music. So I won't be adding or deducting points.

Rhyming schemes and patterns:

😍 I'm in love.

Score: 10/10

Effectivity and comfortability of the rhymes:

This type of rhymes are more common in hip-hop and a lot less common in pop music. Alex Turner is famously inspired by hip-hop, which is what encouraged him to do internal and assonant rhymes and whenever he could. I'm using Teddy Picker (a song Louis called out) as an example because it's very rich in it:

Another variation on a theme A tangle on the television and the magazine D'you reckon that they do it for a joke? D'you reckon that they make 'em take an oath That says that "We are defenders of any poser Or professional pretender around"

On its face, only "defenders" and "pretenders" should rhyme, but actually listen to the song. Listen how he pronounces every word and you'll see. Particularly eye-opening is how he pronounces "professional" with the stress on the last syllable, which changes the vowel to an open sound that rhymes with "we are."

Anyway, back to Harry, I'm not very used to this type of usage of rhyming in pop music, and I absolutely love it.

The fact that none of these are awkward, or cliché, or overdone. But also feel completely natural and like they just flow with the cadence of the song. No notes.

Score: 10/10

Syllable distribution and cadence:

I don't need to keep yapping.

Score: 10/10

Vocabulary:

In my humble opinion, the vocabulary is slightly better than the average pop song.

Score: 8

Clichés, commonplaces, and overused tropes:

The concept of "she's a good girl" and writing a song for someone you just met.

Is "she's got a book for every situation" a commonplace? I don't think so, right? It sounds like it should be, just like "there's not a drink that I think could sink her." The images these words elicit are so vivid, one would think these commonplaces already exist, but I can't find evidence of it. Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to claim that Harry was the first person ever to put these words together, but they certainly weren't widespread clichés.

Searching "book for every situation" (without quotes) and limiting the search to before the album came out yields no relevant results.}

I'm deducting two points and adding one for creating a sentence that sounds like it should be a cliché but isn't. Sorry, I don't make the rules.

Score: 9/10

Nonsensical elements and overall storytelling:

The logic within the song is solid. There are no nonsensical elements, no parts that were just added to bulk up the lyrics, no leaps of logic. The storytelling is excellent. He meets a girl once, she's exciting, and unique, and different, and after the date is over, he can't stop thinking about her, so he writes her a song without telling her he's doing it. She'll find out when she hears it.

Score: 10/10

Theme and execution of it:

The theme is a new spin on the typical love song (such as Only Angel was) and I think it's perfectly executed. It's not a magical concept, but it's cute.

Score: 8/10

FINAL THOUGHTS:

While I personally like Only Angel better, I'm trying not to be biased, and I think Carolina is a tighter song in terms of lyrics. It's very cohesive, the vocabulary is above average, the rhyming scheme is well thought out and done.

Score: 65/70 = A

GOLDEN

POETIC INTENT

VERSE 1 Gold-en, gold-en, gold-en as I o-pen my eyes [12S] Hold it, fo-cus, ho-ping, take me back to the light [12S] I know you were way too bright for me [9S] I'm hope-less, bro-ken, so you wait for me in the sky [13S] Browns my skin just right [5S] You're so golden [4S]

This stanza has two groups of rhymes that parallel each other throughout. The green rhymes are a mishmash of perfect rhymes with both the vowel /aɪ/ and the consonant /t/, and assonant rhymes where just the vowel rhymes.

The blue rhymes, however, are more complex. The single-syllable words "know" and "browns" are rhyming the vowel /oʊ/ (though, typically, "browns" would use the vowel /aʊ/, the way Harry pronounces, especially with a silent "S" makes it match with the rest).

The double-syllable rhymes, however, are compound rhymes, rhyming the vowels on both syllables. In Golden, the vowel for the first syllable is /oʊ/, and for the second one, /ə/. I'm not claiming every double-syllable rhyme here shares the /ə/ vowel because clearly they don't, but the way it's pronounced makes it rhyme. "Golden", "open", "broken". and "focus" do share them, though. Hopeless uses the /ɛ/ vowel, while "hold it" and "hoping" use the /ɪ/ vowel. Pronunciation, melody, and context makes it so all of these are compound rhymes.

The first two lines mirror each other perfectly, with each "golden" in the first line corresponding with a second line rhyme. "Gold-en" + "Hold it". "Gold-en" + "fo-cus". "Gold-en" + "ho-ping." and then ending both lines with an assonant rhyme ("eyes" and "light"). Both are also 12 syllables. In fact, the fourth line closely mirrors 1 and 2, while it doesn't fully do it (and there's a reason that we'll explore later), it does mirror the amount of syllables. It has 13 syllables, but if you listen to the song the "I'm" is sang alongside "for me".

The rhyming scheme here is AAAB AAAB AB AAB AB A.

VERSE 2 I don't wan-na be a-lone [7S] I don't wan-na be a-lone when it ends [10S] Don't wan-na let you know [6S] I don't wan-na be a-lone [7S] But I can feel it take a hold [8S] I can feel you take con-trol [7S] Of who I am and all I've e-ver known [10S] Lov-in' you's the an-ti-dote [7S] Gold-en [2S]

This stanza is simpler than the last one, though that's not saying much because the last one was kind of insane. All the blue words rhyme with each other through the vowel /oʊ/ making these assonant rhymes, but "alone" and "ends" also rhyme, through the consonant /n/, making this a consonant rhyme ("ends" such as "browns" gets the "silent s" treatment from Harry). It's likely this rhyme is added for effect. A rhyme that separates itself from the rest, to show us how final and serious he is about it "ending."

This one would be a A AB A A A A A A A pattern. Chef's kiss.

As typical for Harry (and for a lot of pop artists!) the bridge and chorus of this song don't really have a rhyming pattern worth analyzing and play a lot with instrumentals and melodies.

Rhyming schemes and patterns:

Having two separate rhymes going at the same time, one of them being mostly compound rhymes, while also being coherent and intentional with your vocabulary isn't exactly easy. The first verse is incredible. The second one is not bad at all, just a little less impressive.

Score: 9.5/10

Effectivity and comfortability of the rhymes:

What would earn negative points here, would be uncomfortable rhymes, where you add a word simply because it rhymes even if it doesn't make sense or sounds awkward. Or rhymes where it technically rhymes, but it sounds awkward to the ear. What earns positive points is internal rhyming, unexpected or clever rhyming, assonant rhyming that you'd never expect to rhyme, etc.

Golden does neither of these things, so I'll give it a neat 7.5. It's good, but it's not mindblowing. It earns a 0.5+ for somehow doing a whole scheme including the word "antidote" and have it make perfect sense.

Score: 7.5/10

Syllable distribution and cadence:

The first verse is a 10/10 the second one gets points for congruity.

Score: 8.5/10

Vocabulary:

It's okay. Nothing revolutionary. Sliiightly better than the average pop song.

Score: 7.5/10

Clichés, commonplaces, and overused tropes:

I can't think of any. Self-deprecation, though not a novelty is not exactly a staple of pop culture. Usually the singer tells us why the lover is either perfect or at fault. Songs where the singer believes they're not good enough are rarer. That alone makes Golden stand out. There are also no commonplaces or idioms that I can identify.

Score: 10/10

Nonsensical elements and overall storytelling:

There aren't any nonsensical elements. No words just added there to fill a void that don't make sense. No leaps of logic, nothing like that.

Its storytelling is actually really good. I can't analyze the music side of it, for the reasons I already mentioned, but it definitely plays a role in storytelling.

Strictly lyrics, though, in the first verse he's describing the feeling of being dazzled by a bright light when you're not used to them. You open your eyes and you have to squeeze them shut because it's so bright. He's looking at it, and it's "golden, golden, golden." As his eyes get used to it, he's asking her to "hold it", he's "focusing" and he's "hoping" that he can get back to that light, which seems to be moving away. But as the verse progresses, he tells us that, in reality, he always knew she (the light) was too bright for him. He's not hoping anymore, he's hopeless, and he's not holding anymore, he's broken. She's no longer near him, she's now in the sky. And as the sun, in the sky, it browns his skin.

Once you break down the verse this way, it's heartbreaking. He went from having her next to him, blinding him, to moving away from him. And he tries to stay with her, but eventually realizes it simply isn't possible. She's now distant, in the sky. She's still present, browning his skin, affecting him, still, but she's further away.

In the second verse, he's grippling with the fact that this distance will only grow bigger. And he's anguished about the inevitable reality of ending up alone, which he now is sure will happen. He tells us through repetition exactly how anguished he is about it. Despite this, despite knowing this relationship will inevitably end, he tells us that she still has a hold of him and how important she is to him.

It's beautiful storytelling, using a metaphor to retell the ending of a relationship. To be able to write something so compelling while also using such beautiful poetry is a gift.

Score: 10/10

Theme and execution of it:

This is a "love song" but as I said before, it's not your typical one. It has a self-deprecating angle that's not too experimented with. As I just detailed, too, it's very well-executed. I think the angle it takes for storytelling is fresh and interesting.

Score: 9/10

FINAL THOUGHTS:

I'm so mad I can't analyze music with this song, because hooo boy does the music play a huge role in this one. All I can say is that it's a great song.

Score: 62/70 = B+ (the music would elevate this to an A+)

LOVE OF MY LIFE

POETIC INTENT

VERSE 1 Things hav-en't been quite the same [7S] There's a haze on the ho-ri-zon, babe [9S] It's on-ly been a cou-ple of days and I miss you, [13S] When noth-ing re-al-ly goes to plan [9S] You stub your toe or break your cam-era [9S] I'll do ev-ery-thing I can to help you through [11S]

The words "same", "haze, "babe", and "days" are all assonant rhymes through the vowel /eɪ/. "Plan" and "can" share the /æ/ vowel. "You", "do" and "through" all have the /uː/ vowel. This leaves you with a A AA AB C BCB rhyming pattern. There's a single line left out with no rhymes. This would be normal for any other pop star, but not really for Harry, especially if every other line is full of rhymes. So why? Because that line is representing "nothing really going to plan."

It even sounds a little out of place when he sings it. That's on purpose. Artists that do this, hiding the meaning of the lyrics in the poetry, are my absolute favorite, and I had never noticed Harry did this until right about now.

VERSE 2 I've nev-er been a fan of change [8S] But I'd fol-low you to an-y place [9S] If it's Hol-ly-wood or Bish-ops-gate, I'm com-ing, too [13S]

The second verse is very short and sweet, and filled to the brim with rhymes. Having two parallel rhymes and one of them including the word BISHOPSGATE. I commend him, really.

He does the bit of representing the lyrics with poetry again, "I'm coming too" has an assonant rhyme with "Hollywood." It's not an exact thing, but the vowels /ʊ/ and /u/ have a very similar rounded sound from the back of the mouth.

