#they are ruining my life (positiv)

[dashing-through-ecto]

@xmajordumps how are your character designs so powerful. I can't stop drawing them.

[mikka-minns]

Opinions on characters: Kiryuu Nanami, Saionji Kyouichi, Tatsuki Shiori

Thank you for the ask! Im guessing its for the ask game(the general opinion is included so yeah) Sorry i didnt answer until now😅

Kiryuu Nanami

General opinion: She is everything to me. Her mere existance confirme half of my theories about Anthy and Akio.

She is a queen. She didnt deserve this.

The reason she isnt in the movie is because she realised the truth about Ohtori in time and when things started to go back to their bad nature she was able to leave.

She is the perfect first character to find out about Akio's abuse because she lived with one of his victims, he ruined her life in-directly and was about to make her another one of his victims. Her character and story are perfect, i would change nothing about her.

(i have a big post about her, Anthy and Shadow Girls to write so stay tuned for that)

A ship i love: i cant decide if i like the idea that Nanami is aromantic or a lesbian(so probably both) and i dont have a ship with her i realy love. I like Nanami x Kozue a bit, mostly for the parrallels, but i have my own problems with Kozue(which is its own topic), so im not sure how much i actualy ship it. But then again, most of my Rgu Ships go under "after 15 years of therapy they can actualy date", so... Who know.

A non-romantic relationship i love: her friendship with Utena and Anthy and her friendship with Saionji. I wish she got a chance to apologize to Anthy once they were both in a good place and far away from their brothers. For Saionji, i hope they got to meet after he left Ohtori with Juri and Miki. If he grew as a person(which is necessery for escapong Ohtori) he would be a great big brother. Also, the egg episode realy sells me the idea he is her brother figure. "No appreciation for brotherly advice".

A NOTP: Nanami x Touga and Nanami x Akio(OBVIOUSLY). I havent seen anyone ship it and GOOD. That is a one way ticket to hell. I Also dont like Nanami x Saionji, but thats mostly personal opinion cuz i see them as siblings. Might Also be the age gap but idk.

My biggest headcanon about them: as i said, SHE LEFT THE OHTORI NOT LONG AFTER THE SERIES FINALE! She is also an animal person but is not used to them because of her family(cats trigger he trauma too). Once she and Anthy make up, BECAUSE THEY WILL, Anthy  lets her spend time with her animal friends, maybe even helps her adopt an animal of her own.

An idea for fanfiction: Nanami meeting with everyone from Ohtori after they escape, exploring their relationships once they arent under control of their abusers.

(this one is in my WIPs, i Just have to finish it) Weed bride. Anthy and Nanami smoke blunts together along with everyone else. They Also take over Ohtori. I dont wanna spoil anything.

Something that makes me think of them:

Songs "Oh no!" and "Family jewels" by Marina and the diamonds, "allies or Enemies"(about her and Touga) and "Take me to War" by crane wives. And a few more but this is on the top of my mind.

Kyouichi Saionji

General opinion: He was the perfect first antagonists for the series. He is so pathetic, no one takes him seriusly, which is a perfect foil to Akio being adored and trusted by many characters.

He most likely isn pure evil as he is still a child, but he should defenetly be taken responsible for his actions(abuse of Anthy).

A ship i love: touga x Saionji but ONLY AFTER 20, NO, 40 YEARS OF THERAPY! They both hurt each other, they should solve their problems. I wish we saw Saionji's Thoughts about Touga in the movie, but hey, we cant have everything.

A non-romantic relationship that i love: as i said, he would make a great brother to Nanami. As i doubt either of them will ever see Touga again, they could help each other with the trauma. Saionji defenetly has family problems, everyone does in Ohtori.

I also like his friendship with Wakaba, i dont ship them tbh. I feel like she can put him in his place with ease(she beat Utena up as a petty joke).

Not realy a positive relationship, but his rivalry with Utena is very intresting. He is like a trashy version of her. Their straight love intrests are each other's real crushes, but they project. This would all be solved if the world wasnt homophobic. I want them to fight, middle-school-girl style cuz Saionji would get his ass handed to him.

A NOTP: saionji x Akio (OBVIOUSLY) and Saionji x Nanami (again, its just my personal preference)

My biggest headcanon about them: he projected Touga onto Anthy. Thats what kinda stings about how he treated her. Its obvious that relationship was going nowhere, but he never even liked her for her and so it was Just cruel.

He feels as if he isnt good enough for people around him and was at some point jealous about Touga's relationship with Akio cuz it seemed like Touga was so much more mature that he was getting attention of another adult.(angsty i know, but its based on reality)

A fanfic idea: him and Nanami meeting again(as you can see, im very normal a out them)

Maybe an AU where he and Touga dont go so off the edge ti become the pricks they are in the canon and instead Run away with Nanami and live as a little family(THIS SHOW HURT ME, OKAY)

In weed bride, Anthy wrecks his shit cuz he was with Touga and she was about to end Touga so obviously he will get some too. (that fic is Just pure crack)

Tatsuki Shiori

Something that Reminds me of them: tbh i cant think of anything right now.

General opinion: gurlfailiure. I love her. Just another child in a cruel world. She only had the worst adults to look up to and so she hurt the Ones she loved the most. She has room to grow and redeemed herself, she is only a child after all.

I think her place in the movie was great because of that. (i think her role was methaphore for what happend after the series finale, Just like with everyone else)

A ship that i love: i like Juri x Shiori and kinda Shiori x Kozue(both girls are disasters) but i wouldnt say i love either of those. Again, years of therapy, then they can get bitches.

A non-romantic relationship i love: not sure

Maybe her relationship with Touga cuz i dont see it as a real romance. I like it for the narrative(its not realy healthy) and how we found out a lot about Touga trough it.

I think her relationship with Ruka was a perfect example of an older guy messing with a younger girl. Toxic and cruel.

A NOTP: Shiori x Akio (look i have to make sure its known i do not unde any circumstances support these Ships) and Shiori x Ruka(he is an abusive asshole. A mini Akio, if you will)

My biggest headcanon about them: she is queer and full of internalised homophobia. She loved Juri but she is Just another pawn in Akio's game and so she could do nothing but hurt her. I dont think they made up after the end of the movie, im not even sure Shiori escaped, so idk if they even met after.

She liked Touga less because he is a prince and more because he is like a rose bride(like her, in a way) but is not a girl so its fiiine(side eye).

A fanfic idea: i dont have any right now

Maybe exploring her movie role and/or her mindset trough a fanfic?

Something that Reminds me of them: again, not sure.

[aangtheairbender]

This is what I mean with the cookie-cutter perfect main protagonist. We fell in love with those characters because they had flaws like us, but managed to evolve and grow in a positiv way that both benefitted themselves and the others in their life.

I want to see a characters that is like me. That has faults and sides that aren't some attraktive; but can show with hard work and a change of both heart and mindset- are able to accomplish the things they set out to do.

Having perfect characters from the starts, doesn't really do much for a show. Why should I follow the "growth" and progress of a character that is already at the goal.

I'm also so against the way tv production make fictional character. They make them spotless. Everything is practically perfect and yet, people finds way to complain about them. We need characters that can grow and people needs to realise that showing bad or negative traits in a character is important for the story building and for the audience. Showing bad traits and how to overcome them is a good thing. If you want a generation that isnt sexist (in this case), you don't show a character that is not. You show what they do and say to overcome that hurdle.

Even as a child, when I first watched ATLA, I was never unsure that sokka was out of line to mock Katara in that way or that is was childish of him to not accept that the kyoshi warriors were all young women that captured them. But it was still important to see that growth in him, because I knew that were negative traits and a bad mindset to have towards women; I wanted to see him overcome it and be better person.

This is why i think "wokeness" ruins remakes and new tv shows. Because, people just can't handle very "human" faults in character. We see this with every Disney remake. With new shows for young adults. Every line and every point of progress is basically spoon fed to the audience, soi there wont the any interpatation of what is wrong and what is right.

I just think we need dynamic characters that clearly has sides to them that every person can relate to. I mean, is sokka is a "problematic character"....why not just drop Iroh and Zuko that literally was hunting the avatar to kill/capture him. But they wont do that, because then the movie doesn't have a conflict and you droop two of the most likes character. It just doesn't make sense in my eyes.

We need characters with faults. I think if you are either scared that you or your close ones (children etc) are going to be influenced by watching a character like sokka; maybe you don't have the maturity to make you own morals stance and shouldn't watch a show like that.

Tv shows and movies are there to place your morals for you. If you can't pick what's right and what's wrong between being a sexist and not; you shouldn't watch a show like that. If it upset you that much, the solution isn't to get rid of those traits. It is to not watch it.

Also, I think it's wrong to remove Katara's more emphatic and sympatic sides in the name of "modern feminism". I hate when film producers do that. They want strong females, so they give them the traits of toxic masculinity. When Katara's motherly sides was never a weakness for her. It made her strong and it made her fight for people she cared about.

That is just mu thoughts. I'm never really for the remake of things. I don't really think it does any good and nobody likes them, it seems like. Why not make new plots and stories. Like they could have made a film out of the comics or something. I don't think I will see the movie, just because I don't the necessity of having it made and because I will literally be watching new characters just with the same name.

Just read that the live action Avatar the Last Airbender is making Sokka less misogynistic which I think is actually a poor choice

Part of what made Sokka a good and interesting character was seeing him grow from a boy who often insulted women into a man who regularly drank his respect women juice

We need to allow people to be shitty and yet grow into better people and Sokka was a good example of that because he was generally still likeable as a character overall, even when he was being kind of a dick

Giving him the chance to learn and grow as a person was part of what made him a well rounded character and to remove that is likely to make him a flatter character overall

[kimseoyoung211211]

Phenomenology

Phenomenology is basically a study of living experiences that began with the study of philosophy. As many philosophers say, it is a major explanation that reality and consciousness collide with each other and develop as a common understanding. The first to lay the foundation for phenomenology was the German philosopher Edmund Husserl. He decided that the positivism and psychology that developed the most in the 19th century during his life had led to the starkness of all socio-cultural values in life, so he created phenomenology that subjectivity is important because consciousness is always directed at an object in order to establish such a system. Phenomenology offers a variety of experiences even though art is analysed. Since each person has different environments and stages in which they have lived, even if an artist composes a work with his or her own theme, evaluation and interpretation can be derived differently from person to person. In class, I drew my own interpretation of the shadow as a picture, and I was surprised to see that although I interpreted it as a being that hindered one's own in the dark history or the future, other students interpreted the interpretation of the shadow realistically by focusing on its existence.Based on this experience, I experienced phenomenology again in the collage work of the craft workshop in parallel with this project. The theme is to create a collage of a place where you have memories, and other people may interpret photos related to your childhood living space as just happy memories, but I have a clear memory of a house in ruins due to redevelopment when I was young, so I conceived it as a dark image.

(280words)

Husserl and Phenomenology (lecture: Professor Lee Nam-in) Part 1. (2022, February 15). [Video]. Naver TV. Retrieved February 15, 2024, from https://tv.naver.com/v/20058308

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Baby, You’re Perfect

Pairing: BNHA Boys x reader

Warnings: Weight insecurity, negative body image/icky thoughts, body shaming from relatives, talks about skipping a meal once, general stuff like that. Kirishima’s reader is actively trying to lose weight. Cursing/language throughout (but mostly in Bakugou’s)

Characters: Bakugou, Kirishima, Kaminari

Author’s Note:

And here we have yet another request that is super old. I’m talking this has been chillin in my inbox for three good months. My sincere apologies, anon. And again, I’m sorry that that had to happen to you. Your grandma has no right to speak to you in that way. You’re making great progress and that’s amazing! Keep going strong, I believe in you. Anyhow, I had a lot of fun doing this request! We all need more chubby y/n on this website.

Yes, it says Hawks but I contacted the anon and we switched it to Denki bc I don’t write for Keigo (and we had a lovely conversation. they’re very nice :D). 

Also the first two insults are things that have actually been said/done to me irl (hehe tasty self projection) and the last one in Denki’s is from an episode from Tuca and Birdie (it’s a good show).

Anyway, be nice to people. Respect others and speak to them as equals. We’re all human beings here, trying to get by. We’re also like a month away from 2021, I shouldn’t have to say that >:(

Happy Thanksgiving!

-Sugar

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Bakugou:

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were tired of their faces, tired of their words. You were headed home early, and you would not be sorry.

You didn’t hate your family. They could just be a little . . . difficult sometimes.

At first, it had gone well. You’d arrived at your aunt’s house yesterday for a family gathering and met up with everyone. They’d hugged you and asked you how you were doing. They’d even asked after your pro hero boyfriend, who you had chosen not to bring along for the purpose of spending some quality alone time with your family.

But then it happened; the thing you’d been dreading, the type of comment you’d hoped against all things you wouldn’t hear this time. But there it was.

You were nearly done preparing for lunch, helping to place dishes of food out in the backyard for your family meal. Your aunt was starting to serve people food, and you happened to glance up to see one of your cousins making herself a plate.