I've always thought that he intended this song to be about Olivia Wilde (he started writing it before he met her, but he kept retouching it over the months, case in point "you break your camera"), who lived in Hollywood and moved to London with her kids. There was a whole conflict with her kids' dad about that, specifically, so Harry is telling her "either way, I'll be there." There's a slight mention of this in As It Was ("leave America, two kids follow her"). Curiously, the As It Was music video was filmed in the Barbican, which is right next to Bishopsgate. Harry and Olivia spent a bunch of time in or around Bishopsgate (almost anyone in London would, to be fair).

Anyway, rhyming scheme A AB AB.

CHORUS We've been doin' all this late-night talkin' 'Bout anything you want until thе morning Now you're in my life I can't get you off my mind

Nothing too impressive here, but it's rare for Harry to not just vibe with the music in the chorus. So we have rhymes in a chorus for the first time! (Not really the first time — I'm being facetious — even Sign of the Times' chorus is full of rhymes). Rhyming scheme AA AA B B.

Rhyming schemes and patterns:

The device of using not-rhyming to communicate part of the lyrics is really clever and I really like it. Other than that, the schemes are good, but not mindblowing. The first verse is really cool, though.

Score: 8.5/10

Syllable distribution and cadence:

Okay! Nothing mindblowing. Nothing too intentional. It's okay.

Score: 7/10

Effectivity and comfortability of the rhymes:

Listen, he managed to rhyme BISHOPSGATE seamlessly. Give him props, for the love of god.

Score: 8.5/10

Vocabulary:

Better than your average pop song — not exactly the reincarnation of David Bowie, but better than average. "There's a haze in the horizon" gets an extra point.

Score: 8/10

Clichés, commonplaces, and overused tropes:

I mean, there are very common elements, such as following your lover everywhere and...

"I can't get you off my mind"

But it's the type of commonplace you expect in a pop song. So I'll allow it (I'll still deduct a point, though).

Score: 9/10

Nonsensical elements and overall storytelling:

Storytelling through rhymes, are you kidding? And also, nothing is nonsensical. And he manages to tell a coherent story.

Score: 10/10

Theme and execution of it:

It's cute, not super overdone but also not overly original.

Score: 7/10

FINAL THOUGHTS:

This is one of my least favorite songs by Harry (I still like it a lot), but I chose it because I thought it was interesting how he incorporated the rhyming in the storytelling (he kinda did that with Golden, but very subtly). And I wanted to include at least one chorus with a rhyming scheme. Lyrically, Matilda, Boyfriends, Love Of My Life, and Music For A Sushi Restaurant are much better (off this album). Also, low key Keep Driving. But Late Night Talking is still a very good pop song.

Score: 58/70 = B

Overall, Harry is a compelling songwriter who tends to put thought into his rhyming schemes and intent behind his lyrics. He, perhaps, overuses repetition (less so now than before) and could elevate his vocabulary and themes a little bit, but I would say that his lyrics are actually better than average and he doesn't get enough credit for them because people tend to either just listen to his biggest hits or not look too deep into them.

I think lyrics are his weakest point as a songwriter, but that doesn't mean they're bad at all. At the end of the day, it all boils down to taste.

I think in male mainstream pop, the only male artist that I rate higher than Harry in terms of songwriting is Hozier. Ed Sheeran could be up there too, but he sold out a while ago, and is slowly going back to his roots. I'm obviously not even considering incredible hip-hop artists like Kendrick Lamar or rock-leaning artists like Alex Turner (I would say Alex isn't really that mainstream nowadays).

I think Harry is a B- songwriter when it comes to lyrics and an A- songwriter when it comes to instruments.

[ri-notafan]

TLDR; Small things can be symptoms of a bigger problem, but hope isn’t lost because education is there for everyone.

“I can’t be homophobic: I have a gay [insert relative here].”

Don’t use people like that.

We know this kind of fallacy is wrong and can be seen no matter what the topic is.

Knowing someone is gay doesn’t inherently change your beliefs or actions.

Even if you are the gay person, internalised homophobia is still a thing.

There are many gay people that have had homophobic parents what have kicked them out, disowned them, and more when they were kids; parents are supposedly folks who would love you unconditionally but that’s not true. Would you say they aren’t homophobic? They’re related to a gay person same as you though.

(There’s probably more for this part, feel free to add)

“🫢 I’ve said this before! Does that make me a bad person?”

No, not necessarily? At least not on its own in my opinion.

But even if it did, you can be educated!

Self reflection and confrontation of your own personal biases is a good starting point to unlearn some of that, and honestly educating yourself about other people and applying that information to your actions moving forward is another. There are great resources out there full of strategies and research over these topics.

It’s an ongoing, continual practice that will only be good for you and the people around you in the long run.

“😬 I’ve come to realise I’ve been an a**hole. What do I do??”

Nothing wrong with a sincere apology and a plan to be better in the future (that you actually stick to).

Sometimes it’s not feasible to apologise for a number of factors (like being a general buttwipe rather than one with a specific target) and sometimes people won’t accept your apology. People don’t have to accept your apology, but that doesn’t mean it’s worthless to do so if you’re actually going to work on yourself.

Some people might not believe that you will change and that’s fine. That bridge might be burned beyond repair. It might also not be, but it’s certainly not traversable for you now. Words won’t fix it. Anyway, the point isn’t to get people to like you, the point is self improvement after introspection.

Aside from that? It goes back to the second part in unlearning behaviours and thought processes. Keep on listening, learning, and adapting yourself in this ever-diversifying world.

[isbergillustration]

[abyssal-debonair]

You're making a lot of flaws in this argument that doesn't reflect reality while painting broad strokes to vilify transmasc people— oh, sorry, "maladaptive tmasc spaces," conveniently tagging #transandrophobia so you really mean transmasculine folk who talk about how transphobia affects them. Because acknowledging the oppression they face is "maladaptive."

my theory about this which is very constrained by my personal aka white experience is that one of the things that happens to u as a white baby girl and then as a young white woman…

Here's the major problem: you're coming from a white POV presuming everyone you're talking about is white. They're not. For instance, I'm a Black trans man. Many of the people this website has vilified, who founded and contributed to transandrophobia theory, are Black, Asian, Latine, indigenous, or Jewish transmascs and nonbinary folks speaking from their own experiences or the experiences of others. The harassment campaign against them relies on whitewashing these users to make their arguments and perspectives seem much more shallow than they actually are, as if they're not founded on these folks' racialized experiences within a racist patriarchal system.

And even if the majority of these people were white, that doesn't automatically invalidate their ideas. A lot of founding tenets of disability theory were made by white scholars. Does that void every concept within critical disability theory, whether disabled people of color contributed to them or not (which they have btw)? Absolutely not.

Also, stop sticking "white" in front of a group of people you're bigoted against to make it seem okay. "White women," "white gays," "white aces," "white trans men," "white theyfabs" — majority of time I've seen these phrases, it's not to call out racism but to appropriate antiracist rhetoric to be to misogynistic, homophobic, aphobia, and, dare I say, transandrophobic.

**Not to say there isn't anything to criticize about white women and white gay people, but I've seen many go on the say some horrendously sexist and homophobic stuff by tacking "white" in front then go on to be sexist to Black women and homophobic to Black gay people, because they're not really talking about white people.

if ur going to be aware of ur own misery and oppression under patriarchy u have to like develop these repetitive cycles of validation of your own oppression and internal experience as Real and Valid. because everything is very invested in making you forget. and then this cycle can continue when u transition: the overwhelming majority of bad reactions to transmasc people are based upon that previous reaction to girlness which is to infantilize u and dismiss you and treat u like u arent real. and so as a continued reaction to this many tmasc people become singlemindedly focused upon Realness and Validity. Realness becomes the Only Real Problem, the one Great Wound to be healed.

Fun fact: transphobes see us as girls, so they infantilize and dismiss us. Which is what you're doing here by trying to intellectualize and assume what our thought processes are to make our actions seem frivolous.

You're using a presumed proximity to "girlness" to repudiate transmasculine people — that we act like girls, react to oppression like girls, are "maladaptive" like girls with "extreme disproportionate reactions."

First off, girls and women don't all act the same. That's basic feminism 101. Some similarities exist, but the entire group doesn't share those traits.

Secondly, you're assuming all transmascs maintain their "socialized female" behaviors. Again, many don't. Some do, but it's unlikely that everyone in this whole group of trans men and nonbinary folk you're referring to. There's also many who knew they were transgender young, transitioned young, and had a boyhood, not a girlhood. For those who realized they were trans later, they may not pick up "girl" thought patterns and behaviors, so they didn't even have a typical girlhood, especially not a "white girlhood." I certainly didn't.

You keep using the word “obsession” as to dismiss anyone who talks about transandrophobia as a concept or reflects on it upon themself — they're not serious, they're like obsessed girls. You keep using the word "validity" as if to argue this is only what transandrophobia is about to make it seem as a "terminally online" thing — they don't care about real problems, they just want to be validated at the adults table.

It's a sign you're not really paying attention what many in the #transandrophobia tag are talking about or even transmascs outside of tumblr. Reproductive justice, accessing gynecological care and domestic violence resources, corrective rape, misinformation about bottom surgery, police brutality, and ableism used to strip away bodily autonomy are all serious issues falling under transandrophobia that many transmascs are vocal about and actively counteracting.

I'm not gonna deny that many are discussing the validity of transandrophobia, mostly because many are on the defensive from folk attacking the validity of their experiences, their identities, and their ideas. It is reasonable to fight back with counterarguments and affirmations against this offensive.

then they lash out with an extreme disproportionate reaction with the specific aim of invalidating or appropriating the other party's experience of oppression

You can't "appropriate" oppression you yourself experience. I can't "appropriate" my medical abuse. I can't "appropriate" the rape threats I received. I can't "appropriate" my dad kicking me out the house for being transgender. I can't "appropriate" the restrictions around my testosterone.

And much of the "invalidating" coming from this side is criticism against terms that divide the queer community. "TME/TMA" has been repeatedly called out for exorsexism and intersexism inherent in the dynamic as well as how the terms are largely used to vilify trans men, not discuss transmisogyny. "Misdirected trans/misogyny" is literally only used to tell trans men they don't have unique experiences under transphobic marginalization. “Theyfab” is literally a slur.

they start literally viewing transmisogyny as a privilege

No one is doing this.

an over-focusing on Validity can create situations where people can become incapable of actually recognizing the severity of other people's non-validity-related experiences of pain and suffering.