“Do you want any more?” your aunt asked your cousin, ready with her ladle.

“No, thank you, I’ve got enough.” Your cousin flipped her long perfect hair over a perfectly narrow shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to get fat like—” her gaze wandered over to you, meeting your eyes pointedly, “—some people.”

You faltered. Had she really just said that? About you? Well, it wasn’t impossible that it would come from her, but seriously? Today?

You swallowed a lump that had started forming in your throat, setting down the new stack of paper plates. Your aunt shot you a pitying glance. Was she even going to say something? Would she call your cousin out on her words?

No. She just moved on. Moved on like you should have. But something about it stuck with you. Your cousin’s words and implications rang through your mind, making you feel sick to your stomach. You shouldn’t let it bother you this much. You were doing better, both with your habits and your confidence. So why did it hurt so bad?

The darker thoughts you’d kept at bay began to come back; you were worthless, you were ugly, you were undeserving. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why was your stomach churning and your hand shaking? Before you knew it, hints of tears began to prick at your eyes.

No.

You weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing you this way. But you were no longer interested in staying, any sense of hunger leaving you for sick dread.

Next thing you knew, you had said an early goodbye and put your things in the car, headed back home. Maybe driving wasn’t the best idea, since now you were alone with your thoughts. But crying wasn’t worth it. It was a bad idea, especially since now was the time to focus on the road ahead.

You couldn’t have gotten home sooner, a sense of relief washing over you once you pulled into the driveway. You unlocked your front door, pulling your bags in behind you. You heard movement coming from the kitchen as you set everything down; the sound of the faucet turning off signaling to you that Katsuki had heard you come in.

Heaving a sigh, you tried to chase the negative thoughts from your head. They shouldn’t be there, and it wasn’t something to dwell on. You were home again, and you wouldn’t have to deal with your family for another few months at least.

Bakugou’s head peeked out from around the doorframe, double checking that it was you who had walked in. “What are you doing here?” he called, ducking back to whatever he’d been doing in the kitchen.

“Hello to you too.” You tried to keep the tartness out of your voice, but some of it must have crept back in. The sounds from the other room stopped again, and the house went eerily quiet. Huffing, you dragged your luggage into your shared bedroom.

You felt drained, that was the only way to describe it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hang your clothes in the closet. Giving up, you laid down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. You couldn’t help but hear your cousin’s words ringing over and over in your head, reminding you of the countless years of both internal and external torment you’d gone through regarding your weight.

The sound of footsteps in the doorway made you glance down, registering a spiky blond head of hair approaching you on the bed. You said nothing as the mattress dipped next to you, indicating that Bakugou had come up on your side.

The two of you were silent together for a long moment, and a stolen glance told you that Katsuki was mirroring you with his head resting on his arms as he stared at the blank ceiling.

“Are you going to tell me what’s got you in this mood?” he finally asked.

You sighed. “My cousin can just be a pain sometimes.”

“She the one you were telling me about or is it someone else?”

“Same girl.”

“Hmm.” Bakugou continued to keep his eyes trained solely up above. “What did she do this time?”

“Called me fat.” You tried to keep your voice even. You were simply stating a fact. It shouldn’t bother you like this, right? Even so, the tears you’d been forcing back once again rushed to your eyes, causing your tone to pitch. You swallowed them down again, blinking rapidly. This wasn’t something to spend time crying over.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Katsuki said, a little unhelpfully. “I don’t want to see you hating yourself.”

You frowned at this. “I don’t hate myself,” you said, thinking about your words for a moment before you spoke them. “I don’t hate my body. It’s just that . . . sometimes I wish it looked a little better, a little different. Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m enough as I am.”

“Don’t tell me you think you’d be happier looking like everyone else.” Bakugou’s gaze had shifted from a blank one to a glare.

“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging. “It’s just . . . hard sometimes. Being like this.”

Finally Bakugou rolled to face you, taking one of your hands in his. “I know you . . . struggle with your self-image or whatever, but you can’t let it take over your life, got it? You can’t just waste it worrying about what everyone thinks of you. You’re never going to be able to please everyone, but if they’ve got a problem with you, then they can go fuck themselves. You want to know the one person’s opinion who matters most? Yours. You have to be the one who’s taking care of yourself.” Katsuki paused for a moment, absentmindedly fiddling with your fingers as he considered his words.

“You want to know who’s opinion is the second most important?” he continued, his voice starting to get a little more mumbly. “Mine. I picked you because I love you. I love everything about you, from your shitty, annoying personality to your gorgeous body. You are so much more than just ‘enough’ for me, so don’t go worrying about that. You’re everything to me, and you know that, right? I love you no matter what, so don’t let this ruin your whole day.” He kissed your knuckles, signaling that he had said his peace.

You smiled at him, a tear or two finally sneaking past your defenses. “How—how do you do that?”

“What?”

“Sometimes you say something horribly stupid and I swear I hate you, and then next thing I know, you’re telling me everything I need to hear.”

“Tch, I can be eloquent whenever I want. It’s a choice.”

“Alright.” You rolled over so you could properly face him. “Can I have a hug?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but nevertheless held open his arms. You happily snuggled into the hard, built muscle enveloping you, offering a beautiful contrast to your own soft body.

“Do you need me to talk to your cousin?” Bakugou asked. “I’ll do it.”

“Nah, let her go.” You nuzzled your nose into his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

______________

Kirishima:

You honestly expected your family to last longer when it came to keeping from upsetting you. Nevertheless, maybe you were being a little too optimistic. But come on, did they have to ruin everything the literal second you walked through the door?

Even after the scathing comment, followed by a half-hearted, hasty brushing off, you forced yourself to spend time with them. It wasn’t often that you got to see this half of your family, so you decided to ignore it with the rest of them.

But as you sat on the couch sipping tea, you were unable to focus on the light conversation buzzing around you. The event that happened mere minutes before played over again in your mind, causing you to wince.

You’d walked into the house, prepared to greet everyone and have a nice time, when your aunt looked up from her position on her arm chair. “Hello, (Y/N),” she’d begun. “Ah, look, you’re still fat.”

Your heart had almost literally stopped beating in your chest as you froze in the threshold. Had she just said what you thought you heard? You must have been mistaken, right?

Any positive anticipation you’d had of seeing your relatives had plummeted to your feet, and you strongly considered turning around in place and leaving without another word.

But you couldn’t do that, of course not. Then your aunt had begun to babble something about how it made you look cute like a baby, but her words had already done their damage.

You tolerated the rest of your afternoon with them, but it was a great relief to you when you were finally able to leave and go home. As soon as you pulled into your driveway, you exhaled a sigh of relief. It was over with, and it hadn’t been that bad.

Eijirou wasn’t home, but you knew he wouldn’t be long after you. You went about making dinner, knowing he’d appreciate it once he got home. He was always so tired these days.

Even so, as you stirred broth in a pot, your aunt’s words rang in your head. You vaguely remembered telling her about your weight loss a month ago. You figured you’d been making considerable progress, and you knew that no one was more proud of you than Eijirou himself. But had it really made a difference?

After a moment of fretting, you turned off the stove. You walked into your shared bedroom, flicking on the light. Your eyes caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. You frowned, going up to it. Turning your body this way and that, you tried to see if you recognized a change in your appearance. You lifted your shirt, only to wince at yourself and tug it back down. You pinched at your arms, your thighs, and your cheeks, growing almost angry at the way your fingers sunk into the flesh.

Maybe you hadn’t been making as much progress as you’d thought. Or the progress you had made wasn’t enough. Without you even realizing it, your mind began to toy with ways to speed things up. Guiltily, you found yourself wondering if Eijirou would notice if you just skipped dinner that night.

You shook your head to clear away the intrusive idea. No, that wouldn’t solve anything. Eijirou had told you that he’d help you lose weight the right way, so you’d stay healthy and be able to keep it off. It would be best to listen to him.

Still, you found your eyes glued to your reflection. You wouldn’t consider yourself vain, but there was something in the way that your eyes traced over your curves, wondering just how they might look on you if only you were a little smaller . . . .

Movement behind you in the mirror caught your eye, and you were quick to recognize a head of spiky red hair. You must not have heard Kirishima come in through the front door.

“Hello,” you said with less cheer than usual.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted you, coming up from behind to give you a hug.

You leaned back into his chest as you both stared at each other’s reflections.

“Checking out my perfect girlfriend?” he teased, referring to how your eyes continued to trace down your body. “That’s my job, you know.”

You snorted, gently rubbing at his forearm.

“So how was your family?”

“Okay,” you shrugged.

“I saw you left something on the stove. Are you doing okay?”

Oh, Kirishima. How did he do it?

You shrugged. “I guess I didn’t really have a good time there. Got a little upset is all.”

Eijirou frowned. “What happened?”

You took one of his hands in yours and began to play with his fingers, now determined to keep your eyes from catching another glimpse of yourself. “My aunt told me I was fat.”

You missed the flash of genuine anger that shot through Kirishima’s eyes. He knew this was something you’d struggled with for a long time. Your aunt had no business making comments like that about your body, especially now.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, deciding to keep himself calm for your sake.

You continued to fiddle with his large hands. “I just worry sometimes that I’m not doing enough,” you mumbled. “What if it doesn’t work? What if I’m just meant to look like this?” You sniffled, hating the sudden tears that were beginning to fill your eyes.

“Honey . . .” Eijirou spun you around and held you to his chest, running a hand down the back of your head as you finally let the tears slide down your face. You nuzzled into his shirt, appreciating the warm, familiar feeling of it. “Even if you weren’t able to lose more weight, you know I’d still love you, right?” he said in a tender voice. “I’d think you’re beautiful either way.”

He tilted your chin up so he could look into your eyes, giving you one of the most loving gazes you’d ever seen. “And besides, we’re not together because of how you look. I love you for you. I love your personality, and how you always say and do the cutest things.” He bent down for a quick kiss, caressing your cheek as he pulled away. “I love your laugh, and I love looking into your beautiful eyes . . . .” He kissed you again, beginning to gently guide your bodies to the bed at the other wall.

Eijirou laid you down in the center of the mattress, hovering over you as he went in for another kiss. “I love your body too. This body, just the way it is. I love how it feels to hold you at night—” he kissed your neck. “—I love your chest, your butt, your arms, your thighs—” he nuzzled his nose against your face and neck. “—your cute tummy.” He pushed himself up and gazed down at it with such a genuine expression of love, you almost started tearing up again. “The cutest tummy in the world. And I love it because it’s yours.”

With that, he bent down again and lifted up your shirt just enough to give it a little kiss. You couldn’t help but let a giggle slip from your lips, which only made his ruby red eyes dart up to meet yours mischievously.

“You like that? What if I did it . . . again!” He placed a second kiss in a different spot, going for another and then another. You broke out into laughter, the sensation of his lips and nose brushing over your sensitive skin making you squirm in his hold.

Soon, he was laughing himself. He nuzzled into your skin one last time and blew a raspberry against your skin.

“Eiji—!” you began to protest through a laugh.

“What?” He smirked at you, moving up and settling his chin in the valley of your chest.

You smiled right back at him, bringing up your hand to brush the backs of your fingers against his cheek. “I love you.”

Kirishima took hold of your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the backs of your knuckles as he looked into your eyes. “I love you too, baby.” He held your hand in his, getting lost for a moment simply looking at your face.

Eventually he sat up, laying down next to you and pulling you into his chest. “I’m proud of you too,” he told you, tucking your head under his chin. “I know you’re actively making a change for the better, and you’re doing really well. Results won’t happen immediately, you just have to stick with it sometimes.”

You sighed through your nose, taking his hand in yours again. “I know. I just get discouraged sometimes is all.”

“And I’ll just be here to put you back on track. You’ve got this, you know.” He hugged you tight against him, rubbing your back. “Are you hungry?” he finally asked. “I’ll help you make dinner.”

“Sure,” you said, chuckling lightly.

“What? We both have to eat, and you know me. I’m a hungry shark.”

You laughed again, leaning up to kiss his jaw.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Well, there’s always more where that came from.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m here for you, okay?”

______________

Kaminari:

If there was one thing Denki hated more than anything, it was seeing you upset. 

He could tell something was off the moment you came through the front door. You were too quiet, and that bothered him. When you finally made it up to your shared room, Kaminari was already watching the doorway for you.

He noticed immediately that your eyes were puffy and a little red. Even your posture looked defeated and slumped over.

“Hey, Denks,” you said once you noticed him stretched out on the bed. His heart broke even further when he saw you try for a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” Kaminari got up, clearing the space between you so he could put his hands on your shoulders.

“I—I just,” you began to stammer out, feeling the flimsy dam you’d placed behind your eyes begin to falter. “I . . . don’t know if I want to talk about it right now.” You covered your burning face with your palms. “It’s stupid anyway. I shouldn’t let things like that get to me.”

Kaminari frowned, trying to figure out what might have made you so upset. But he wasn’t one to pry when it came to situations like these, and he knew you’d tell him on your own time.

Even so, he led you to where he’d once taken position on the bed, pulling you up with him. He knew that sometimes you simply wanted to be distracted from things, so he decided to do just that. Allowing you to settle in next to him, he picked his controller up from the covers again where he’d set it down.

You noticed he’d been playing Minecraft. You let yourself take a mild interest in his mining session that you caught him in the middle of. You watched him wander through a cave system; placing torches, killing the occasional zombie, and mining out various ores he happened upon.

What you didn’t see was how often he shot you glances, studying your face for any signs of you getting upset again. He saw when you finally took your eyes off his screen, frowning distantly as you twisted the material of the blanket underneath you.

Before he could ask you again what was going on, you opened your mouth to speak. “Do you think this outfit is too much?”

Denki faltered, confused. “No? What do you mean by that? I think you look really pretty.”

You pursed your lips. Clearly that wasn’t the answer you’d wanted. “I just—I don’t know.” You frowned and went back to avoiding his eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what happened today?” Denki asked. A sudden idea struck him. Before you could answer him again, he stood up on the bed and walked over to a shelf you kept just above it. He pulled down a large stuffed Pikachu he’d gotten you a few years ago, and went back to sitting next to you. “Would it be easier to tell him?”

Denki positioned the toy in his lap, grabbing hold of its little arms and letting it go through various motions, starting with a little wave at you.

You couldn’t help but snort at Kaminari’s antics, looking from the plushie to the curious but concerned expression on your boyfriend’s face.

“Your Pikachus are worried about you.” Denki lifted it up higher on his chest, continuing to fidget and wave the arms back and forth in a little dance. “You saw your family today, right? How did that go?”

Your face fell again and you shrugged. “It went well I guess. My grandma just said something dumb and it made me upset.”

Denki frowned, lifting the arms of the Pikachu so its hands were on its pink cheeks. “What did she say?”

You shrugged again. “I was messing around with my cousins and I said I looked like a snacc. And then she said that snacks were probably what made me so fat in the first place.”

Denki’s frown deepened. “That’s not very nice.”

“I don’t think she knew what I was talking about, to be fair. And maybe it’s a little funny. I mean, she’s not wrong.” You rested your chin in your hands, sighing. “It just caught me off guard. It’s a dumb thing to be upset over, like I said—”

“Hey.” Denki met your eyes. “It’s not dumb. You have every right to be upset.” He held his arms open to you. “Come here.”

You sat up, letting him embrace you.

“Do you need me to remind you how beautiful you are and how much I love you?” he asked from next to your ear. “Because I’ll do it.”

He took your shy smile as a yes, letting you settle back as he proceeded to lift up the stuffed yellow toy.

“Are you hearing this, bro?” he addressed it, throwing a serious look on his face. “The most gorgeous person on the planet is sad. We have to do something about it.”

Denki put the Pikachu’s paw on its chin, tapping it for a second before removing it again. “What’s that?” he asked it. “You have an idea?”

He lifted the toy to his ear, pretending to listen to it for a moment as he nodded along. Once he was satisfied, Denki scooched himself even closer to you. He brought Pikachu’s nose up to your cheek and made a kiss sound with his lips. Setting the toy down beside you on the bed, he motioned for you to come sit in his lap.

You obeyed, settling yourself in between his thighs and wrapping your legs around his hips.

“There you go,” he muttered, slotting his nose beside yours as he touched foreheads with you. “I love you and you’re the most important person in my life. You know that, right?” He waited for you to nod before continuing. “And I know that you can feel a little insecure sometimes with how you look. You’ve got bad days, and you have good days. It’s my job to be there for you on these bad days, and you can be there for me when I have mine. I want you to know that you’re so beautiful and I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

He connected your lips to his for a long moment, trying to convey all his feelings for you into it. “And don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re less-than. They’re not the kind of person you should be listening to. Trust me when I say that you’re perfect just being you.” Denki wiped a tear trail off your cheek with his thumb, leaning in to kiss the skin there. 

“Thanks, Denki,” you said, your voice just above a whisper.

He gave you a soft, caring smile; his fingers still lingering on your cheek. “Is there anything you want to do together to make you feel better? We could watch a movie, we could snuggle, whatever you want.”

You leaned in and hugged him tight. “I love you.”

He hugged you back. “I love you too. You’re my sunshine nugget, and it would take a heck of a lot to ever change that.”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Taglist: @basicaegyo​ @fourteenow​ @iiminibattlehero​ @katsugay​​ @nabo39​ @onepieceask​ @pyrofanatic​​ @sendhelpimstupid​ @xoxopam4​​ 

[cuntess-carmilla]

Update: I stopped taking psychiatric medication because they turned out to have only ever been of “help” because I have POTS/dysautonomia and one made my blood pressure rise (Wellbutrin) while the other kept it from going up too high (Lamotrigine).

Now that I’m taking meds that are for what I ACTUALLY do have (POTS/dysautonomia) not only do I not need the psychiatric meds, but they were throwing off everything else. I hate psychiatry so much. Can’t believe I turned out to be one of those people who had their physical illness mistreated as You’re Crazy for years haha. :) With that out of the way...

Some Many of my Opinions™ on psychiatry, as a psychiatrized person myself who does take medication, but hates the institutions of psychiatry and psychology, and thinks a large chunk of it is white pseudo-science:

A good amount of the issues that the psychiatric institution addresses ARE absolutely real and, as a society, people who’re afflicted by them should by all means receive help and support so they can live happier lives. I experience many of them and take medication to help myself, I obviously don’t think the difficult experiences people seek help for are made up.

At the same time, psychiatry and psychology as disciplines ARE made up (like every other discipline), making them not infallible or objective, AND they were built on eugenics, patriarchy, white supremacy and capitalist exploitation.

Those very real issues addressed by psychology/psychiatry aren’t actual literal pathologies. They don’t need to be literal tangible sicknesses in order to matter or be deserving of help and compassion. Your literal brain as a bodily organ is not physically “ill”, at least in most cases. It doesn’t need to be for your problems associated with an “ill mind” to be real and to matter. Remember, these disciplines were created at a time in history in which (white, male) doctors and theorists were obsessed with turning everything into a material, scientifically tangible subject that could be objectively measured with numbers and shit, hopefully medicalized or otherwise turned into “hard science”. That’s where ethnography came from. It’s called positivism, which is extremely dehumanizing, white supremacist and capitalist.

Psychology should be largely considered as much more of a metaphysical or philosophical discipline than as objective science, which is how most people perceive it to be. It’s mostly pure theory about emotions, thoughts, cognition, relationships and subjective experiences + perceptions -- which isn’t necessarily a bad thing on itself. It not being hard science doesn’t immediately delegitimize it. Get rid of the white capitalist idea that only (western, white) science and “objectivity” are real or of value. Actually, holding psychology to the standards of hard science turns it into pseudo-science, so... Yeah. I genuinely think we’d get so much further As A Society™ regarding psychology's potential to aid people who’re suffering if we treated it as more of a metaphysical or philosophical discipline than as some objective scientific truth.

Psychiatrists often are super ignorant of the actual way the medications they prescribe work or affect patients lmao. I had that almost ruin a whole semester at college because a shrink prescribed me meds that in combination she should’ve known would fuck me up. Not that much is known about how the human brain truly works compared to other human organs, you can’t expect psychiatric meds to be well tried and true. The research on psychiatric pharmacy is very lacking + biased in favor of pathologizing and controlling psychiatrized people, besides attempting to make the most profit under capitalism like any other capitalist industry, so of course they’re gonna prescribe you shit. Plus, like doctors of every other field, many psychiatrists arrogantly disregard the experiences, requests, questions and ideas of their patients, who’re the ones taking those meds.

Psychologists/therapists, just like psychiatrists, also disregard the experiences, requests, questions and ideas of their patients.

There’s such a strong element of power imbalance in how psychiatry and psychology function. The more a patient knows formal information about anything related to psychology/psychiatry, the more the shrink can get upset, distrustful and dismissive of them, saying they’re faking it, or telling them “not to do their jobs” when they so often do said jobs like shit anyway lmao no matter how thorough the research and understanding of the patient is.

Psychological and psychiatric diagnoses are just as made up as any other human construct (such as language, race, gender, etc). They’re not tangible realities as if shrinks had ran into a previously unknown objective fact of nature. In the realm of psychology, someone takes a bunch of traits and behaviors that by their observation they consider to be interconnected with one another, put them in the same bag, stick a label to said bag, and ask other psychologists if they agree with the bag being a thing. These considerations are heavily influenced by sociocultural bias. You can’t tell me it isn’t true that they’re made up and very subjective when “diagnoses” such as drapetomania, hysteria, homosexuality, gender identity disorder, etc, have been seriously considered at least by part of the psychiatric establishment of their times as legitimate mental disorders. Hell, some still consider being gay or trans to be mental disorders. Don’t get me started on "Oppositional Defiant Disorder”, that shit’s just evil.

A lot of the ideas spread by the psychiatric-psychological institution are legit pseudo-science that researches try time and time again to prove and end up coming with nothing, or they end up tweaking their own research or conclusions to maintain the established consensus that just so turns out to be very convenient to the people who make and sell psychiatric meds.

Many of the traits, emotions, thoughts, perceptions and behaviors that are pathologized by psychiatry and psychology aren’t inherently harmful. If they don’t make the patient or others suffer by their very nature (as opposed to like, homophobic parents “suffering” because their child is gay or a gay person suffering because of homophobia) then there’s no need to alter them. “Correcting” them is a measure of social control that crushes individuality and only attempts to mold people into obedient ~productive~ servants of capitalism. Much of psychiatric medical treatment (not just the diagnoses and therapies themselves) focuses on turning the patient into less of a social “burden”, than on their actual happiness. That’s why you have ADHD and autistic kids being given meds that turn them into zombies and that's been considered a good thing for DECADES. Like, why does the stimming of an autistic person or an “unusual” attachment to stuffed animals as an autistic adult have to be corrected? WHOMST does that harm? Nobody! But it makes allistics uncomfortable because allistics are fucking stupid and can’t mind their God damned business to save their lives like normal people do.

Even non-pharmaceutical treatments for psychiatrized conditions are or can be turned into measures of social control. 

Maybe CBT wasn’t meant to be a tool to control people and shit, but it can be misused as such SO easily! It can go from being therapy to help individuals process inner pain and redirect harmful behaviors in positive ways, to being turned into training someone to react, feel and process abuse and oppression in ways that are convenient to the status quo. 

Don’t get me fucking started on ABA as an inherently oppressive, abusive “treatment” for a psychiatrized condition that does nothing to actually better the lives of autistic people, instead punishing autistic traits, teaching autistic people to painfully repress said traits and ignore their needs, and seeking to appease allistics by prioritizing their convenience and subjective comfort.

Behaviors, emotions, perceptions or traits that on a man or white person would be considered a non-issue or given much more compassionate/less stigmatized diagnoses, are pathologized or given much more stigmatized diagnoses when it comes to female or racialized patients, which reaffirms psychiatry and psychology as subjective tools of social control.

While many of the traits, emotions, perceptions and behaviors of what are considered personality disorders are painful, harmful and real (and thus should be helped, with consent, not hammered down), literal personalities aren’t “ill”. They’re personalities. Pathologizing or medicalizing a fucking personality on itself is ridiculous. It is possible to address those problematic traits/behaviors/etc without saying that a fucking personality is “ill”. So much for “you’re not your disorder”.

What shrinks will deem as hallucinations or delusions can be subjective, and it definitely can be deemed as such out of white-centric cultural bias. Plenty of non-white cultures have considered different perceptions of reality as valid and worthy of respect for centuries, at times related to their sense of spirituality. Not to mention how psychiatry has deemed the real anxieties of oppressed people that they’re being followed, spied on, plotted against and all that, as hallucinations or delusions in order to discredit them.

Many patients are given medication to try to alleviate traits/behaviors/emotions that come from circumstance (poverty, ongoing abuse, trauma, oppression...) instead of addressing the root problems. While I 100% understand using medication as a palliative measure because, bitch, you can’t always fix those problems and you still have a life to live (the same way I take clotiazepam when the insensitivity of the allistics around me causes me sensory overload), this puts the burden of the person’s situation on their own body, as if their body was the essential source of a suffering that comes from outside forces they’re not responsible or in control of. This should ideally be addressed through material change in realities that can be individual (removing the person from an abusive situation, giving economic aid, giving proper treatment to an untreated chronic illness) or social (abolishing white supremacy, the patriarchy, capitalism, etc).

So many times when palliative medical treatments for suffering that comes from circumstances don’t work (BECAUSE THE PATIENT IS STILL TRAPPED IN SAID CIRCUMSTANCES, HELLO?) it’s blamed on a supposed defect of the patient’s body/brain rather than, like... You can give me as many anti-depressants as you want but I’m still gonna be miserable if I’m being abused or suffering from unending physical chronic pain lol. And then, instead of at least having the decency of recognizing the real source of the problem if your shrink can’t realistically fix it, they keep trying more and more different meds on you like you’re a fucking lab rat, keeping on blaming a made up defect you were “born” with. Imagine what that does to a person’s self-image! At least when I loathe my body for the chronic pain, chronic fatigue and more that my chronic illnesses give me, it IS actually true that it’s my body that has a defect that can’t be cured. Why convince a person in suffering due to anything, but especially when it’s due to outside conditions out of their control and your job is fucking supposed to be to help them be happier, that their pain refuses to respond to treatment because their BRAIN is so terribly defective? I don’t wish the hatred I hold for my objectively shitty body on anyone, and causing that to someone when it’s not even true...? Incredible.