Again, this isn't happening. Talking about oneself in one's own circles or when invited to in other circles does not mean one dismisses or minimizes the experiences of others. Just because you don't have the mic for a minute doesn't mean the person with it doesn't give a shit about you. In fact, many of the trans men who discuss transandrophobia also discuss transmisogyny, exorsexism, and intersexism. They frequently invite trans women, nonbinary people, and intersex folk to contribute to the conversation with their own experiences and how that manifests as transphobia at large.

Do they mostly talk about transandrophobia though? Yes, because they're transmasculine. They talk about their experiences in being transmasculine and that's as fine as folk who talk about their experiences in being transfeminine or genderqueer or intersex. They know the limits of their own experiences and don't talk over others.

What does piss me off are people who aren't transmasc who demand to be in a of conversation that isn't about them, assert themselves as all-knowing about the transmasc experience, and demand transmascs shut up.

you DO have privilege over trans women

We don’t. It sucks to be trans whether you’re a trans woman, trans man, nonbinary, or genderqueer because of transphobia. Gender privilege doesn’t exist when you’re transgender. Stealth trans people don't have privilege because upon coming out or being outed, they lose all supposed "benefits" of being presumed cisgender. If your privilege relies on being in the closet, that is not privilege.

The concept of gender privilege relies heavily upon cis feminism, which does not adequately capture the trans experience. It's shortsighted to presume it does.

Fact of the matter is you're apply a lot of assumptions that don't line up with reality to demonize transmascs and perpetuate the discourse that makes this website hostile to them.

my theory about this which is very constrained by my personal aka white experience is that one of the things that happens to u as a white baby girl and then as a young white woman is that bad things are happening to you, and everybody needs to convince you they arent happening (to make sure u are subjugated but still content enough to further the project of white supremacy). and also nothing you think or feel or want can be real or meaningful bc ur just a girl.

and so if ur going to be aware of ur own misery and oppression under patriarchy u have to like develop these repetitive cycles of validation of your own oppression and internal experience as Real and Valid. because everything is very invested in making you forget.

and then this cycle can continue when u transition: the overwhelming majority of bad reactions to transmasc people are based upon that previous reaction to girlness which is to infantilize u and dismiss you and treat u like u arent real. and so as a continued reaction to this many tmasc people become singlemindedly focused upon Realness and Validity. Realness becomes the Only Real Problem, the one Great Wound to be healed.

which to my tfem friends can explain a lot abt the weird way tmasc heavy spaces talk about gender: its a lot of reassuring yourself and others that you're Valid. that youre Real and Valid. youre So Valid. which for most of the tfem people in my life has been kind of bewildering because the truth is if ur tma nobody needs to tell you what youre doing is real because immediately people start doing transmisogyny at you.

[pepperuni]

Wanted to post a drawing I did of Cole Wallows here :) could definitely do the upward perspective better but I like it!

[ant-diary]

I think I have maybe decided to tell someone I no longer want to be friends with them, but I'm wondering if I should give it a few more days before I commit to it

[suffercerebral]

i wonder if my ex best friend remembers my birthday every year the way i remember hers

[galilea-naerie]

Galilea sat still for a moment, her dark eyes soft as she studied Rhys. His words were determined, unwavering in their willingness to sacrifice for his people, yet they also carried a weight that tugged at her. She knew his offer came not just from a place of duty but from something deeper, an innate need to protect those he cared about. Yet, her hesitance lingered. “I appreciate your willingness, Rhys,” she began, her voice measured but gentle, “but using your blood so soon may be risky. There are processes to ensure it is safe, and we cannot rush into something that might harm you or make the illness worse for others. If we are to use it, it will be a last resort.” Galilea wasn’t dismissing his sacrifice, and she knew it very well could be the key. “Your immunity could be key,” she continued, “but there’s much we don’t know yet. I want to exhaust other avenues first. October can question Aimon, and see if his lifestyle or diet differs in any way that might offer a clue. Immunity can come from the strangest places, a herb, a habit, heredity, or even something as simple as exposure to certain elements. If we find patterns, we might be able to replicate them without needing to use your blood so soon.” When he excused himself to take Carina to bed, Galilea watched him leave, the corners of her mouth softening in a way that even surprised her. It was far too endearing, she thought, the way he moved through the world with such steadiness. He was a rock for his family, a steady presence for Carina and his ailing sister. Her thoughts wandered as she sat alone, the quiet of the room pressing in around her. How different Rhys’s priorities were compared to the way she had been raised. Her parents had been devoted healers, always traveling, always working. Healing came before family, before love. It had been a noble life, but one that left little room for tenderness. Her parents’ union had been contractual, a bond forged from shared purpose rather than affection. They both came from lines of healing nymphs, their pairing more about continuing their heritage than any personal connection. And the result was that Galilea’s childhood had been a lonely one. She could count on one hand the number of times her mother had praised her, though she remembered each instance with painful clarity. Her fondest memory was of her mother commending her penmanship. She had been tasked with translating medical texts, carefully copying them to be sent to other kingdoms and doctors. Her mother’s approval had been rare but potent, a single beam of sunlight in an otherwise overcast sky. Yet even though those efforts were often dismissed, the knowledge of nymphs was seen as suspect or untrustworthy by many humans. Galilea sighed softly, the memory both bitter and sweet. Perhaps that was why she found Rhys so captivating, not just his strength, but the way he prioritized his family, the way he seemed to pour all of himself into their care. When Rhys returned, settling back into the chair beside her, their arms brushed again. She didn’t pull away, letting the contact linger for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re doing more than most would,” she said, her voice was quiet but sincere. “Your people are lucky to have you.” Her gaze met his, Galilea hesitated, then decided to share a small piece of herself with him. “I grew up differently,” she admitted. “My parents were healers, like me, but their work always came first. I rarely saw them. They were always traveling, helping others. Their bond was not one of love but obligation. Healing was their life, their purpose. And while it’s an honorable path, it left little room for anything else.” She paused, her fingers brushing the edge of her journal. “The fondest memory I have of my mother is her praising my handwriting. I spent years translating medical texts for her, copying them to send to other kingdoms. But most of the time, those efforts weren’t accepted. As you know, humans,” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Many don’t trust us, even when we are just trying to help.”

Before Galilea could continue, October’s voice rang out from the kitchen, sharp and triumphant. “Galilea! Come quick!” She stood immediately, her skirts brushing the floor as she hurried into the kitchen. October was bent over the table, a sprig of pale green leaves in his hand. His excitement was palpable, his grin wide as he turned to her. “I think I’ve found something,” he said, holding the plant out for her to see. “At first, I thought it was just a regular herb, but when I tested it on the worm, look.” Galilea leaned in, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied the plant. Recognition sparked almost instantly. “This is shivora,” she said, her tone filled with both relief and surprise. “It’s a rare herb that grows in the eastern regions. It’s safe for consumption and known to slow certain biological processes.” October’s grin widened. “Safe enough to use?” Galilea nodded, her mind racing. “Yes. And it could buy us time.” She turned to Rhys, who had followed her into the kitchen. Her expression softened as she addressed him. “Your sister could be the perfect candidate. We could monitor her closely and see how her body responds. But it’s hers and your choice, Rhys. If you would rather not risk her being the first, we can find someone else. Either way, I’d combine it with a blend of other herbs to strengthen the immune system and provide additional support.” Galilea placed a hand gently on his forearm, her touch light but grounding. “We’ll do everything we can,” she said softly. October, ever the optimist, chimed in. “If this works, we might finally have a way to fight this thing. We’re getting closer, Galilea, I can feel it. Perhaps I can finally have an illness named after me!” October spoke proudly. She offered him a small smile, her hope cautious but genuine. “One step at a time,” she said, turning back to Rhys. “October and I will get the vitals started tonight.” She assured Rhys.

Rhys was sure that whenever the day came that all this was said and done, the plague gone and his people hopefully not removed from existence, that Galilea would be a being that remained in his mind. Her eyes dark and full of wisdom beyond the years her appearance bore. The delicate touch of her hand in his was a pleasant distraction for the fleeting moment that it lasted. And something that also would not leave his mind. The thought occurred again that under different circumstances maybe things could have been different for them. Though there was no basis for thinking such thoughts. She gave no indication that she felt anything about him. She was there to heal. And he hated that he seemed to need to continue reminding himself of that. But her beauty was so captivating, her voice as delicate as her touch yet confident, her bedside manner gentle and kind. It was difficult to not find himself taken with a being like her. But the timing and place were not right for them. He sat at the table with her as she instructed him to, their shoulders nearly touching, their arms brushing against one another every now and again as they spoke. It was far too distracting for the topic at hand, but he attempted to focus himself, looking at her and forcing himself to listen to her. He needed to know what they were dealing with and what they might do to address it. It would fall on his shoulders to explain it to his people. He was the one they trusted. He looked to Galilea, his gaze falling trailing down along the length of her neck as she turned slightly to reach for her journal. Their arms brushed again and for a moment he thought he heard her inhale sharply and her breath caught, but as quickly as it happened it was over and he was left wondering if it was only his wishful thinking that lead him to that idea. He would never swear it aloud, but damn the gods for leading him to such an exquisite creature that time and circumstance would seemly prevent him from ever exploring the depths of what may lay there. Eventually one day he would be forced to settle for a human woman, but he would be left with the question what could have happened with the nymph he once knew. It frustrated him that in his peoples time of need he could not seem to help his blooming attraction and affection for Galilea. October stepped out of the room, leaving them alone aside from Carina playing quietly in the other corner. Galilea seemed to turn more towards him and his eyes met hers, grateful they weren’t alone or he felt he would have only caused a distraction for them both. He nodded, “I have wondered as much myself.” No matter how often he found himself Around the disease he never seemed to get it himself which always struck him as more than odd. He didn’t understand the way such things worked, but his remaining healthy was, in part, what prompted him to be the one checking in with all his neighbors. As long as he was healthy then he may as well be the one to do so. “So what do you need me to do?” His question was confident, unwavering in his willingness to help this cause in whatever way he needed to. If she needed his blood to study or use then she could have it. Rhys was dedicated to helping his people, to ridding them of this disease. Even when the easier thought of running away occurred to him, he simply couldn’t do it. The guilt would be too much. The fact he even had the thought of running away felt selfish to him as did his constant thoughts of wanting to kiss Galilea, of wanting to touch her, to know her. It felt selfish when he was surrounded by suffering. He felt guilt for his health when so few had it. The only thing he could do to correct those feelings and to do right was to stay and fight for those that remained. He could not forget that the king had seemingly turned his back on them. Rhys could not do that as well. “If you need my blood I will give it to you. Whatever it is to make this better, whatever we can do.” He said softly to her. He did not wish to scare Carina by loudly going into detail.

He glanced out the window, seeing the sun had gone down now and looked over to Carina, “time to get ready for bed.” He told her. The girl looked over at him and crossed her arms, “I don’t wanna.” She complained, “I’m staying over again tonight, don’t you want me to read to you? Go tell your mother goodnight and get changed.” He told her and the girl reluctantly rose to her feet and went to her room to change into her pajamas. “Give me just a moment.” He told Galilea. He rose to his feet as Carina came out of her room and went to her mom’s room. Rhys leaned in the doorway as the girl kissed her ailing mother on the cheek and then took Rhys’ hand as they went back to her small room. He read the child a story which she fell asleep before the end of. While she seemed almost recovered it was obvious her flu had still exhausted her. Rhys blew out the candle in her room and rejoined Galilea, sitting beside her once again, their arms brushing as he made himself comfortable. “She doesn’t need to hear everything.” He said and met Galilea’s gaze, “i will give you whatever you may need from me, but I know others who have not gotten sick as well who I’m certain would be willing to help us as well. Aimon is burying the bodies of the dead all day every day and he has never taken ill either. He will help us as well.” Rhys had taken to volunteering his friend for a great deal, but he knew Aimon was of the same mind as him about this entire situation.

[thethingything]

apparently sometimes I will just fall asleep for 2 hours, have a dream that consists entirely of having a lovely conversation with someone I really want to talk to more, then wake up, realise the conversation never happened, also remember how much I struggle with starting conversations sometimes, then just end up getting frustrated and upset about it

[himblebo]

I feel so fucking seen

[scribeofmorpheus]

Why Dragon Age Veilguard isn't a "Cathedral"

Concept art by Matt Rhodes

"To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals."

What is inherent with Veilguard that keeps bothering me is the fact that the world's choices truly didn't matter--and it doesn't simply bother me from a player perspective, it's not simply a grievance borne of frustration to what I (as a longtime fan) have lost. It's about the very culture of the arts under capitalism's new media habituation cycle [x][x].

Yes, I spent hours of my life playing and replaying each instalment of Dragon Age. Yes, I painstakingly curated a 'canon' world state by replaying what came before in preparation for Veilguard. Yes, I am even more unsatisfied with the end product--time hasn't helped, it's just widened the divide. But, and I can't stress this enough, these very personal gripes aren't what hit home the most. It's the inherent disregard of legacy. A legacy that the previous writers and game developers were building towards.

In the DAV artbook, "cathedral" is the word used to describe the process of making a game. Matt Rhodes' exact words are: "One artist can make a painting, but it takes a team to build a cathedral." Cathedrals took centuries to build. The architect who drafted the first blueprints would likely never see his work realised, he had to rely on those who came after him, like-minded and passionate, to see it through--for the culture, for the future, for legacy. Painters took on several apprentices for this reason too--giant frescoes were not completed by one man's hand, even if it is one man's name that immortalises them. Similarly, if you weave a narrative around choice, what good does it do to take it away at the final act if not to fall to caricature?

To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals.

Late-stage capitalism and profit-margin-obsessed game producers forcing developers to churn out meager content, to make a known brand into something it's not, to chase a fad or a popular trend... o, how reductive and cliche you've been forced to become Bioware. We have lost the cultural thought patterns relative to Cathedrals. We know only of barn-raised churches--done in a day but unlikely to last the turn of the seasons.

And don't even get me started on the music of Veilguard either. From Origins to World of Warcraft to Everquest to Baldur's Gate to Dungeon Siege, you can hear the intricate interconnected weave of sounds inspired by the Dungeons and Dragons-esque fantasy genre. You hear it in the repeated use of certain instruments, in the harmonic weeping notes of a bard-like singer or the foreboding echoes of drums as if of war. In tavern songs. But then, rather than hire someone who loves these worlds and this genre, who is a hungry artist looking to make a name, a legacy if you will, for themselves with a spectacular score, you hire any already sated composer, one well-into the encroaching years of career fatigue, whose notes repeat in countless projects, who feels less concise and more uninterested with each new project. One who has long since cemented his legacy. Someone in it for a paycheck and nothing else! And, to top it off, you let him compose something so minimalist? I am offended actually.

Cathedrals! We should have witnessed the final tile being placed on the Dragon Age cathedral. Instead, some architects walked up, tore down the interior and installed IKEA furniture and called it authentic before having to call the previous architects to come and fix the "load-bearing issues", forcing them to rush and add a coat of varnish and a few 'aged' details for authenticity.

[tunneldweller]

[image description: "you just die #fear is the mind killer, boomers have... a lot of fear #a lot of fear and hurt that they don't examine or know how to examine and it bleeds through #something something 'it all traces back to trauma' #it... we talk about this a lot" end ID]

I mean, we knew, but it's nice to hear so succinctly

[peavhyshy]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - AFRAID

ᯓᡣ𐭩 paring ─ ୨୧ ─ dark!boyfriend!rafe cameron ⋆ reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ─ ୨୧ ─ in which Rafe hatches a plan to ensure you stay by his side, by making you dependent on him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings ─ ୨୧ ─ explicit language noncon/dubcon, smut, rafe drugs reader, substance abuse, toxic relationship, emotional abuse, baby trapping/forced pregnancy, possessiveness, controlling behaviors, threats of violence, loss of virginity, corruption, breeding kink, dirty talk (like a lot), abandonment issues, manipulation, rough sex, hairpulling, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, powerplay, choking, semi public sex, car sex, creampie (please dni if your sensitive to these topics your mental health should come first)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc ─ ୨୧ ─ 8,960

⋆˚✿˖° a/n ─ ୨୧ ─ is there a plot not really, it may seem long but 80% of this is smut. this is unrelated but i think his season 1 & 2 rafe hair were elite to me but I just hate buzz cuts on everyone so my opinion doesn't matter here. The ‘Lila’ is now edited I use it as a placeholder (because for some reason I hate putting y/n while writing) before I replace it with y/n but of course my dumbass forgot to do that when I published this.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔.:･Afraid･:.ೃ࿔.⋆❀°

(༝༚༝༚ lana del rey)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Outer Banks Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Navigation ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Rafe sits across from you at your usual table in the country club, his jaw clenching rhythmically as he watches you flip through the college applications. His fingers drum against the polished wooden table, creating a nervous pattern that matches his increasing anxiety. The sight of all those prestigious university names makes his stomach turn - Harvard, Yale, Princeton - each one threatening to take you further away from Outer Banks, from him. He barely touches his plate of steak, too preoccupied with the growing unease in his chest.

"Why the fuck are you even looking at schools that far?" He snaps suddenly, his voice carrying a sharp edge as he reaches across to snatch one of your fries, popping it into his mouth with more force than necessary. His blue eyes darken with barely contained irritation, especially when he catches Topper's wave from across the room. He returns it with a curt nod, his attention immediately returning to you. "You know there's perfectly good schools right here in North Carolina. UNC's got a decent program."

You glance up from your binder, your eyes meeting Rafe's intense blue ones. You set down your fork carefully on your half-eaten Caesar salad, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The sunlight streaming through the country club's windows catches on your hair, creating a halo effect around your skin. "Baby, we've talked about this," you say gently, "These schools have amazing programs for what I want to study. And it's not like I'm making any decisions yet - I'm just looking at options."

The afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows catches on his rings as he reaches up to run a hand through his disheveled hair, a telltale sign of his growing agitation. The country club bustles around them with the usual crowd of Kooks - women in tennis whites gossiping over martinis, men in polo shirts discussing their latest yacht purchases. But Rafe's focus remains fixed on those damned college applications, his jaw working overtime as he grinds his teeth.

The cocaine from earlier isn't helping his paranoia, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them. The idea of you leaving, of losing control over this one good thing in his life, sends a fresh wave of anxiety through his system. His free hand unconsciously reaches up to rub at his chest, a nervous tick he's developed. The country club suddenly feels too small, too confined, and he can feel his breathing getting slightly erratic. "Just... just put those away for now," he demands, trying to maintain his composure despite the rising panic in his chest. "We're supposed to be having lunch, not planning your fucking escape route."

You reach across the table with your free hand, your fingers brushing against his chest where he's rubbing anxiously. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something sharper - probably remnants of whatever he'd been doing before lunch - fills your nostrils as you lean closer. "Rafe, you're spiraling again," you observe quietly, mindful of the other diners around them. Your eyes flick briefly to Topper and his mother as they pass, offering a polite smile before returning your attention to your increasingly agitated boyfriend. "And you know that's not fair. I'm not trying to escape anything, especially not you."

"Besides," he continues, his tone taking on that manipulative edge he's so good at, "You really want to leave all this behind? The island, the parties, me?" He leans forward, lowering his voice to that dangerous whisper he uses when he's trying to get his way. "You know I can't follow you out there. I've got responsibilities here, the family business..." His hand shoots out to grab your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make his point. "And what about us? You're going to throw away what we have for some fancy degree you could get right here?"

The weight of his intense stare makes you shift in your seat, your sundress rustling against the plush cushions. You can see the telltale signs of his growing panic - the clenched jaw, the rapid breathing, the way his fingers keep twitching against the table. Part of you wants to close the binder, to give in like you usually do when he gets like this. But another part, the part that's been dreaming about life beyond the island since you were little, keeps your hand steady on the applications. "What about a compromise?" you suggest, your voice taking on that soothing tone you learned to use when he's on edge. "What if I apply to both - some schools here in North Carolina and some out of state? That way we have options to discuss later?"

Your free hand moves from his chest to his face, your thumb gently stroking along his clenched jaw. You can feel the tension there, the way he's grinding his teeth. The chatter of the country club fades into background noise as you focus solely on him, knowing how quickly his mood can shift when he feels cornered. "And hey," you add, your voice dropping to a whisper as you lean even closer, your lips quirking into a small smile, "No matter where I end up going, you know you're the only one I want, right? These other Kook boys could never compare to my Rafe Cameron."

The familiar weight of the promise ring he gave you three months ago sits heavy on your finger, catching the light as you move. You learned over your time together that sometimes Rafe needs this - needs to be reminded that he's your choice, that you're his. Even if the possessiveness sometimes scares you, even if his mood swings leave you walking on eggshells, you can't deny the way your heart still races when he looks at you like he is now - like you're something precious he's terrified of losing. "Can we at least look through them together? You might see something you like too."

Rafe lets go of your wrist his hand shooting out to slam your binder shut with enough force to make nearby diners jump. "Don't fucking patronize me," he growls, his voice low and threatening despite their public setting. The gentle stroke of your thumb against his jaw only heightens his agitation, like a match to gasoline. "You think I don't see what this is?" He leans forward, invading your space across the table, his blue eyes wild with a mixture of possessiveness and barely contained rage. "First it's just 'looking at options,' then suddenly you're gone, probably fucking some ivy league asshole who doesn't know you like I do." His breathing becomes more erratic, the hand on his chest pressing harder as anxiety mingles with his growing anger. The familiar scent of your perfume - usually calming - now seems to mock him with its potential absence.