Lots of genuine difficulties associated with psychiatric diagnoses are much better helped through accessibility and material considerations, or at least through teaching the patient pragmatic methods to better deal with those, than through pills. But guess what solution shrinks usually give you. Hint: it’s easier for them and they can charge you for it monthly.

Society™ medicalized emotions, bro... WE MEDICALIZED FEELINGS!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!

[y0u-are-here]

Friday 28 June 2019

Hi

its 22:41 and im at my mums house. I feel crazy. Im looking into all the different types of mental disorders that exist and i feel so sad to know that maybe i have one of these things. Ive broken my iPhone X, cut my sim card up, deleted whatsapp and most importantly ruined my relationship. My parents think the best thing for me to do is just move back closer to them, let them raise our son and for me to start a masters and work full time. I just got off the phone to him. Ive been calling him constantly since 5pm and the first time we’ve had a conversation has been at 9pm. Thats just how long its taken me to be able to get through to him. and i understand, im difficult and horrible. I get that. I understand that ive ruined his life just as much as ive ruined my own but i just feel so alone. Its 23:39 and ive just put our son to sleep. I have a congested nose and inflammed thyroid glands. I can barely speak let alone eat anything. For the longest now ive been having these mental breakdowns and i dont want to accept this help that he thinks i need. Im gonna do whatever it takes to get better and understand how to function. I think im broken. Like theres something in my head thats missing. I hate who i am now ive changed for the absolute worst and i cant seem to understand how to get my head straight and back to that good place again. he thinks i have these evil thoughts in my head and constantly im thinking about bad things. he said i dont know how to be positiv which is fair because i dont. theres not a atom of positivity in me. Ive taken sleep aid by Numark. There effective and over the counter which is good. Also considering to invest in a laptop so that i can keep myself busy. Just dont know how ill ever afford £800+. my phone being broken is a good thing. It means that im somehow off the grid. The iphone 6 im using constantly runs out of battery - again reassuring that im just unavailable and completely off the grid. He accepts me. He thinks im taking his kindness for weakness but i just dont know how he can think that i would take it as a weakness. I need to let go and breath. Just be able to breath and look at the situation from a step back. yeah. thats what i need to do. analyse every situation im put in and step back. the pain and trauma ive been through has rewired me to think i cant cope but i can. i am not crazy. i do not need professional help. i will be fine using the tools i have and a schedule to do things. I am not hopeless and most importantly i am loved.

[the2020projects-works]

The title speaks for itself: common sense is an habit we’ve all succumbed to, one way or another. Don’t misinterpret me, there’s absolutely nothing wrong about misunderstanding a view of something or someone, but it is quite crucial to work on ways to deconstruct that. They say curiosity killed the cat, but, as a matter of fact, it was ignorance who did so.

The long path I took to achieve the ideal theme for this essay had, at least, three peaks. At first, I was just wondering if people from other countries were taught about Brazil’s history just like us, brazilian, are taught about many — if not every — country in the world. But this question was soon shaped into something wider and more complex, as to say. I was intrigued by — based on my personal experiences — how brazilians are always willing to welcome foreigns in our country, unlike others, that don’t seem to make any extra effort when meeting a brazilian (or any foreign) on their countries. So I googled “why brazilians are so receptive with foreigns”, — yes! I know how silly that sounds, but anyway -, and how surprised I got, when I came across innumerable posts of gringos running brazilians down, calling all of us rude and belligerent.

It was shocking. As a proud brazilian, it was devastating to read such horrible critics about my people, but I was decided to dig further on this subject, there was no way I’d let someone who had never even been here tell me about my country’s reception.

The first thing anyone should know about this huge Latin American country is that our people care awfully about how media portraits it — and how everyone else processes that. Unfortunately, it becomes extra frustrating when a brazilian travels abroad and is treated any less, which — in my humble opinion -, makes us feel unwelcome and so our need of approval increases more and more. Living here makes it even clearer that brazilians admire the European and the North American culture more than our own. We try to imitate them, for example, by adopting holidays that have nothing to do with us — such as Thanksgiving and Halloween.

Of course there are brazilians who don’t give a flying f*** to what gringos think of us and are remarkably patriots. Of course there are also those who are rude and narcissistic, but that’s not an exclusive brazilian trait. Some people are just jerks no matter where they’re from. That’s reality, folks. Deal with it.

While we do all that, both good and bad stereotypes about Brazil circulate from person to person, making of our land a mystical forest on the edge of fantastic. I’ve read an article of this Canadian guy that actually suggested that brazilian women “must have all gone indoors when he was there [because he hadn’t seen any]”. Well, talk about inconvenient! That was, at least, a rather sexist comment and erroneous idealization. You probably know where this came from: the girl from Ipanema! Tall, tanned, skinny but with curves and big butts. But let me stop you right there. Brazil is a mixed country, with a lot of diversity. We have masses of people from all over the world immigrating to our states so don’t expect us to be all the same, that’d be humdrum. Oh, and, obviously, we don’t live with the animals in the wildness of the Amazon rainforest, eating fruits on tree and living in hunts (although if you’re older than four you probably know that already).

I’ve also read a lot of negative comments about Brazil, criticizing the corruption, the crime and racism. Hate to break it to you, but there is a reason it is not considered a first world country. There is, indeed, a high percentage of crime and corruption here, but just as much as other countries. The entire world is immersed on a wave of hate and selfishness, there is no brotherly love like there used to, people are fighting more than loving and I distrust soon enough we’ll be holding more weapons than flowers. I see horrible things happening in my country, and they’re not even close to the hate crimes being committed by KKK and ISIS and terrorists and whatsoever. There is racism in Brazil, there’s no denial on that. But the fact our people have evolved from the way we acted decades ago is undeniable. We’ve been through slavery, we overcame that and we shall too overcome every single act of racism or prejudice of any kind for the next decades to go.

In short, all this huge text was just my attempt to say: don’t generalize. Don’t generalize people, don’t generalize places, don’t generalize anything. Brazil has pros and cons, some brazilians can be warm and welcoming while other are brutal and rude. But mostly, when meeting a new country, keep an open mind. Don’t ever go somewhere expecting to hate it; give more attention to the virtues over the defects. See good in all things and stop pointing out what’s gone wrong. It is a nice way of training positivism and I assure you your life quality will increase expressively.

[zoeysofy]

Why?

Why does life always disappoint you?

Just why? I mean

I mean so good and I try so hard

Every day

Every fucking day

I try so hard to be a good person

To treat people with respect

To not let my anger get to me and make my decisions for me.

To be rational

To not overthink everything

To not ruin my day because someone wasn’t nice to me.

To think positiv and to keep a positive attitude in every situation... it helps but yet...

Why is it so god damn disappointing ?

They tell you you should treat people like you want to be treated, Karma and shit.

Bullshit

Life’s gonna fuck you anyway.

Like what’s the point? What if we just give up?

Honestly who would care?

It’s just you out there fighting.

Alone

I know I have my family and my friends

I love them

They love me.

But I guess in the end it doesn’t matter to them.

[black-strike-otp]

LT : Chapter 8

Trust is such a fragile thing.

Barely a joor left, and they’d have been gone from Cybertron a full cycle. It was thrilling and arduous all at once on Nova’s processor to think that they were finally going out to fulfill an objective held close at spark. Much less horrendous than the first time she had laid her gaze upon their homeworld while on a shuttle being thrown into oblivion. The last time she’d had such a view, she was mourning the still painful loss of a friend and leaving what had been a norm all her life.

You could say that fighting a losing battle on a planet in disarray wasn’t normal; that it wasn’t healthy, but it was a lifestyle she had been used to.

Now, standing aboard a ship bound to destinies unknown, there was a goal. Clear familiarity. With each bot that strode by her, a reflection of time itself in motion, on their way to perform their duties diligently.

She stood a bit straighter as though it would give her height and an appearance of authority for a femme slightly less than half the size of more average mecha. A glitter of stars were before her from the bridge; signaling her to new beginnings afair. She gave a little sigh to herself and looked to her left, where in the center of the room surrounded by stations to work was the single most state of the art equipment on the vessel.

A projected three dimensional star chart hovered in a holo-projected field. A few bots were murmuring a discussion to themselves beside it; gesturing to various positions. Even as Nova watched them operate it; stitched together portions of the map would zoom in and out as it identified worlds and galaxies; stars and asteroid belts.

With a stroke of a digit, you could pull up just about every string of information gathered on anything in the universe. The lifeforms that were known to exist, when the planet was last investigated, the life rate of stars and the dangers documented. It took just as much if not more time to manufacture than the Guardian’s Light had, but they’d had a lot of help in doing so. And not just from bots, but from an undiscovered and lost room built in the Golden Ages in some ruins among the Sea of Rust.

Twitching her audio stacks to the side, the pale moon colored femme listened in on the mechs at work with interest.

“This is Nighthawk’s last known location, as stated in his message,” one of the mechs stated, flicking his wrist to speed through the map. His sharp digit pointed to a planet named Gochivie HR57 in the Tadpole Galaxy.

“That’s an estimated…” a mech stuttered, faltered, and went to tap a few keys in.

Another beside him vented, rolling his optics as he grunted the calculations, “3.48 million light-years away.”

“Exactly. And that last transmission was received seventeen cycles before departure; nearly eighteen now. And traveling at our current velocity; judging by rate of travel on Nighthawk’s broadcasts, it should take us…”

“Four deca-cycles to reach them; give or take,” muttered the mathematician wiz.

“That’s given they continue at their own current speed,” one agreed. “And with no sure way of knowing their direction; as they have looped around on numerous occasions for reasons unknown, we could reach them sooner- or later if they choose to flee.”

“The Rising Star’s fuel economy isn’t exactly the best,” another joked.

Rolling her optics, the short femme gave a shake of her helm. She spun around, heading to the door while still eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Well, if we push the Guardian’s Light to it’s full capacity; we’d be sucking fuel down like a rabid Insecticon, but we could push the boundaries a bit…”

The rest of the bot’s words were lost as the duel pneumatic doors hissed closed behind Novastrike. One-hundred-fifty days, and that was all but a guess.

They’d waited this long. They could get by a little longer.

She just hoped Nighthawk had that sort of time…

“You look a bit distracted,” a voice growled in her direction.

Raising her helm, the femme squinted her dark sapphire blue optics up at her sparkmate.

“And a bit worried,” Blackout continued as he caught her gaze; his own a scarlet haze of concern. “Having second thoughts?”

“By the Primes no,” she sniffed, lashing her tail back and forth whilst crossing her arms.

She halted a moment, looking over the cool stolid features of her always impassive mech. He quirked a brow slightly the longer her pause continued, with the blades on his backside sliding back and forth behind him gradually.

Ever patient. Always willing to wait and let the silence speak on his behalf.

Groaning quietly, Nova glanced aside as she responded: “No, I’m not having second thoughts. I am a bit worried about Nighthawk, though.”

“Worried about him?” the titan echoed, ushering his mate to follow with a curl of his digits as they walked. “What for? You know how reception goes; the time it takes messages to travel, the delay, the waiting process. Eighteen; sorry, nineteen days now, is nothing.”

“I don’t know… my gut says something is wrong.”

“Are you sure it’s not just nerves, dearest?”

She huffed. Her pedes practically glided on the floor seamlessly; an enchanting motion, a pace of confidence and well-timed coordination. It was an action she didn’t even need think about, but it spoke volumes to her growth. A few years ago, such a look of assurance and positivism would have been lacking from her posture entirely.

Just as she felt more sure of herself and her footing, and what she could do, so she felt confident in her unease. Something was… off. Maybe the handsome devil staring at her with worry had a just point. She could reason his words to truth; they seemed credible, even likely, but her intuition whispered something different.

“Things are just going… too well for us, I guess,”  she finally admitted with reluctance, her ears lying back against her helm.

Blackout chuckled, a rich deep sound. “He’s a medic, Novastrike. I’m sure he can take care of himself if he gets some bumps and bruises.”

Her next words came out harsh a bitter; even unexpected by herself: “Like Guard.”

There was a strained, uncomfortable silence. Worry and guilt gnawed on Nova’s thoughts. She shouldn’t have said that.

“Guard was… not expecting that kind of betrayal,” Blackout said slowly, his voice a hush. “It surprised him. Nighthawk agreed to help. He has an idea of what he’s getting into. He’s not alone, either. His companion will see to it he’s not taken by surprise.”