"You're trying to leave me, just like everyone else. Just like my mom, just like Sarah..." His voice cracks slightly on his sister's name before hardening again. "Well, I won't fucking let you."

You tense at the sudden shift in Rafe's demeanor, your heart rate picking up as you watch him slam your binder shut. The warmth drains from your eyes, replaced by a flicker of fear you try desperately to hide. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as he invades your space, his paranoia rolling off him in waves. You’ve seen him like this before, but never quite this intense, never quite this threatening in such a public place.

"Rafe, please," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you glance around at the other diners who are now openly staring at them. Your sundress suddenly feels too thin, too exposed under his wild-eyed gaze. You can smell the mixture of his cologne and sweat, and see the way his pupils are dilated - clear signs he's high again. "You're making a scene. Can we please just discuss this somewhere private?" 

A laugh escapes his throat at your suggestion of talking, the sound drawing more concerned glances from nearby tables. "Discuss? There's nothing to fucking discuss." His voice takes on that manipulative tone he knows works so well, mixing threat with vulnerability. "You belong here, with me. Do you think any of those places are gonna love you like I do? Understand you like I do?" His eyes flick to the promise ring on your finger, a visible reminder of his claim on you. "Or maybe that's what you want - to get away from the crazy boyfriend, right? Is that what this is about?"

The cocaine-fueled paranoia reaches a crescendo as he suddenly stands, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He towers over you, his presence intimidating despite the public setting. "You're not going anywhere," he declares, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he leans down close to your ear. "And if you try, I'll make sure every single one of those fancy schools loses your application. Don't test me, baby." His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, a twisted mixture of threat and affection that's purely him. "Now get your shit. We're leaving." His hand moves to grip your upper arm, ready to pull you up from your chair, his entire body vibrating with barely contained violence and possessive need.

The promise ring feels like it's burning on your finger as tears start to well up in your eyes. "I'm not trying to leave you," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. I'm not trying to leave you, I love you, Rafe. You know I do. But you're hurting me right now." You can feel your body starting to shake, whether from fear or adrenaline, you're not sure anymore.

You let him pull you to your feet, knowing resistance will only make things worse. Your college applications lay forgotten on the table as you stumble slightly, your legs weak from the sudden movement. "Okay," you concede, your voice small and defeated. "Okay, we can go. Just... please calm down. Please." Your free hand comes up to rest on his chest again, feeling his racing heartbeat under your palm. "Let's go to your family's place and talk about this properly. Just you and me, baby. Like we always do."

Rafe feels you trembling beneath his grip, and something in your tear-filled eyes pierces through his cocaine-addled rage. His breathing is still erratic, but the feel of your hand against his racing heart starts to ground him. The familiar scent of your perfume begins to cut through the paranoid haze, reminding him of lazy mornings in his bed, of your soft sighs against his neck. His grip on your arm loosens slightly, though he doesn't let go completely.

"Fuck," he mutters, running his free hand through his disheveled hair as reality starts seeping back in. The stares of the other country club patrons finally register, and he can feel his father's disapproval even in his absence. His jaw clenches and unclenches as he struggles to regain control. "Yeah... yeah, okay. Let's go home." His voice is still rough, but the dangerous edge has dulled somewhat. He reaches past you to grab your binder, shoving it under his arm - he's not leaving it here for you to come back to later.

The walk to his truck is tense, his hand moving from your arm to the small of your back - still possessive, but less aggressive. The cocaine is making him jittery, his thoughts racing between paranoia and guilt. Once you're inside his truck, he slams his palms against the steering wheel, making you jump. "I just..." he starts, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't lose you too, baby. I can't." His blue eyes, when they meet yours, are still wild but now tinged with desperation rather than rage. "Everyone leaves. Everyone always fucking leaves."

He reaches across the center console to pull you closer, burying his face in your neck. His breathing is still uneven, but slower now as he inhales your scent. "Stay," he whispers against your skin, his voice taking on that vulnerable quality that only you get to hear. "Just... stay with me. Please." His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin there. It's the closest thing to an apology you’re likely to get from him, this moment of raw vulnerability between the storms of his temper.

Rafe paces anxiously across Topper's home gym, his footsteps echoing against the polished hardwood floors as sweat drips down his bare chest from their workout session. The late afternoon sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the expensive exercise equipment. His muscles are tense not just from lifting weights, but from the constant anxiety gnawing at his insides about your potential departure. The cocaine from earlier is still coursing through his system, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them.

"I'm telling you guys, she's fucking leaving me," he complains, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair as he continues his relentless pacing. The familiar panic starts rising in his chest again, making him rub at it absently. "All these fucking college applications... Harvard, Yale, Princeton. She's planning her escape and I can't... I can't fucking let that happen." His blue eyes are wild as they dart between Kelce and Topper, sprawled across the leather bench press seats, watching their friend's mounting distress.

Kelce exchanges a knowing look with Topper before speaking up, his voice careful as he watches Rafe's increasingly agitated movements. "Man, you need to chill. Maybe if you weren't so fucking intense about it-" Rafe's sharp laugh cuts him off, the sound bouncing off the mirrored walls. "Intense? You think I'm being intense?" Rafe's voice rises as he spins to face them, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "My girl's trying to leave the fucking state, and you're telling me to chill?"

"Well," Topper drawls, wiping his face with a monogrammed towel, "you could always do what my cousin did when his girlfriend tried to leave for college." He pauses for dramatic effect, a smirk playing on his lips. "Got her knocked up. Can't exactly go to Yale with a baby on the way, can you?" He's clearly joking, but something in Rafe's expression shifts, his eyes taking on that dangerous gleam that appears when he's formulating a plan.

"That's..." Rafe stops pacing, his mind racing with possibilities. His jaw clenches rhythmically as he processes the idea. "That's fucking perfect." He starts pacing again, but this time with purpose, his movements predatory rather than anxious. "She'd have to stay. She'd be tied to me forever." His voice takes on that obsessive quality that appears when he's fixating on something. "No more fucking college applications, no more threats of leaving. She'd be mine, completely mine."

"Dude," Kelce sits up straighter, realizing Rafe's actually considering it. "I don't think that's what Topper meant-" But Rafe's already lost in his world, his cocaine-fueled paranoia latching onto this new solution like a lifeline. "She's still a virgin too," he continues, more to himself than his friends, his rings catching the light as he gestures animatedly. "Waiting for the 'right moment' or some shit. Well, guess that moment's coming sooner than she thought."

"No, no, this could work," Rafe continues, his voice taking on that edge that suggests he's spiraling into one of his episodes. "Her parents are traditional as fuck, they'd make her keep it. And Ward's always going on about wanting grandkids to carry on the Cameron name..." He's fully pacing now, his movements jerky and aggressive as the plan solidifies in his mind. "She's been hinting about wanting to do it soon anyway. Valentine's Day is coming up..."

The gym falls silent except for the sound of Rafe's footsteps and heavy breathing. Neither Kelce nor Topper dare speak, knowing from experience that trying to talk Rafe down when he's like this - especially when he's high - is pointless and potentially dangerous. They watch as their friend works himself into a frenzy, plotting the permanent capture of his girlfriend with the same intense focus he applies to everything he wants to possess.

"It's perfect," Rafe finally declares, stopping his pacing to face his friends. His chest heaves with excited breaths, sweat making his skin shine in the fading sunlight. "She'll never leave me then. She'll have to stay here, raise our kid, be the perfect fucking family." 

The thought of you, permanently his, unable to leave him, sends a rush of possessive pleasure through his system. "You guys didn't hear any of this," he suddenly stops, fixing both Kelce and Topper with a threatening stare. "Not a fucking word to anyone, got it?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that reminds them why people are scared of him, why even other Kooks think twice before crossing him.

"Jesus Christ, Rafe," Topper mutters, running a hand through his hair as he watches his friend's descent into this new obsession. "This is fucked up, even for you." But he knows that look in Rafe's eyes. Once Rafe sets his mind to something, especially when he's high, there's no talking him out of it. The gym feels smaller suddenly, charged with the energy of Rafe's newfound determination.

Rafe stands at the door of the l/n estate, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure in his tailored black suit. His blue eyes are slightly dilated from the line of cocaine he did in his truck to calm his nerves, but he's made sure to eye drop and cologne himself thoroughly. The velvet box containing the surprise he has planned for later weighs heavy in his pocket as he shifts anxiously, his rings catching the light as he reaches up to adjust his tie.

When Paul opens the door, Rafe immediately straightens his posture, forcing his most charming smile - the one he uses when he needs to impress. "Good evening, Mr. L/N," he greets, his voice steady despite the cocaine making his heart race. The older man's scrutinizing gaze reminds him uncomfortably of his own father's disapproving stares. The foyer behind Paul gleams with old money - crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and family portraits that speak of generations of Kook legacy.

"Rafe," Paul acknowledges with a slight nod, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the young man's appearance. There's something about Ward Cameron's son that has always set him on edge, though he can't quite put his finger on what. Maybe it's the occasional wild look in his eyes or the way his daughter seems to walk on eggshells around him sometimes. "Y/N is still getting ready. Come in." He steps aside, allowing Rafe into the pristine foyer.

The sound of Rafe's expensive dress shoes echoes against the marble as he enters, his hands sliding into his pockets to hide their slight tremor - partly from the drugs, partly from anticipation of what he has planned for tonight. The house smells of old money and fresh flowers, much like his own family's estate, but somehow more sterile, fitting for a plastic surgeon's home. His fingers brush against the small packet of powder in his pocket, next to the ring box - just enough to keep him steady through dinner.

"I trust you'll have her home at a reasonable hour," Paul's voice cuts through Rafe's thoughts, making him turn to face the older man. "Of course, sir," Rafe responds, that practiced smile still in place even as his jaw clenches slightly. "We just have reservations at Le Rivage, then maybe a walk on the beach." What he doesn't mention is the rest of his plans for the evening - the champagne waiting in his truck, the blankets he's laid out at his secret spot on the beach, the pills dissolved in one of the champagne glasses that will make sure everything goes according to plan.

The sound of heels on marble draws both men's attention to the grand staircase, and Rafe's breath catches in his throat. You descend like something out of a dream, your skin glowing against the deep red of your dress making his hands itch with the need to touch you. His blue eyes darken as they track your movement, his mind already racing ahead to later in the evening, to all the ways he plans to claim you completely.

"You look fucking perfect," he breathes out when you reach the bottom of the stairs, catching himself too late to censor his language in front of your father. But he can't help it - the cocaine making him more impulsive than usual, and the sight of you making his blood run hot. He steps forward to meet you, one hand reaching out to brush against your waist, proprietary and possessive even under your father's watchful gaze. The scent of your perfume mingles with the lingering chemical taste in the back of his throat, making him dizzy with want and anticipation.

Tonight's the night, he thinks, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as Paul insists on taking pictures. Tonight you become his completely, permanently. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. The thought makes him pull you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Ready for your Valentine's surprise, baby?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that anyone else would recognize as a warning, but he knows his sweet, innocent Y/N won't catch it. Not until it's too late.

Rafe helps you into his truck, his hand lingering possessively on your lower back as you climb in. The interior smells of expensive leather and his cologne, mixed with something chemical that makes you wrinkle your nose slightly. He slides into the driver's seat, his movements are precise despite the cocaine coursing through his system. The engine purrs to life, and he immediately reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers as he pulls away from your family's estate.

"You really do look fucking incredible tonight," he murmurs, his blue eyes flickering between you and the road. His thumb traces circles on your palm, a gesture that would seem sweet if not for the slight tremor in his hand. "That dress is driving me crazy." His rings catch the streetlights as you drive through Figure 8, passing other massive estates and perfectly manicured lawns.

"Thank you, baby," You respond softly, your free hand smoothing down the red fabric of your dress. "You clean up pretty nice yourself." You glance at him, admiring how the streetlights cast shadows across his sharp jawline. "So, are you going to tell me where we're going for dinner? You've been so secretive about tonight."

Rafe's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "It's a surprise, remember?" His voice carries that edge of control he can never quite hide. "But first..." He reaches behind your seat with his free hand, pulling out a small gift bag. "I got you something to wear at dinner." Inside is a delicate diamond necklace, the stones catching the light like tiny stars.

"Oh, Rafe," You breathe, reaching for the necklace. "It's beautiful. You didn't have to-" You are cut off by his laugh, that sharp sound that always makes your stomach flip. "Of course I did. Only the best for my girl." He pulls into a secluded spot overlooking the water, putting the truck in park. "Here, let me put it on you."

His hands are slightly unsteady as he fastens the necklace around your throat, his breath hot against your neck. "Perfect," he whispers, his fingers trailing down your spine. "Just like you'll be after tonight." There's something in his voice that makes you shiver, though you can't quite place why. "What do you mean?" you ask, turning to face him.

Rafe's eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide as he stares at you. "Just that I've got big plans for us, baby." His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "Tonight's gonna change everything." He leans in closer, his other hand sliding up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress higher. "You trust me, right?"

"Of course I do," You whisper, even as something in your gut tells you something's off. You can feel his heart racing where your bodies are pressed together and you can smell something sharp and chemical on his breath beneath the mint. "Rafe, are you okay? You seem...different tonight."

"Never better," he responds, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Just excited to give you all your surprises." His hand moves higher up your thigh, possessive and demanding. "Now, how about we have a little drink before dinner? To celebrate Valentine's Day?" He reaches behind the seat again, pulling out an expensive bottle of champagne and two glasses.

Rafe pours the champagne with calculated precision, his hands steadier now as he hands you your specially prepared glass. The moonlight filtering through the truck's windows catches the diamond necklace at your throat, reminding him of how perfectly it marks you as his. His blue eyes track your every movement as you accept the glass, noting how the red fabric of your dress has ridden up slightly from your position.

"To us," he proposes, raising his glass with that dangerous smile playing at his lips. The cocaine makes everything feel more intense - the way your perfume fills the confined space of his truck, the soft sound of your breathing, the sight of your lips touching the rim of the glass. He watches intently as you take a sip, something predatory flickering in his eyes. "And to all the surprises tonight has in store."

"Mmm, this is really good," You comment, taking another sip. You don’t notice how Rafe barely touches his glass, too focused on watching your drink. "But shouldn't we head to dinner? We don't want to lose our reservation." You move to check the time on your phone, but Rafe's hand shoots out to stop you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with practiced possessiveness.

"We've got time," he assures you, his voice dropping lower as he leans closer. His free hand comes up to trace the line of the necklace, fingers ghosting over your collarbone. "Besides, I want to enjoy this moment. Just you and me." He can feel your pulse racing under his fingers where they press against your wrist. "Finish your drink, baby. Then we can talk about dinner."

He watches as you obediently take another sip, then another. "You know what I love about you, Y/N?" His voice is rough now, heavy with want and something darker. "How fucking perfect you are. How innocent." His fingers trace patterns on your inner thigh, making you shiver. "How you trust me completely."

"Rafe," you breathe, and he notices your words are slightly slurred now. Your eyes are starting to look unfocused as you blink slowly at him. "I feel... strange." The champagne glass slips from your fingers, but he catches it smoothly, setting it aside. His heart is racing with a mixture of cocaine-fueled excitement and dark anticipation.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, pulling you closer as you start to sway slightly. "I've got you. Always got you." His lips brush against your neck, just above the diamond necklace. "And after tonight, you'll always be mine. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving." His voice takes on that possessive edge that would normally frighten you, but the drugs in your system are making everything feel distant and hazy.

"What did you..." you try to ask, your head falling back against the seat as your limbs grow heavy. Rafe's hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he watches the drugs take effect. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, making his expression look almost demonic as he smiles down at you.

"Just making sure tonight goes exactly as planned," he whispers, his other hand already reaching for the blankets he has stashed behind the seats. "Don't fight it, baby. Just let go. Let me take care of everything." His lips crash against yours, swallowing any protest you might have made as the drugs pull you deeper under their influence.

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your movements become increasingly sluggish, your normally bright eyes growing heavy-lidded and unfocused. He shifts in his seat, reaching to recline both of your seats back to create more space in the truck's cabin. The moonlight streaming through the windows casts ethereal shadows across your skin as he positions your body how he wants.

"Rafe..." you mumble, your voice thick and confused as he spreads the blankets beneath you. "What's happening? I feel so..." Your word trails off as he captures your lips in another possessive kiss, his hands already working at the zipper of your red dress.

"Just relax, baby," he whispers against your mouth, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. "Let me take care of you." His fingers trace the newly exposed skin of your back, savoring how you shiver under his touch despite your drugged state. "You look so fucking perfect like this. So helpless. So mine."

Rafe's hands slide possessively over your body as he peels the red dress from your drugged form, revealing the black underwear underneath. His blue eyes darken with predatory hunger as he drinks in the sight of you laid out beneath him in his truck, the diamond necklace glinting at your throat like a collar. The softness of your skin, the way your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, the little whimpers that escape your lips as you try to fight through the fog in your mind.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, his voice rough with desire as his hands roam over your exposed flesh. "Just let it happen. You know you want this." His fingers trace the edge of your lacy bra, teasing your hardened nipples through the delicate fabric. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment. To make you completely mine."

"Rafe, please," You slurred, weakly trying to push at his chest. "Something's wrong... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth crashing against yours, his tongue forcing its way past your lips as his hand slides between your thighs. He groans when he feels how wet you are through your panties, his cock straining against his suit pants.

"Look how ready you are for me," he rubs circles against your clit through the lace. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind's trying to fight it." He pulls back to admire his handiwork - your lips swollen from his kisses, your pupils blown wide from the drugs, your chest heaving as you struggle to focus. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Gonna put my baby in you tonight."

Rafe’s fingers hook into your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs as you weakly try to squeeze your thighs together. The moonlight catches on the wetness between your legs, making him groan. "Fuck, look at that pretty pussy," he breathes, his fingers spreading you open. "All perfect and untouched. Not for long though." 

Rafe's fingers work methodically between your thighs, spreading your wetness as he watches your face contort with unwilling pleasure. His other hand pins your wrists above your head, his rings cold against your feverish skin. The truck's windows are starting to fog up from your heavy breathing, creating a private cocoon around you.

"That's it, baby," he growls, sliding two fingers into you, feeling how tight you are around them. "Gonna stretch you out nice and slow before I fuck a baby into you." His cock throbs painfully in his pants as he watches you arch beneath him, the drugs making you more responsive even as you try to resist.

"No... Rafe... please," You whimper, your head thrashing weakly against the leather seat. But your body betrays you, hips rocking against his skilled fingers as he finds that spot inside you that makes you see stars. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as you gasp, reminding him of his ownership.

"Look at you, taking my fingers so well," he praises darkly, adding a third finger to stretch you further. "Can't wait to feel this tight little cunt around my cock." His thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles that make your whole body tremble. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Make sure my cum stays deep inside you until it takes."

The way your walls clench around his fingers, the little sounds you make as he works your body, the perfect arch of your back as you fight between pleasure and resistance. He leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, biting down just hard enough to make you cry out.

"Please," you beg, though whether you're begging him to stop or continue, even you don’t know anymore. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending singing from his touch as the drugs make everything feel more intense. "Rafe... I can't..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, curling his fingers inside you as his thumb speeds up on your clit. "Come on my fingers like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cock." His blue eyes are wild with possession as he watches you fall apart beneath him, knowing that after tonight, you’ll never be able to leave him. 

Rafe’s fingers work relentlessly between your thighs. His free hand moves from your wrists to grip your throat, right above the diamond necklace, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze my fingers."

Your body betrays you even as your mind tries to resist, waves of unwilling pleasure building under his skilled touch. The drugs make everything feel heightened - the stretch of his fingers inside you, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his breath against your neck. Your legs start to tremble as you approach your peak.

"That's it, baby," He watches your face contort with pleasure and confusion. His cock strains painfully against his suit pants, demanding attention. But he forces himself to wait, to savor this moment of taking your innocence piece by piece. "Give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel."

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the truck's cabin, mixing with the wet sounds of his fingers working between your legs. Rafe's eyes are dark with possession as he watches you fight against the inevitable, knowing that each moment brings him closer to his ultimate goal. The moonlight catches on the sweat beading on your skin, making you glow ethereally.

"I... I can't..." You whimper, your back arching off the seat as pleasure builds to an unbearable level. The drugs make everything feel like too much and not enough all at once. "Rafe, please..." Your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders. "You can, and you will," he commands, his voice taking on that dangerous edge that brooks no argument. His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes you see stars while his thumb circles your clit with practiced precision. "Come for me now. Let me feel it."

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your body trembles beneath him, your back arching off the leather seat as pleasure builds. His fingers work relentlessly inside your pussy, stretching and preparing you for what's to come. The way your walls clench around his digits, the little gasps and moans you can't hold back, the perfect arch of your spine as you fight between resistance and ecstasy.