“Infiltrator,” Novastrike noted from memory, recalling the dragon with perfect clarity. Funny how different he was from Fireline, yet they both carried an uncanny appearance to Predacon lore. One a goof; a playful and hyperactive wvyren with a hoarding problem and enough wit under his guise to offer surprising intellect in the science field.

The other, a refined medical professional with some sly comments, clever comebacks, and a witty if not at times wisecracking sense of humor.

When bots said that Primus made each Cybertronian to be unique, they certainly weren’t kidding.

“Yes, the uh… dragon,” Blackout offered with disinterest.

“Oh come on love,” Nova snickered. “It’s not that difficult to learn his name.”

“I’m sure it’s in my memory files somewhere,” the giant agreed offhandedly. “But I’m more inclined to faces than names.”

“Why; harder to forget a pretty faceplate?” Nova teased, placing a servo on either side of her cheeks innocently.

“I could never forget the most eloquent and beautiful face,” he chuckled. “But designations… they’re easy to change. Your identity lies within yourself.  Besides, it’s easier to recall a face than a name.”

“You went from sounding poetic to plain lazy, love.”

“Forgive me, dear, I’ve never been the best with words.”

A quiet wheeze escaped Nova. That wasn’t entirely true, but she’d let him go on and think that.

“Have you thought of any further plans on how we’re going to board the Rising Star?”

Blackout gave a doubtful shake of his helm. “No, not really. We can either try discretely sending in some smaller bots; like yourself and a few others, and try gaining some traction taking out larger bots and disabling primary functions on the ship before getting other’s on board… Or we can use my EMP. But I’ll need to be in a decent proximity if it’s going to be effective, or last very long.”

“And that would be exposing you to whatever working weapons the Rising Star still has, or has had installed since, as well as any crew members under Neutroboost’s command,” she muttered. “Too bad we can’t just blast the ship.”

Solemnly, the obsidian mech nodded as he glanced away. There was a sense of regret about him that was all too common these days.

“I don’t want to risk losing any more innocent lives,” he reminded her softly.

In that moment, he sounded so much like Guard that Novastrike had to rub her optics just to make sure it wasn’t him. It was astonishing; down to the gaze that had a million thoughts lost in them, the murmured agony in his voice, the sag in his shoulders.

This same mech had once looked to her like she was nothing but collateral. He’d rebuke the very idea that he’d changed, but it was all over him. Stains of Guard’s life and habits, his thoughts and ideals were blotting Blackout’s very essence.

He was still lethal. Of that, there was no doubt. But his sharpened judgmental edges had been snipped and sandpapered; his glaring optics now more often a thoughtful, wide-eyed look of consideration. The former gladiator from the arenas of Kaon was still evolving, hundreds of years past when most stopped learning how to grow and change he was only just discovering things anew. Feelings were fresh and exotic; expressions a new boundary, to care and to have compassion a foreign affair he was entangled.

Smiling sweetly, she reached out to pat her servo against her sparkmate’s pede. He turned his helm to look back to her blankly now.

“You’re doing just fine. Don’t doubt yourself; we all believe in you. We can all do this, together,” she urged.

The indication of a smile pulled at his lips. His optics softened; closing partially as he emitted a deep reverberated rumble deep within dark ebony armor.

“We’ll figure out our course of action when the time grows closer to do so,” Blackout growled. “There’s bound to be things to factor in at the time anyway; a hostage situation, planets we can use for cover…”

“A black hole, trying to suck us all in?” Nova suggested with a grin.

“Nova… No.”

“What? Plan for the impossible, right?”

“My warrior goddess of the moon, please, do not speak bad omens into reality.”

A mirthful laugh escaped Nova, pressing a servo to her mouth. “Since when did you become the superstitious type?”

Blackout frowned deeply. “Since now, when you decided to throw in a black hole and threaten to squash us all.”

“Or send us into an alternative parallel world; frozen in a paradox timeline that never ends, stuck fighting the same battle over and over again with no recollection of the beginning or the end,” she expressed loudly. “Or, you know, we could just run into our altered opposite selves. You’re altered-self would be a humble artist bent on peace and would oppose all fighting; and my altered-self would be a far-less attractive bland femme who just wants to punch things to see how they function.”

“I’m destroying all copies of ‘The Astrophysics to Black Holes’ immediately after this conversation,” he mumbled with deep disapproval.

“Will you be doing that before or after you get into the berth?” inquired the femme with a virtuous smile.

Sharply, her mate cleared his vocalizer. There was a stern appearance about his stature but in his face, mild entertainment.

It sent waves of adoration through Nova’s entire body. Starting in her spark and sparking with electric pulses through her veins. Oh how she treasured his happiness; the way his mouth curled up and the way light danced in his optics with just the right sparkle. He could pretend to hide it, especially around others, but it was just as obvious in his face and the minuscule shifts of his gears and body as it was the smell her hypersensitive features picked up on.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Blackout finally said in answer, shaking his helm a little. “I had meant to go to the bridge before I was drawn impulsively to the brightest star I’ve ever seen.”

For a klik, Nova thought to harass her handsome other half with a comment questioning him on what star was, in fact, the closest to their current position. But she thought better of herself before opening her mouth for such silliness, looking to his inviting gaze and feeling her spark give a little flip. She was, truly, at a loss for words.

Blackout too seemed a bit taken off guard for spare moment. He parted his lips just slightly, staring, before shaking himself with a shy snicker. He turned away, shaking the spell as he turned to walk in the opposing direction of the white femme. Stopping to speak to the nearest bot walking by to confirm their current course and traveling speed.

Withering, Nova began to internally sulk. Just a smidgen. How she longed for tranquil days of serene bliss; lost only with each other and their closest friends and family. For her, she needed no other life. Staring into his optics, clutching his servo, kissing his mouth and teasing that foolish mech from the break of a dawn’s light to the twilight dusky hours of the night.

Days spent wistfully lost in thought. The smiles on the faceplates of those who she cared for; who she lived and breathed for. It wouldn’t be paradise; it wouldn’t be perfect. They would bicker and argue over even the stupid things but they would get by. You forgave those you truly loved.

A slight skip now in her pedes, Novastrike made her way with her helm held high. She’d offer a comment or wave to those she passed until she came upon the rear deck to step into the armament room. Within it, some bots were stepping carefully around constructed weapons positioned on pivoting retractable arms that took on the size of multiple Predacons.

She spotted the Sigma Three defense cannon. One of three onboard; with two others connected to externally enclosed casings reachable through air-tight doors. The final cannon; a rapid-fire plasma shooter, was placed in an upper deck, with its lines running through the ship to a section in the hull that contained its ammunition.

A swell of pride hummed in Nova’s spark. Blackout had helped to manufacture and install these. Unsurprising really; the mech had such a knack of artillery. He’d grown using it all his life just to survive.

Decepticon’s hadn’t simply called him a weapon’s specialist for his own unreasonably large arsenal.

Novastrike moved with care not to get too underpede of those few bots roaming the room. Only a few were stationed here permanently and specifically to maintain the Sigma Three. The others were general mechanics and engineers, walking the length of the Guardian’s Light to inspect the entirety of the spacecraft. Any signs of degradation or damage from their first few cycles were being heavily scrutinized, but what space debris around Cybertron that remained from the war they’d knocked into left aesthetic damages here and there so far as anyone had noticed thus far.

From there a simple look around would suffice from time to time. The little femme could understand their concerns. For their own safety and for their love of a project and a dream, they wanted this vessel to succeed.

Too small to reach more than a thick under-panel to the beastly weapon, Nova reached up to pat the equipment with a devious smile. She turned around slowly, examining those busily moving around until she caught the look from a mech. He went from looking over the form of the gun, to her with some misgivings written on him.

“Sorry,” she stated with a smile while retracting her digits. “I’m just coming by to check up on things.”

Mutely, the mech gave a simple nod.

Feeling awkward by the lack of response, Nova quirked a partial smile as she stepped out from beneath the cannon.

“Designation Novastrike, mech,” she purred, offering a servo.

He looked from her face to her servo. Back again.

Uncomfortably, he finally reached for her servo. A single digit from the mech was extended for Nova to shake.

Stammering, she uncomfortably released his digit. “S-Sorry for bothering you-”

A sudden, wheezing laughter had Novastrike’s ears swiveling. She turned her helm a moment later to follow the trail of the noise.

“Aye, lieutant-commander, don’t mind Whisper,” a mech cackled. “ E’s a mute, you see. Born with a defective ‘box. Can’t speak a lick.”

“O-Oh,” she squeaked, giving an apologetic glance back up to the bot beside her.

“Don’t worry ye’ pretty little helm there girly. ‘E’s fine. Just o’ bit shy. Can’t blame him; ye’ a pretty sight to these optics.”

“E-Excuse me?”

A flame of tinted blue worked into the femme’s audios as she went slack-jawed. Partly, she was surprised by comment. Another part of her was irritated. Whether he was mocking her for a cheap gag joke, or if he was disrespecting her position came into play.

Every bot here was well enough aware of her situation with the captain of the ship. Yet this one was openly mocking her; toying her. Defying her role-

The mech tapped beside his optic, grinning. “I mean no harm girly; I promise. I o’ bit of a vision impairment myself. Got some damage from the war, ye’ see. But ye’ a bright thing of beauty on this dark ship. Won’t be losing ye’ armor or ye’ eyes anytime soon there, young miss.”

That should have made her feel better, but Nova instantly felt terrible for thinking the worst. She swallowed, well aware her ears were far beyond a simple pestering glow and now a full lantern of light. Cascading blue seemed to bounce off of her and glow upon anything within her radial circle of space.

“Well… thank you, uh…?”

“I’d be Killshot, miss.”

What a designation.

“Right,” she stated, giving a lopsided smile. “Well thank you, Killshot. But in the future please, keep the uh… flattery to a minimum, shall we?”

He nodded. “I can do, ma’am,” he agreed with a salute. “Come ‘ere Whisper, ye’ can help me with checking this ‘ere hydraulics system for the arm extension.”

With just a hush of his pedes, Whisper moved past Novastrike on almost deathly-silent pedes to follow the other bot. An ear upon Nova’s helm tilted to the side as the other remained erect while she watched the two. Oh boy, she really misjudged. She owed them an apology…

She turned, smacking instantly into the bot directly behind her and falling on her aft.

“Oh- sorry lieutenant Novastrike!” the dark grey mech yelped with a blush. “I shouldn’t have been so close; I was just keeping an optic on you, making sure you were safe.”

“I think I’d be safer if you were a bit less up my aft,” she growled, reaching up to tentatively touch her now-throbbing forehead.

Taking a moment to adjust her optics, Nova looked up to see the mech offering her his servo. The mech had to be all of but twenty-one feet at maximum; not including the jutting pieces of decorative metal on his helm. He held a guilty little smile on his face as she took it, helping her to her pedes.

“You can call me Oblivion, lieutenant-commander Novastrike!” he stated with glee. “I was assigned to be your assistant. Not because I asked, of course.”

He gave an awkward little laugh at that, waving a servo in the air.

Peculiar mech, Novastrike reasoned while eyeing him over. But what was most intriguing were his optics. One was a solid shade of red; a few hues brighter than that of Blackout’s. The other, a steely grayish-blue.

Even as she watched, she could swear the blue one gradually appeared to waver between blue, and green.

“I don’t require a personal assistant,” she coldly remarked. “Maybe you got the wrong bot.”

“Oh no, I got the right bot,” he chirped with merriment. “You’re the second-in-charge after captain and Commander Blackout. You were on board the Rising Star; a neutral party during the Autobot-Decepticon war. Previously an Autobo-”

“Okay, mech,” Nova vented with a servo placed to her faceplate. “I’m going to stop you right there. I don’t know how- or why- you know so much about me but I don’t need an assistant.”

Oblivion laughed breezily, his engine purring to life. Even the door-wings on his back began to give a joyous little flutter like he was some sort of a seeker.

He seemed rather young, and childish. Novastrike tapped a digit against her chin lightly with confusion and curiosity as she mused the odd behavior.

“Well of course you don’t need me,” Oblivion agreed. “I’m just handy. You know, a messenger just for you. Run some errands, finish up uh… do you even get paperwork? We don’t keep that type of stuff here, do you-”

“Oblivion, might I ask: what were you before you were my assistant?”

“Oh, well-” he scratched the side of his helm. “I was an Autobot during the bot-con war. Before that I was a-”

“No no- I mean, what were you before you requested to be my personal subordinate?”

“Ooooh! Gotcha. I was originally on bridge duty; you know, keeping ship’s course and such. But that didn’t work out, so I got put on maintenance. Then I broke too much stuff, and…”

Scrap. They threw her a bumbling moron for her aid. Some respect the other’s had to insist her be her aid.

Giving her most impressionable and dazzling smile, Novastrike laced her digits in front of her chassis. She breathed in, breathed out just as slowly, and dropped her arms to her side. Finally, she looked up to the young mech.

“What are the chances I can reassign you?”

There was a clear indication of hurt in the mech’s optics.

“Little to none, lieutenant,” he mumbled.