"That's my good girl," his free hand moving from your throat to grip your hair, forcing you to look at him. "Watch me while you come. Want to see those pretty eyes when I make you fall apart." His thumb continues its relentless assault on your clit as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your whole body shake.

Your eyes flutter open, glazed with drugs and unwilling pleasure. The moonlight catches the tears gathering in your lashes as you stare up at him, unable to look away from his intense blue gaze. Your lips part in a silent scream as the pressure builds to an unbearable level, your body tightening around his fingers.

"Please," Her hands clutch desperately at his shoulders, leaving crescent marks through his expensive shirt. "Rafe, I can't... it's too much..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, his voice rough with desire and dominance. "Come for me now, baby. Show me how good I make you feel." His fingers speed up inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the truck's cabin. "Let go. Let me see you fall apart before I fuck you properly."

The combination of his skilled fingers, the drugs in your system, and his commanding voice finally pushes you over the edge. Your whole body goes rigid as pleasure crashes through you, walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers as you come with a broken cry of his name. 

"Beautiful," he breathes, working you through the aftershocks as you tremble beneath him. "But we're not done yet, baby. Not even close." His free hand moves to his belt, the sound of the buckle loud in the confined space. "Now it's time for the main event. Time to make you completely mine."

Rafe takes his time unbuckling his belt, the metallic sound echoing in the confined space of his truck. His blue eyes never leave your face as he watches you come down from your high, your body still trembling with aftershocks. Your chest heaves with each breath, the glisten of sweat on your skin, the slight quiver of your thighs as they remain spread for him.

"Look at you," he grunts, finally freeing his throbbing cock from his pants. "All fucked out from just my fingers, and we haven't even gotten to the best part yet." His hand wraps around his length, stroking slowly as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock brushes against your sensitive folds, making you whimper. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment."

"Rafe," You slur, your drugged mind struggling to focus as you feel his size pressing against your entrance. "Wait... I'm not ready..." Your weak protests only serve to fuel his desire, his grip tightening on your hip as he holds you in place. The diamond necklace at your throat catches the moonlight as you try to shift away.

"You're more than ready, baby," he counters, using his free hand to spread your wetness along his length. "Your body's begging for it. Been begging for it all night." He leans down, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss as he starts to push inside your entrance. The stretch is intense, making you gasp against his mouth. "Gonna make you take every fucking inch."

His cock inches forward slowly, savoring the way your walls resist his invasion. The truck's windows are completely fogged now, creating a private world for just the two of you. Rafe's breathing grows heavier as he feels your tight heat enveloping him, his control starting to slip. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave bruises. "Taking my cock so well, just like I knew you would."

Tears stream down your cheeks as he stretches you open, the mixture of pain and drugged pleasure making your head spin. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket. "Almost there, baby," he pants against your neck, his hips still pushing forward relentlessly. "Just a little more and you'll have all of me." His free hand slides between them to rub your clit, knowing the added stimulation will help your body accept him. "Gonna fill this tight little pussy up with my cum, make sure it takes. Make sure you can never leave me."

Rafe's hips finally meet yours as he bottoms out inside you, a groan of satisfaction rumbling deep in his chest. Your walls flutter around his length as you adjust to being completely filled for the first time. The truck's cabin is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the leather seats creaking beneath them with each subtle movement.

"There we go," he pants against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His hands grip your hips possessively as he holds himself still, savoring the moment. "Been dreaming about this for so fucking long, baby. About claiming you completely." You whimper beneath him, your mind is hazy from the drugs as your body struggles to accommodate his size. Tears continue to stream down your cheeks, your fingers clutch weakly at his shoulders as you feel him throb inside you.

"Please," you manage to gasp, though your drugged state makes it hard to form coherent thoughts. "It's too much... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth capturing yours in a demanding kiss, his tongue invading your mouth just as his cock has invaded your body.

"Yes, you can," his hips starting to move in shallow thrusts. "And you will. Gonna fuck a baby into you tonight, make sure you can never leave me." His movements gradually become deeper, and more purposeful, as he establishes a rhythm. "Watch me while I do it. Want to see those pretty eyes when I breed you." One hand slides from your hip to grip your jaw, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he fucks into you. "That's it," he praises darkly as your body starts to respond despite your protests. "Take it like a good girl. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock."

Rafe's movements become more intense, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force as he chases his release. The truck rocks with your movements, his hands grip your hips bruisingly tight as he pounds into you, watching with dark satisfaction as pleasure and pain war across your drugged features.

"Fuck, you feel perfect," he groans, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat just above the diamond necklace. "So fucking tight around my cock. Like you were made for this." His thumb traces your bottom lip as he continues his relentless pace. "Made to take my cum, to carry my baby."

Your head thrashes weakly against the leather seat, your body overwhelmed by the mix of drugs and unwilling pleasure. Your walls clench around him involuntarily as another orgasm builds, making him grunt with satisfaction. "That's it, baby," he praises darkly. "Squeeze my cock just like that. Show me how much your body wants this." His free hand moves between them to rub your clit, determined to make you come around his cock. "Gonna fill you up so good," he pants, his rhythm becoming more erratic as he nears his release. "Gonna pump you full of my cum until it takes. Make sure everyone knows you belong to me." His fingers speed up on your clit as he feels your walls starting to flutter. "Come for me now, baby. Let me feel that tight little pussy milk my cock."

Rafe's grip tightens on your hips as he feels his release building, his thrusts becoming more desperate and erratic. "That's it, baby," feeling your walls clench around him as another orgasm builds in your drugged body. "Come on my cock like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cum." Your back arches off the seat as pleasure crashes through you against your will, your walls squeezing his length rhythmically. The sight of you coming undone beneath him finally pushes Rafe over the edge. With a guttural groan, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your pussy. "Fuck," he pants against your neck, grinding his hips to ensure his cum stays deep inside. "All mine now."

He collapses on top of you for a moment, both of you catching your breath in the steamy confines of his truck. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as he finally pulls out, watching with dark satisfaction as his release drips from your used pussy. "No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. You're stuck with me now, baby." Without a word, he starts fixing his clothes, already planning your next encounter in his mind. 

"Let's get you home, baby," he says, his voice rough as he helps you dress on shaky legs. "Don't want your daddy getting suspicious." His hand rests possessively on your thigh as he starts the truck, knowing that after tonight, everything has changed. The drive back is silent except for your occasional whimpers, the drugs still making your head fuzzy as she processes what just happened.

A week later,  

Rafe lounges against his truck at the Boneyard, The beach is relatively empty at this hour, just a few surfers catching the last waves of the day. His blue eyes track your movement, noting how pale you look, and how your usual confident stride seems shakier. A smirk plays at his lips, though he keeps his expression carefully neutral.

"Hey baby," he calls out, pushing off the truck to meet you. His hands immediately find your waist, pulling you close as he studies your face. "You sounded weird on the phone. Everything okay?" The concern in his voice is perfectly crafted, masking the satisfaction he feels as he takes in your distressed state.

Your hands tremble as you pull away from his embrace, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. "Rafe, I... I need to tell you something." Your voice cracks slightly as you speak, tears already gathering in your eyes. "I went to the doctor today..."

"What's wrong?" Rafe steps closer, his hand coming up to cup your face with practiced gentleness. Inside, his heart races with anticipation, but his expression remains one of innocent concern. "You've been sick all week. Did they figure out what's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant," you whisper, the words carried away by the ocean breeze. Your eyes search his face desperately for any sign of recognition, any hint that he remembers your Valentine's night. "But I don't... I can't remember... The last thing I clearly remember is having champagne in your truck..."

Rafe's eyes widen in perfectly feigned shock, his hand dropping from your face as he takes a step back. "You're... what?" He runs a hand through his hair, the picture of a young man receiving unexpected news. "But we've never... I mean, I thought you wanted to wait?" His voice carries just the right amount of confusion and disbelief.

"That's just it," Your voice rises slightly, panic evident in your tone. "I don't remember! Valentine's Day is just... fuzzy. But the doctor said I'm about a week along, and you're the only one I've been with..." you trail off, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks.

Rafe pulls you into his arms, hiding his triumphant smile in your hair. "Shh, it's okay," he soothes, one hand moving to rest possessively over your still-flat stomach. "We'll figure this out together. I'm here for you, baby. Always." His voice drops lower, taking on that dangerous edge you're too distraught to notice. "Guess those college applications won't be necessary anymore, huh?"

His hand tightens possessively around your waist as you tremble against him, his other hand still resting on your stomach where his child is growing. The setting sun casts long shadows across the beach, the sound of waves providing a backdrop to your quiet sobs. His blue eyes gleam with dark satisfaction as he feels you collapse further into his embrace, exactly where he wants you.

"What am I going to tell my parents?" You whisper against his chest, your voice breaking. "My dad... he's going to kill me. And all my college plans..." You pull back slightly to look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks. "Rafe, I can't remember anything from that night. How did this happen?"

Rafe's jaw clenches as he maintains his facade of confusion and concern. "Hey, look at me," he demands softly, tilting your chin up with his fingers. "Your parents love you. And my family... well, Ward's always talking about wanting grandkids." His thumb wipes away your tears as he studies your face. "Maybe this is a good thing, you know? You and me, starting our own family."

"But I had plans," you protest weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt. "Harvard, Yale... I was supposed to get out of Outer Banks..." You don’t even notice how his grip tightens painfully at your words or the flash of possessive anger in his eyes.

"Fuck those plans," he growls, before quickly softening his tone. "I mean, things change, right? Sometimes for the better." His hand slides up to cup your face, forcing you to maintain eye contact. "You've got me now. Got us. Isn't that better than some fancy college where you don't know anyone?" He’s super hyper-focused on every detail - the way you unconsciously lean into his touch, how your body fits perfectly against his, the slight swell of your breasts that's already becoming noticeable. His other hand remains possessively on your stomach, imagining how it will grow with his child.

"I'm scared," You admit, your voice small against the sound of crashing waves. "Everything's happening so fast, and I can't remember... that night is just blank, Rafe. Doesn't that bother you?" You search his face for any sign of recognition, any hint of guilt.

But Rafe's expression remains carefully crafted a mixture of concern and determination. "What bothers me is seeing you upset," he lies smoothly, pulling you closer. "We'll figure this out together, okay? You and me and our baby. "No more talk about leaving, though. You belong here, with me. Got it?"

"We should tell our parents soon," he says, his voice carrying that edge of control he can never quite hide. "Get everything out in the open. But first, promise me something, baby. Promise me you'll stop looking at those college applications."

Your eyes widen with fresh tears as you stare up at him. "But Rafe, I can't just give up everything I've worked for..." Your voice trails off as his grip tightens slightly on your chin, his blue eyes darkening with barely contained possession.