“Right,” she vented. “Alright- fine. But we’ve got to work on your personal space thing. And you’re breaking-things thing. And maybe we’ll find you a more suitable position once you’ve worked your way up a bit.”

A soft, delighted gasp escaped Oblivion. He slapped a servo over his mouth as a sparkle entered his heterochromatic optics.

“I’d love that,” he squealed. “Well- except the not working for you part. I mean, what an honor-”

Raising a servo, the white-armored femme held up a single digit. The mech fell obediently silent, looking to her with the most puppy-dog like gaze.

An honor, he’d said? This bot was disillusion. An honor would be serving a historical figure. Bots like Blackout, or Guard, or frag even the Primes. Even the famous Ratchet or Sideswipe would do, but instead, this bot was looking to her with reverence like some sort of legend.

Did he ever pick the wrong bot to idolize. A scrawny, little-known neutral like herself. She pitied him as much as she was annoyed by his peppy attitude and the fact he’d been placed on her like some second-hand yappy canine.

“Come on, then,” Novastrike vented, giving a whisk of her servo.

Without question, the mech glued himself to her side as she walked. From his subspace, he emerged a datapad and stylus to take notes studiously. Or, for all Nova knew, to scribble doodles.

As they left the room, Oblivion glanced in the direction of Whisper and Killshot. There was a tense moment between the trio, with the two later squinting their optics towards Oblivion. He gave a gradual flinch, blushing before darting out of the door after his tutor.

[capituloperdido1]

Traitor (Gwyn & Nesta)

Hi everyone, this is my first official post. I decided to make this one shot in honor of Nesta’s and Gwyn’s friendship. While reading ACOSF their friendship was what made me cry the most. There is more parts to this, if you guys like it and want to see more please let me know.

"it's just a necklace" he had said, "I gave it to her because she was there for me, i didn't mean any harm". Right, no harm. Gwyn laughed to herself, she knew that it had been dumb to dream; that the smiles, the slight touches and nights of talking did not mean to him what it meant to her. He was in love, but not with her. Getting to the library was harder than usual, the darkness of her thoughts drowning her. Why would he love her? she was a reminder of the worst of humanity; Elain was light, while she was darkness. She couldn't blame him, why would someone want to spend the rest of their lives with a partner that needed more can than they could provide. She was the middle of the maze, the confusing, frustrating halls that make you thing that there is no escape. Elain was the light at the end of the tunnel. She touched her neck, forgetting that the necklace was not there anymore. She had given it back to him. -- "I don’t want it Azriel, it was not meant for me" she had said, keeping her voice composed and light. "Elain is hurt, she thought that it meant you were going to fight for her" she smiles. "Gwyn i gave to you, what happened between Elain and i has nothing to do with it" he had said. Idiot, she had thought, it has everything to do with this. "still, you should try returning it instead; besides, i cant wear it that much, i leave it in my rooms everyday". Lies, lies, lies. She wore it every day, whether in her neck or in the straps of her bra. That necklace had become the most priced possession in her live.

--

He was probably looking for Elain, talking to her after the whole mess. Gwyn was proud of keeping her composure, she had even tried to console Elain while her tears fell. Hell, she knew both Nesta and Azriel would run to Elain; not her. She was never the first choice, not as a priestess, not as a Valkyrae, not as a friend, not as a lover. "I'm so tired" she whispered to no one in particular, "i’m so fucking tired". Her room was duller than usual, where the walls always this pale? had she even made the bed this morning? why does it smell like mold ? A painful nod in her throat appeared, her eyes stung so bad. Breathing hard, she sat on her bed and grabbed the sheets. Tears began to roll, and there was no stopping the waterfalls that came out. She didn't care if anyone heard her, there was so much bottled in her heart; she wanted the pain to stop.

Tears for the love she felt,

tears for the friendships she had ruined,

tears for the loneliness...

tears for the cowardice,

tears for the fear

tears, tears, tears....

---- Morning had arrived, today she would not train, she would not sing or laugh. For the first time in her life, she had no positivism left in her. Guilt and sorrow overwhelmed her, had she cried this hard for her sister? had she suffered this much? The answer was simple, no. Even after all that, she was still hopeful. She had been hopeful of goodness of this world because of the people that had saved her. She still remember the soothing caresses of Mor, the welcoming arms of the priestesses, the light brown eyes full of fury and protectiveness that had first saved her. Fuck.

----

The work in the library had distracted her, at least hearing Merrill tell her she was useless was better than hearing it in her head. She was kneeling on the floor looking for a book when she heard quick and loud steps approaching her. "GWYN! GWYNETH BERDARA!" Nesta. She looked for ways to escape, she was not ready to face her. No one for that matter. She probably was going to beat her up for hurting her sister. Shit shit shit, she said trying to hide behind a cart. Nesta's boots appeared in front of her, "are you kidding me? this is where you are?" Nesta said loudly. Gwyn did not respond. "oh no, no silent treatment. Come on, get up and face me" She grabbed her hand softly and pulled her up. "why aren't you in training?, you never miss"

"Nesta... I don't think this is the right time" She whispered

"Right time my ass" Nesta said crossing her arms. She inhaled, feeling a pressure on her chest and tears threatening to come.

"please... i don't want to hear it"

Nesta looked at her eyes, and her looked changed from upset to.... worried. "wait, Gwyn, whats going on? why.... Is this about what happened yesterday?"

She nodded.

Nesta stood quiet for a couple of minutes, as if expecting her to talk. She gave in, "it was not my intention to hurt Elain, i did not know about the necklace".

Nesta looked shocked "you think i am mad at you about Elain?" Gwyn nodded. "No Gwyn, you are also my sister, neither you or Elain are at fault here"Gwyn felt tears sliding down her cheeks, and warm long arms surrounding her. "I would never be mad at you. Mother I've been looking everywhere for you since last night; Clotho told us you did not feel well and that's why i didn't come last night".

She looked up at her sister " y...you came?" she asked. "of course i would come! Why would i leave you alone to suffer? i was so worried" Nesta hugged her tighter, and Gwyn cried harder.

They stood there, hugging each other for a while until Nesta pulled apart. "Okay, please, talk to me. I only arrived after Elain began throwing a fit; hell, everyone heard it"

Gwyn smiled a little, breathed and began telling what had happened.

-----

Nesta was sitting next to her by the time she had finished. Gwyn looked at the floor while confessing the last part of the story, "i am in love with him. I don't know when it happened, or how; but there is no one i would want to give myself to than him" she said, "and i know it's unfair for Elain, and for Az as well, but i can't help it. I feel something that tugs at me every-time i see him. I want to be near him, all the time". Warm tears in her cheeks her and she covered her face with her hands while saying "i am so selfish, i want him to choose me, i want you to choose me. I am so tired of being alone...."

Nesta grabbed her hand and made her look at her eyes, "Gwyn, i want you to listen to me very closely; you are my friend, my chosen sister and the person i trust the most", "i want you to trust me, to talk to me about everything".

Gwyn smiled softly. "Nesta... don't say it just because im crying...."

She interrupted her, "Gwyn, i am here because i love you; you are such an amazing person, you pulled me out of my darkness and gave me purpose" Nesta said. "all we have experienced, all we have accomplished; and you don't realize the light you bring with your smile","Gwyn you are the stars amongst a dark night; you are the light that guides us outside of the darkness".

Light

Purpose

Love

Nesta loved her, she had chosen her to be her friend; even with all the flaws Gwyn had, Nesta had stood by her. And above all, she had helped Nesta become that amazing woman she was.

She hugged her sister even harder, feeling the warmth and the love pouring from both of them; "thank you".

Nesta didn't know it. But those words had also pulled Gwyn out of the dark pit, they had brought back the essence of Gwyn’s character: Nesta had brought her hope back.

PART 2

[jj-ktae]

Fragrance IV : Leather

Title : Fragrances

Genre : Fluff, Angst, Romance

Pairing : Jaebum x Reader

Summary : You are a perfume composer, he is a lyricist, and while you’re left with too many possibilities, he is out of inspiration. Your only bond is an unknown fragrance.

- Teaser - Vetiver - Chypre - Fougère - Leather - Oud - Neroli - Gourmand - Ambergris -

Fragrance IV : Leather

A strong, smoky scent that stems from ingredients used to tan leathers—it’s usually used in fragrance with the help of synthetic chemicals.

Choi Youngjae’s smile is lunar. It’s illuminating his shy face in a way that makes you grin like an idiot. He is looking at Jaebum like he is a star and you finally understand how loved this guy is.

“I’m working on an album and I would love for us to work together on it.”  Jaebum doesn’t seem to like what he is hearing, and you and Bambam don’t know how to react so you look at each other before slowly moving away from the two. You don’t go that far though because Jaebum grabs your arm to keep you next to him. You see his pleading gaze and Bambam understands right away, moving away without you and you see your tiny glint of hope fade away from the awkward situation.

“I can’t.” Youngjae’s smile fades as soon as Jaebum speaks. He looks disappointed suddenly and you want to pet his hair and comfort his puppy state. “Why not? I know we don’t create the same music but your lyrics are wonderful and my agency needs some change in my artistic orientation.”

Jaebum snorts, his hand still around your forearm like you’re his only ally on earth. You don’t move nor speak, conscious that you can do nothing except being here and support him silently.

“This is why I can’t. I don’t write for the sake of a career. I’m sorry.” He pulls on your arm and you both walk away from a surprised Youngjae. Jaebum’s face is indecipherable. He grabs another glass of champagne on your way to the tiny balcony across the reception room, feet soft yet hurried against the hotel’s marble.

He stops to look outside and it’s like a fresh bowl of hair for him. You stay silent, waiting for him to let go of your arm and puzzled by how different he looks without the entrancing smell of his tortured being. You can’t stand the tension though, and if Jaebum is okay with staying quiet and watching the view like he is nostalgic of lost times, you pull on your arm, like a proof of your existence next to him.

He snaps his head toward you and the fingers around your forearm are gone in an instant. Jaebum is lost, right now.

“Are you okay?” You ask as carefully as you can. From what you know and observed ever since you met him, you can feel he is not okay with the sudden opportunity.

“No. I’m not okay.” His now free hand goes to his forehead before rubbing the skin, expressing his growing frustration. “I’m scared.”

You tilt your head, not surprised. “I can see that.” You wish you could be more of a support, but Jaebum without his smell is not Jaebum. His cologne is a tad too strong and it’s going against his subtle natural accord. You hate it.

“I’m not scared of failing. I’m scared of taking people down with me.” And he chuckles because the thought itself is scary. Ruining another artist’s career would end him for good.

“It could also work out and become a bop.” You lean against the balcony’s bench, eyes scanning the room and you see Bambam chatting with a depressed Youngjae.

Jaebum can’t see it, he is too busy watching the horizon. “I don’t want to create a bop; I want to do something beautiful and valuable.”

“A bop can be beautiful and valuable. Following a trend doesn’t mean being greedy.” You know what he means. Jaebum isn’t mainstream, he runs by his beliefs and what he thinks sounds good, he doesn’t want to be in the charts. It’s the same with perfumes.

“You know about it, luxury perfume maker.” He snorts and it shocks you. Your eyes swiftly go from the room to the side of his face and you suddenly feel offended. Are you being belittled by Im Jaebum, right now? He sighs, looking back at you with eyes that you didn’t know could exist on Jaebum “I’m sorry. I should just go home.”

You shake your head, trying not to think too much about his mean comeback. “Sure. If it makes you feel better.” You know it’s not the best comfort you gave in your life, but Jaebum feels so different you can’t do anything about it. You’re only a passer-by in his problems and you already have your own. There’s so little you can do to help him, except making sure he doesn’t do something stupid.

“Well...” His voice is so low you almost don’t hear him, but you don’t need to ask because he is already walking away along with his strange odour. You watch him enter the room, you see him avoid every eye and looks, you see Youngjae hit Bambam’s shoulder softly and you see your assistant check to look for you.

He comes as soon as he notices your bored face on the balcony. “Boss, I’m sorry, I didn’t to-”

“I know.” You cut him. It’s too late for apologies and too early to talk about this. You don’t want to think about this guy for now. He has issues he can’t deal with, so there is no way you could do it for him. Maybe your mind is turning into a cold bitch, maybe you’re only using this guy for your own benefit.

But then again, he does look like he is doing the same so it’s fine by you.

“Youngjae is kind of sad, now.” He points at his friend who is pouting into the room and you both enter the place again, doing your best to try and defend your roommate who brushed this guy’s hope like dust on a chest of drawers.

You come back home by 4 and find Jaebum writing at the same spot he always is. You smell this bloody perfume in your living-room and you want to throw it out the window but you head to your room instead, ignoring him as much as he is ignoring you.

You fall asleep at 6.

Bambam arrives later with croissants and freshly made orange juice. He is wearing a burgundy suit with golden jewellery and you open your flat’s door still in your pyjamas.

“Week-ends are chill days, got it.” He snaps his fingers with a grin when he enters and hands you the bag. You can smell butter from it, it must be delicious.

“I’m exhausted, let’s just work for a couple of hours.” You explain while going to the kitchen.

Bambam agrees. “Sure. Now that we found the base notes, we can focus on the middle notes.”

At this, you make a face. Thank god Jaebum took a shower before going to bed and erased that damned scent from himself. But now the familiar feeling is back. It’s back from god knows where and aiming for your head again, blurring your consistency and shaking your sanity.

Bambam sips on his drink and speaks again. “I think this perfume is going to be great.” You love his positivism. Bambam is not the type of boy who would let you feel down. He always comes up with great compliments and positivity. If only you could be like him.

You smile at him, nodding. If he says so.

“Youngjae doesn’t want to give up on Im Jaebum.” Bambam continues the talk and now you react. It tickles your interest because it’s much more intense to think about Jaebum when you’re surrounded by his aroma.

“He doesn’t look like he wants to work with him, though.” You explain. Bambam acquiesces.

“Youngjae told me he needs to get in touch with him. I don’t want him to kill me so...do you think you could help us?” To this you lift a questionable brow at your assistant.

“How? It’s not like he will listen to me.” You have no powers over him. He drags you toward him without knowing yet he doesn’t give a damn about your mere existence.

“Do you mind if I give Youngjae your number?”

You open your mouth, in shock “Why is that? I really can’t help. Have you seen how he is, here? Tell your friend not to waste his time and look for another lyricist. There must be people who can write as well as him.” There must be, Jaebum is not the only genius in town.

Bambam shakes his head. “I think you could help us. Please?” His puppy eyes are working way too much for your taste and you don’t like it when you agree, feeling trapped into a plan that is doomed to fail.

Bambam grins so wide you can count his teeth one by one. “Thanks, boss. Youngjae will be so happy.”

“Tell him not to expect too much, honestly.”

You start working 30 minutes later and finish 4 hours later. You both came up with nothing new and you decide not to insist. You knew from the moment you woke up that you would be even more useless today. Bambam grabs his stuff and thank you again for your cooperation. You scratch your head, ready to go back to bed but Jaebum’s body is out, and heading to the bathroom.

You close your eyes, in awe. It’s like a drug you need. It gives power and motivation, but also dissatisfaction.

You decide to go to the kitchen, instead. Knowing Jaebum, he must be in need of food and pretty much very hungry at this hour. You don’t know why you start preparing food for him, and you decide to blame his scent, because it’s the only explanation to your kindness.

He goes out shortly after, sniffing the delicious smell of food and you wonder if it works on him like his own scent works on you.

“Hey,” he says, eyes puffy. His clothes are huge on his body, and it gives him cool vibes. He sits by the table and yawns.

“Want some food?” You ask, your back facing him while you’re already putting stuff into a big plate. You know he is going to say yes. He would never say no to sausages.

“You made some for me?” He is surprised. You hear a sound and the next thing you know, he is right behind you. You close your eyes because his shower gel adds to the spell he put on you.

He sees you nod and smiles. He is happy. “Thanks.”

You walk away, grabbing another glass of orange juice. You can’t talk now, but you still need to help this poor singer who wants to entrust his career to this weird guy.

“Bambam came this morning and he said-”

“I know what you’re about to say, but I won’t work with this guy.” Jaebum stops you before you can even try. How did he know?

He rolls his eyes, already stuffing his mouth and it’s difficult to understand what he says at some point “Bambam knows Choi Youngjae, Bambam is your assistant and we are ‘roommates’, so obviously he is going to ask for your help.”

“What a perceptive man.” You mock him but to your surprise, he laughs. It seems he likes it when you become daring.

“I know, right? I have a sharp nose for these things, no bad pun intended.” He munches like it’s his last meal on earth, not the least annoyed by your poor attempt at making him change his mind.

“You could still work on the song you showed me. I mean, with him.” It sounds simple. Jaebum has a song ready, and Choi Youngjae needs one, so why not work on it?

“It’s not that easy. You can’t offer a song like you give a perfume to someone.” He says and regrets it instantly.

“You should really stop talking about me like I’m doing shit.” You get angry. It’s the second time he talks to you like you’re nothing. Like your job is pointless.

“No, I mean- Shit. Sorry.” It’s surprising to see him apologize but you won’t give in. His smell is awesome, but his behaviour is the total opposite.

“I’m really doing my best. You’re the one who agreed to come to the party, and you’re the one who made me stay with you when you had to deal with this singer. I’m only trying to help.” Your voice is filled with frustration. You’re frustrated because of his behaviour, the way he deals with things and most importantly, the way he acts like life is over every time someone mentions music-making.

“I didn’t ask for your help, if you remember.” His fork is long forgotten on the table, but his voice is steady, too calm for what he is about to say. “You dragged me here instead of letting me deal with things. You’re the one who involved yourself into my business, and I don’t even know why honestly, so don’t complain when I imply that I don’t need you.”

“So why are you still here?” You know what he is about to answer, it’s logical.

“I don’t know, you tell me. If not because of you, I would be long gone, out of this bullshit. But I’m here, trying to write the shitty things I come up with in my mind. If my behaviour is too much for you to handle, I guess I can take myself out.” He reacts fast and gets up, already walking to his room and you know he is about to grab his stuff and leave. Even the tiny wind following his walking body smells like heaven but you don’t stop him. Maybe it’s for the best, maybe this whole situation isn’t meant to continue.

He is gone less than an hour later, and when he closes the door with a soft noise, you want to cry. You don’t miss him, but the smell is slowly going away and it’s ripping your insides because it was giving you fuel to continue, and now you have nothing.

You will never be able to feel this again.

“I’m taking a couple of days off.” You tell Bambam over the phone the next day. It’s a fine morning. The weather is great, you slept well, you’re about to grab lunch but your mind screams for help. You take your keys and hear Bambam ask if you’re okay.

Of course you’re okay. Your flat smells like shit, but you’re totally fine.

“I’m okay, just not feeling well. Tell the boss I’m sick.” You hang up when Bambam tells you to take care of yourself and close the door behind you. What a day to feel like crap.

The day is boring, it means nothing and it is so unlike you to feel so down. You’re not a cheerful person, this you know, but to the point of finding everything tasteless? It never happened. Jaebum won’t leave your mind and you find yourself wondering if he finally did what he wanted to do. You walk slowly whenever you see a bridge. It makes you look anxiously, hoping he didn’t do it.

You spend the rest of the day thinking about what you’re going to do. You can’t possibly create this perfume anymore, not when you have no idea where you’re going. Maybe you should let Bambam do the job and pray for it to work. He is good, he can do it.

You get a call from Choi Youngjae who pleads you to convince Jaebum and you can’t tell him he is long gone god knows where so you assure him you’ll do your best. You hate lying, but somehow you can’t crush him. 

It stays that way for three days. Three days of wandering the streets and sleeping until your eyes get puffy and red. Three days of long grunts and sighs. Three days of trying to persuade yourself that you don’t need him, that he was a mistake that stained your already messy mind. 

You decide Jaebum means nothing, his smell is just an illusion and you don’t need it to live. You’re strong, independent, you need no jerk to function. You convince yourself at some point, ignoring your subconscious who laughs at you for lying to yourself so blatantly.

Bambam comes back when you tell him you can start working again. You’re back on hard-working mode, sniffing bottles after bottles and talking to Bambam like you’re a new person. He is surprised by your sudden motivation, and when he doesn’t hear about Im Jaebum and doesn’t seem him, he prefers not to ask.

He is obnoxious, but not stupid. He knows your leave wasn’t for the sole purpose of healing.

“What do you think about Bergamot?” You try. It’s better than everything you mixed so far, and it’s not the best, but it’s good enough for now.

Bambam approves, opening another tiny bottle. “Oriental Leather.” he smells it and starts coughing violently.

You take it away from his hands before it can fall. It’s too precious to go to waste. “Let me see. Maybe...12 percent?” You used it only once, and it was for a very specific perfume. Back then you didn’t like how it smelled, but maybe it could go well with your current base note.

“Oriental leather is strong, even stronger than musk and maybe, maybe we’re about to make something good.” Your eyes shine when you start working on the proportion, hands as busy as your mind. Bambam watches intently, even taking notes from time to time. He will never get enough of your knowledge; he feels so lucky.

The result is great; you can feel it. Bambam loves it and it’s suddenly jackpot.

But when you’re about to take a much-needed break, a soft knock on your door makes you rush to answer. Apprehension fills you from the deepest it can reach as you open the door, breath long gone. It’s not Jaebum. It’s a stranger. You feel stupid for being so eager to smell him again and you decide to ignore the disappointed feeling into your stomach.

“Are you Y/N?” He is elegant, all suits and hair neat. His eyes are a not so typical shade of dark brown, and they shine so bright it feels like a human doll is standing in all its glory right in front of you.

“Yes...? And you might be?” You ask back. Bambam arrives behind you when he doesn’t hear any sounds coming from the door.

“I’m Park Jinyoung, I’m here to see Jaebum. He told me you’re both roommates, but he hasn’t been answering his phone for the past days so I decided to come.” He gives you a smile which fades when you answer, voice barely above a whisper.

“He moved out three days ago.”

---

You’re panicking. This Jinyoung guy looks angry and you can’t understand how he can stay so calm when Jaebum completely disappeared.

He takes out his phone when it rings. “Yes, father. I had to meet with Jaebum. No, I won’t be late.” He turns to your questioning gaze, “Work.” He smiles before looking around the place, waiting for you to speak.

“So this is where he stayed. It’s a huge flat. Are you rich?” he asks and you can’t believe it.

“No, I’m not. Do you have any idea of where he could be?” You ask. You need to know if he is safe. He can’t be dead, can he? No it’s impossible, he has all the talent in the world, he smells great, it can’t go to waste.

“No. Not at all. Jaebum often disappears and comes back like it’s nothing. I’m sorry for coming without further notice.” He is about to go like nothing dramatic is happening.

“But, you’re not going to look for him?” It’s crazy. You hear thunder outside, and understand it’s starting to rain heavily. You see flashes of Jaebum crying under the rain before jumping off a bridge, or even a roof, or anything that would hurt him.

But Jinyoung laughs, and his eyes go back to playful when they were annoyed a minute ago. “No, I won’t. I told you he often does that. He will come back soon.” Your first thought is to slap him because, come on, his friend is suicidal and he doesn’t move? But you don’t say a word, you don’t move, you don’t even show how worried you are.

Maybe he doesn’t even know Jaebum wants to end his life.

Knowing the guy, he obviously omitted to inform his friend about his dreadful intentions. It’s not a surprise then, to see his friend so relaxed, like Jaebum went on a soothing week-end in the countryside.

The latter walks past you and you get hit by the smell of pepper and musk. It fits his fierce feature. “I’ll be going then. Sorry again for intruding.” He notes how concentrated you are, deep in thoughts like you’re trying to find the answer to a complex puzzle.

You simply nod, and Bambam leads the man to the main-door, not noticing the way Jinyoung looks at him like he just came out of a very tacky movie. Your foot taps the floor restlessly and it’s a miracle you didn’t rush to look for him yet.

He wouldn’t even care anyway.

“Are you okay?” You assistant has warm eyes and your worry reflects upon his face. You try to smile back to keep your façade but inside it’s twisting. Your insides are a mess.

“Yes. Let’s stop here for today okay? It’s starting to rain; you should head back home.” You care about your assistant, you really do, but you can’t talk to him about it. If Jaebum didn’t even mention to his closest friend, then Bambam can’t be included into this. No matter how friendly and concerned he looks, he can’t be dragged into this huge mess you created yourself because of a stupid smell.

A stupid and addictive smell.

“Yes. Right.” Bambam looks away, somewhat hurt that you wouldn’t share what’s on your mind and grabs his jacket from your office’s chair. He comes back and his long fingerS suddenly tap your shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay.” You’re not surprised to hear his words. Bambam is perceptive and way too social not to understand that you and Jaebum are not complete strangers to each other. He doesn’t know about the scent, but he can see that there is something that makes you go to him.

He doesn’t ask and prefers to stay silent. He is here for work, but you’re always so lonely and have no confidence that it makes him want to scream. To him, you’re amazing and he wishes nothing more than have a tiny bit of your talent to exist. He sighs and turns around, legs tightly wrapped into torn jeans and disappears with soft motions. You look outside when a bolt of lightning illuminates the whole living-room and wonder if Jaebum is safe. You hate feeling this way. You’re even more pitiful now.

It’s hard to sleep that night. You blame it on your lack of exercise. Your body isn’t drenched enough to feel tired, so you turn around again and again, legs blocked into pale blue sheets and hair messy, spread on your cushion like a fighting octopus. You stereotypically look at the ceiling from time to time, picturING images of you creating something beautiful mixed with the familiar and dazzling scent of Jaebum. You wish nothing more than for it to stop, but you can’t decide for yourself and your soul leads the way, ordering you to be miserable and in need of his being to be able to be rational again.

You hear noises and blame it on the heavy rain clapping against your windows along with thunder. It’s tapping softly and adding to your anxiety, following your heart rate in an off-putting manner. You ignore it, scolding yourself and aware that you’re not going to be productive when Bambam will arrive next morning.