"Those dreams were for the old Y/N," he states firmly, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "The one who didn't have a family to think about. Things are different now." His other hand presses harder against your stomach, a reminder of what's growing inside of you. "You've got bigger responsibilities. To me. To our baby."

The waves crash against the shore behind them as silence stretches between them. Rafe can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers where they rest against your throat and can see the moment you start to break under the weight of reality. His plan is working perfectly - soon you’ll be completely his, tied to him forever through your child.

"I... I need time to think," You finally whisper, trying to step back from his embrace. But Rafe's grip remains firm, keeping you close as the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. His expression shifts into something darker, more possessive.

"No more thinking," One of his hands slid up to tangle in your hair. "No more plans that don't include me. You're mine now, Y/N. The sooner you accept that, the better." His voice carries a threat wrapped in velvet as he stares down at you. "Or should we talk about how convenient it is that you can't remember Valentine's Day?"

Rafe's threat hangs heavy in the air as your face drains of color. His fingers tighten in your hair, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. The darkened beach feels suddenly oppressive as he towers over your trembling form.

"What... what do you mean?" You whisper, your voice is small and frightened as you search his face. The familiar warmth in his blue eyes has been replaced by something cold and calculating that makes your stomach turn.

"You really want to know what happened that night?" he asks, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. His hand slides from your stomach to your hip possessively. "Want me to tell you exactly how I made sure you'd never leave me? How I watched you drink that champagne, knowing what was in it?"

You try to pull away, but his grip is iron-tight as realization dawns on your face. "No," she breathes, shaking her head in denial. "You wouldn't... you couldn't..." But the predatory smile spreading across his face tells you everything you need to know.

"I did," he confirms, pulling you closer until your faces are inches apart. "And now you're carrying my baby. No more college applications. No more dreams of leaving. You're mine forever now, baby." His thumb brushes away a tear from your cheek with mock tenderness. "And if you ever think about telling anyone... well, who's going to believe the girl who can't remember her own Valentine's Day?"

The waves crash behind them as your world crumbles around you. You can feel the weight of the promise ring on your finger - once a symbol of love, now feeling more like a shackle. Rafe watches you process everything with dark satisfaction, knowing he's won completely.

"Why?" you finally manage to ask through your tears, your voice breaking on the single word. The hand in your hair tightens as Rafe's expression turns almost tender, though his eyes remain cold.

"Because you're mine," he states simply as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And I take care of what's mine. You'll see, baby. This is better than any fancy college could ever be." His hand moves to rest on your stomach again, possessive and threatening all at once. "Our little family, together forever in Outer Banks. Just like it should be."

[cocklessboy]

The biggest male privilege I have so far encountered is going to the doctor.

I lived as a woman for 35 years. I have a lifetime of chronic health issues including chronic pain, chronic fatigue, respiratory issues, and neurodivergence (autistic + ADHD). There's so much wrong with my body and brain that I have never dared to make a single list of it to show a doctor because I was so sure I would be sent directly to a psychologist specializing in hypochondria (sorry, "anxiety") without getting a single test done.

And I was right. Anytime I ever tried to bring up even one of my health issues, every doctor's initial reaction was, at best, to look at me with doubt. A raised eyebrow. A seemingly casual, offhand question about whether I'd ever been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. Even female doctors!

We're not talking about super rare symptoms here either. Joint pain. Chronic joint pain since I was about 19 years old. Back pain. Trouble breathing. Allergy-like reactions to things that aren't typically allergens. Headaches. Brain fog. Severe insomnia. Sensitivity to cold and heat.

There's a lot more going on than that, but those were the things I thought I might be able to at least get some acknowledgement of. Some tests, at least. But 90% of the time I was told to go home, rest, take a few days off work, take some benzos (which they'd throw at me without hesitation), just chill out a bit, you'll be fine. Anxiety can cause all kinds of odd symptoms.

Anyone female-presenting reading this is surely nodding along. Yup, that's just how doctors are.

Except...

I started transitioning about 2.5 years ago. At this point I have a beard, male pattern baldness, a deep voice, and a flat chest. All of my doctors know that I'm trans because I still haven't managed to get all the paperwork legally changed, but when they look at me, even if they knew me as female at first, they see a man.

I knew men didn't face the same hurdles when it came to health care, but I had no idea it was this different.

The last time I saw my GP (a man, fairly young, 30s or so), I mentioned chronic pain, and he was concerned to see that it wasn't represented in my file. Previous doctors hadn't even bothered to write it down. He pushed his next appointment back to spend nearly an hour with me going through my entire body while I described every type of chronic pain I had, how long I'd had it, what causes I was aware of. He asked me if I had any theories as to why I had so much pain and looked at me with concerned expectation, hoping I might have a starting point for him. He immediately drew up referrals for pain specialists (a profession I didn't even know existed till that moment) and physical therapy. He said depending on how it goes, he may need to help me get on some degree of disability assistance from the government, since I obviously shouldn't be trying to work full-time under these circumstances.

Never a glimmer of doubt in his eye. Never did he so much as mention the word "anxiety".

There's also my psychiatrist. He diagnosed me with ADHD last year (meeting me as a man from the start, though he knew I was trans). He never doubted my symptoms or medical history. He also took my pain and sleep issues seriously from the start and has been trying to help me find medications to help both those things while I go through the long process of seeing other specialists. I've had bad reactions to almost everything I've tried, because that's what always happens. Sometimes it seems like I'm allergic to the whole world.

And then, just a few days ago, the most shocking thing happened. I'd been wondering for a while if I might have a mast cell condition like MCAS, having read a lot of informative posts by @thebibliosphere which sounded a little too relatable. Another friend suggested it might explain some of my problems, so I decided to mention it to the psychiatrist, fully prepared to laugh it off. Yeah, a friend thinks I might have it, I'm not convinced though.

His response? That's an interesting theory. It would be difficult to test for especially in this country, but that's no reason not to try treatments and see if they are helpful. He adjusted his medication recommendations immediately based on this suggestion. He's researching an elimination diet to diagnose my food sensitivities.

I casually mentioned MCAS, something routinely dismissed by doctors with female patients, and he instantly took the possibility seriously.

That's it. I've reached peak male privilege. There is nothing else that could happen that could be more insane than that.

I literally keep having to hold myself back from apologizing or hedging or trying to frame my theories as someone else's idea lest I be dismissed as a hypochondriac. I told the doctor I'd like to make a big list of every health issue I have, diagnosed and undiagnosed, every theory I've been given or come up with myself, and every medication I've tried and my reactions to it - something I've never done because I knew for a fact no doctor would take me seriously if they saw such a list all at once. He said it was a good idea and could be very helpful.

Female-presenting people are of course not going to be surprised by any of this, but in my experience, male-presenting people often are. When you've never had a doctor scoff at you, laugh at you, literally say "I won't consider that possibility until you've been cleared by a psychologist" for the most mundane of health problems, it might be hard to imagine just how demoralizing it is. How scary it becomes going to the doctor. How you can internalize the idea that you're just imagining things, making a big deal out of nothing.

Now that I'm visibly a man, all of my doctors are suddenly very concerned about the fact that I've been simply living like this for nearly four decades with no help. And I know how many women will have to go their whole lives never getting that help simply because of sexism in the medical field.

If you know a doctor, show them this story. Even if they are female. Even if they consider themselves leftists and feminists and allies. Ask them to really, truly, deep down, consider whether they really treat their male and female patients the same. Suggest that the next time they hear a valid complaint from a male patient, imagine they were a woman and consider whether you'd take it seriously. The next time they hear a frivolous-sounding complaint from a female patient, imagine they were a man and consider whether it would sound more credible.

It's hard to unlearn these biases. But it simply has to be done. I've lived both sides of this issue. And every doctor insists they treat their male and female patients the same. But some of the doctors astonished that I didn't get better care in the past are the same doctors who dismissed me before.

I'm glad I'm getting the care I need, even if it is several decades late. And I'm angry that it took so long. And I'm furious that most female-presenting people will never have this chance.

[prettieinpink]

HABITS TO IMPLEMENT BEFORE THE END OF THE YEAR ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹

DAILY AFFIRMATIONS

You can choose whatever time you’d like to say positive and affirmative statements to yourself. When saying affirmations, use the first person and present tense. E.g I am healthy, I take care of myself, and I am strong academically. 

Affirmations are so helpful because our brains struggle to tell the difference between imagination and reality. So, when we visualise ourselves doing something that's not actually happening, it stimulates the brain areas as if we were actually experiencing it.

So, repetitive affirmations will encourage your brain to treat it as fact. While this only works to an extent, it does help with self-sabotaging thought actions and thought patterns. 

EATING MINDFULLY

Eating mindfully is the practice of when consuming anything, you put your full focus on that meal. There are no devices that may distract you, you’re eating slowly and paying close attention to how different meals make your body feel. 

To eat mindfully, focus on the time it takes for you to finish your food. Is it enough time for your body to give signals about your meal? To chew thoroughly? Another thing is to turn off and eliminate any distractions. Such as being on any devices or multitasking. 

Eating too quickly means that your body may not have enough time to tell you that it's full. When you eat mindfully, it's easier for your body to register when it's full. Furthermore, it's easier to distinguish between true hunger and non-hunger triggers for eating. 

CREATIVE OUTLETS

For a lot of us, 2024 was a stressful year. We’re constantly hustling and not letting ourselves process what's happening in and around us. Having a creative outlet helps us to release and detach from those emotions. It allows us to experience that feeling, but leave it all behind in the end. 

Some examples are painting, clay artwork, creative writing, designing, sewing, crocheting and music. There’s a lot more you could do, but ultimately you have to do what's best for yourself. 

LEARNING SOMETHING NEW EVERYDAY

At least one thing each day: aim to learn something completely new to you. Other than the fact that you are learning something new, it allows for your curiosity to grow and expand outside of your typical education institution. With curiosity, comes with the skill of being able to explore complications and come up with solutions. 

There are many ways you can learn, but I think the best way is by coming up with your questions in an area you’re unfamiliar with and then looking for an answer to your question. 

My favourite way has to be watching video essays. Doesn’t always have to be social commentary, but anything that seems interesting enough for me. 

COMPLIEMENT-A-DAY

I love receiving compliments from strangers. It leaves the widest smile on my face and I swear I feel so much lighter like I’m floating around. However, I never think to give a compliment to someone else who I don’t know. So, whenever you see the cutest outfit or the perfect lip combo, make sure to say it!

For those who may be shy in those kinds of interactions, practice saying it in your head. You don’t have to say it out loud to them, but thinking positively of other people will reflect on how you think about yourself. 

That is it for this post, thank you for reading until the end ♥︎ Until next time, take care of yourself ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