But the tapping comes back shortly after and you get off your bed. You grab your abandoned robe and wrap it around your exhausted envelope, rolling your eyes at your own paranoia. So what now, someone is going to rob your place? You decide to check the windows because maybe it’s only a matter of wind hitting the glass. You hope it is. You check all the rooms and when you don’t hear it anymore, you rush to bed again. There’S only a little time left before you’re supposed to be up and you can’t waste it on idiocy.

But on your way to your room you jump, hand over your mouth to silence your horrified cry. Your chest is about to explode and you got so scared you’re trembling. You freeze and blink when the shadow you spotted in the tiny lobby doesn’t move, against the wall. Your hand silently reaches for the wall and you turn on the light when you finally get a grasp of the situation. So this is what it is.

Jaebum is on the floor, drenched and looking exhausted.

And you can breathe again.

[karrdr]

#METOO, MASTER OF ALL ? (PREMIÈRE PARTIE)

Difficile d'être un homme en ce moment. D’aucuns craindraient l'hystérisation du « débat », la délation ou tout simplement la ruine. A #metoo, répondirent « pas moi » ou « pas tous les hommes » ; et quand bien même la libération de la parole de millions de femmes à travers le monde, le spotlight est resté braqué sur les célébrités et autres personnalités qui faisaient déjà la une de nos newsfeeds avec peut-être l’avantage d’une dénomination plus claire du problème qui occupe les esprits : le viol, les agressions sexuelles, la coercition par un homme, figure d'autorité, et puis surtout l'impunité de ces crimes. Une image somme toute assez nette… manichéenne, permettant pour un temps de choisir le camp du « bien » sans trop se remuer les méninges. L’affaire Aziz Ansari arrive juste à temps pour finir de flouter la compréhension déjà vaseuse de ce qu’est le consentement.

Le 13 janvier dernier, le site Babe dot net publie un compte-rendu des « mésaventures » de Grace (nom changé afin de préserver l’anonymat de la narratrice) avec la star de Master of None.

Aziz Ansari s’est positivement fait remarquer ces dernières années – pur produit du multiculturalisme à l'américaine, c’est un millennial d’origine sub-asiatique qui a su trouver sa place dans le tout Hollywood, notamment au travers de sa série à succès, Master of None.

Surtout, Ansari est un féministe autoproclamé qui aime faire des relations hommes/femmes le centre de ses productions et qui a même écrit un livre – Modern Romance: An Investigation – traitant du sujet. Ansari est le nouveau boy-next-door jouant savamment de son image inoffensive et drôle et c’est à la fois un self-made man dans la plus pure tradition Américaine.

De Grace, on ne sait pas grand-chose sinon qu’elle est photographe, mais c’est le récit clinique et glaçant qu’elle fait de sa rencontre avec Ansari qui vient pulvériser l’image que s’est construite l’artiste et avec celle-ci, l’image que l'Amérique s’est faite de lui. On reprochera d’ailleurs à Babe un certain cynisme, plus grave encore, de faire perdre son focus à #metoo pour ce qui s’apparenterait au mieux à une retranscription sulfureuse d’un rendez-vous décevant, au pire la plume vengeresse d’une fan désappointée.

Mais voilà, la machine s’est emballée : leçon de morale après leçon de morale, le récit de Grace n’est devenu qu’une tentative vaine de créer le buzz, de profiter de l’attention et du prétendu pouvoir qu’auraient les femmes de nuire aux hommes qui les auraient abusées.

Un peu de distance suffirait à faire remarquer qu’Ansari est bien loin d’être au fond du trou, que les Winstein et Spacey de ce monde se contentent juste de faire profil bas alors qu’Allen jouit encore pleinement de ses passe-droits.

Alors pourquoi cette histoire nous hérisse-t-elle autant ?

Pourquoi Grace cristallise-t-elle autant de colère et de mépris ?

Comme bien souvent lorsqu’une femme ose faire part d’une possible « mésaventure » d’ordre sexuel, son récit est haché menu, disséqué, analysé afin de prouver qu’elle ment – coupable jusqu’à preuve du contraire. Alors bien sûr, dans un contexte aussi pesant que celui de #metoo, il n’est pas étonnant que son histoire soit observée à la loupe ; et l’on pourrait relever plusieurs points de tension :

1. Quelle crédibilité accorder à Babe ?

Les révélations qui ont mis à nu Weinstein et tous les autres sont le fruit de mois, voire d’années d’enquête minutieuse menée par des équipes de choc au sein de rédactions de prestige comme le New York Times ou le New Yorker qui n’ont plus à faire leurs preuves.

En face, Babe n’est qu’un pure player obscure[1] cultivant une image sulfureuse sous couvert de féminisme (?), de girl power, ou d’un quelconque [insérer un concept fumeux] positivity comme les millennials en ont le secret.

Que Babe publie un article à charge à l’encontre du quasi petit fiancé de l’Amérique fleure plus comme un coup de pub savamment concocté que comme du grand journalisme d’investigation. Il serait bien aisé de remettre en doute les procédés de vérification et de validation d’un média qui a clairement fait du click bait son modèle de financement.

2. Ce n’est pas (aus)si important

Face aux accusations portées à l’encontre de Winstein ou Spacey – coupables de harcèlement sexuel et/ou de viol répétés au cours des dernières décennies, il est certain qu’une seule « mauvaise » soirée en compagnie d’Aziz Ansari parait bien inoffensive.

D’ailleurs Grace n’accuse pas l’acteur directement – l’article est intitulé : « I went on a date with Aziz Ansari. It turned into the worst night of my life » comme des centaines d’articles à sensation parus avant lui dans des magazines people que tout le monde prétend ne pas lire. Alors est-ce qu’elle n’en ferait pas un peu trop ?

Ne ferait-on pas quelque part le procès de la banalité de cet incident, comme s’il n’était pas suffisamment extraordinaire pour qu’on y prête attention.

3. Grace est anonyme

A l’heure d’Internet et de ses légions de trolls sans visage, l’anonymat est vu d’un très mauvais œil – ce serait faire acte de lâcheté que de se cacher derrière un pseudonyme, une exacerbation de la veulerie d’une attaque déjà considérée comme profondément injuste.

Pire encore, l’anonymat empêcherait de ressentir de la sympathie pour quelqu’un dont on ne sait rien sinon qu’elle partage la même passion de la photographie argentique qu’Ansari. Impossible donc de se mettre à sa place ou de se reconnaître en elle.

Les victimes d’agressions sexuelles sont déjà rendues responsables de leur malheur alors que l’on connaît leur identité. Imaginez lorsqu’elles témoignent face cachée ?

4. Le cliché de la victime

A tout cela s’ajoute le fait que Grace ne soit pas une victime « pure ». Elle n’est ni la damoiselle en détresse, ni la jeune femme sans défense que l’on aime à s’imaginer dans ces situations, et c’est bien là tout le problème. Dès qu’une femme n’est pas dans une position évidente de faiblesse, il devient clair que si elle a su s’attirer des problèmes toute seule, elle devrait aussi pouvoir s’en dépatouiller ou en assumer les conséquences quelles qu’elles puissent être.

Plus désolant s’il était possible, Grace apparait comme une gold digger tentant de profiter de la gloire d’Ansari, une pseudo starlette en mal de célébrité. Aux oreilles de beaucoup son récit résonne comme un échange quasi marchant : l’attention d’Ansari contre du sexe. Quand bien même, n’aurait-elle pas eu le droit de changer d’avis une fois sur place ? ou d’attendre d’Ansari qu’il la traite simplement comme un être humain ?

5. L’indécence du détail

Le compte rendu de Babe dot net revient en grands détails sur cette fameuse rencontre – des détails donnés froidement à vous en rendre malade justement parce que jamais romancés.

Le cerveau humain est toujours en recherche d’une échappatoire à ce qu’il a du mal à traiter. La romancisation des faits ouvre à l’interprétation et permet de tirer ses propres conclusions ou de s’identifier aux personnages. Ici, ce travail est impossible rendant l’empathie inconcevable. L’on est forcé de faire face aux événements tels que décrits.

6. Le public aime Aziz Ansari

C’est aussi simple que ça et ce récit vient à l’encontre de tout ce que l’on aimerait penser de lui. Il n’aurait pas tant les pieds sur terre que cela, ne serait pas si accessible (il la rejette une première fois avant d’accepter d’échanger leurs numéros de téléphone), il fait partie du cercle des puissants – il habite maintenant à TriBeCa.

Même la mention de Taylor Swift n’est pas anodine. La chanteuse de Reputation est aussi WASP que l’on puisse être et est particulièrement connue pour sa sournoiserie (son dernier album est une ode à sa personnalité serpentine). Ansari serait coupable de la même sournoiserie par simple association (il veut que leur rencontre reste secrète, lui demandant d’user du pseudonyme « Essence » pour lui appeler un taxi).

Ansari appartient aussi à une double minorité – d’origine Indienne et musulman – son profil ne court certainement pas les rues d’Hollywood. Des éléments qui feront les minorités le soutenir mordicus comme elles l’ont fait avant avec Cosby, R. Kelly ou O.J. avant lui. Il fait partie des minorités modèles – celles qui ont réussi à s’intégrer. Personne n’a intérêt à voir cette image voler en éclats pour une soirée somme toute sans importance.

Tout cela fait-il d’Ansari la vraie victime de cette affaire ?

Quoi que l’on veuille reprocher à Grace, l’attitude d’Ansari n’en est pas moins déplorable. Au contraire, elle est tout particulièrement significative : elle est l’expression d’un désir d’obtenir coûte que coûte ce qu’il pense lui être déjà acquis.

Cela se traduit par :

• Sa précipitation. Ansari expédie leur dîner afin de rentrer au plus vite chez lui. Dès le pas de la porte passé, il l’invite à s’asseoir sur le comptoir de la cuisine où il la déshabille presque immédiatement pour lui faire un cunnilingus.

• Son manque d’écoute. A plusieurs reprises, Grace manifeste son inconfort ou son désir de ralentir – verbalement et non verbalement. Ansari feint de l’écouter, calmant le jeu à chaque fois l’affaire de quelques minutes avant de se remettre à insister lourdement.

• Son agressivité. Alors même que Grace lui a fait part de son besoin de douceur, Ansari continue pourtant de lui mettre les doigts dans la bouche dans le but d’essayer de la pénétrer digitalement. Symboliquement fort, c’est comme s’il cherchait son silence.

• Il l’invite aussi à boire à plusieurs reprises, ce qui n’est pas non plus bénin.

Il ne s’agit que d’un avis personnel, mais je doute que la majorité des femmes imagine leur première fois avec un homme qu’elles viennent de rencontrer se dérouler à la façon d’un film X – à moins que ce soit là le but.

« Pourquoi n’a-t-elle tout simplement pas dit non ? »

L’inévitable question. C’est bien ce qu’on nous apprend : dire « NON ! » fermement, se débattre, crier s’il le faut. Pourtant les femmes imposent rarement un « non » à leurs partenaires. A la place, elles diront :

• « Attends… »

• « Ralentis… »

• « Je ne suis pas à l’aise… »

• « Je n’aime pas trop ça… »

Ou elles resteront silencieuses et immobiles en attendant que ça passe ou en espérant que leur partenaire daigne comprendre. Mais jamais un « non » franc.

Les hommes n’aiment pas s’entendre dire « non »

« Non » est pour eux l’occasion d’insister, souvent avec une escalade dans la violence. Pour une femme, « non » équivaut à prendre le risque de précipiter ce qui pourrait rapidement devenir un viol.

Alors demandera-t-on encore :

• « Pourquoi aller chez quelqu’un qu’on ne connait pas ? » en omettant gracieusement que des agressions sexuelles/viols sont majoritairement commis par des proches.

• « Elle devait bien savoir ce qu’il attendait d’elle, non ? » en prenant bien soin de repousser l’idée qu’elle puisse peut-être vouloir autre chose, elle.

• « Pourquoi avoir accepté de lui faire une fellation ? » en ignorant volontiers que les femmes cèdent souvent à la pression de leurs partenaires en espérant la paix ou pour faire plaisir.

• « Pourquoi ne pas être partie plus tôt ? » en ne se doutant pas que même ça relève d’une fine négociation afin de ne pas brusquer les sentiments de son partenaire toujours dans le but de ne pas provoquer de réactions violentes. Ou tout simplement, peut-être qu’elle espérait qu’il l’écoute et change d’attitude…

N’est-ce pas naturel de s’attendre à ce que la personne avec qui vous passez un bon moment vous respecte suffisamment pour ne pas vous traiter comme un simple morceau de viande ? Il semblerait que non.

Et si on changeait de focus ?

Au lieu de blâmer les victimes, peut-être faudrait-il jeter un œil aux fondations du problème.

[anouarofficial-blog1]

"Hate can't have a place in my heart!" I don't know why, but this is the through 🤗🙃Yesterday I spent a couple of time thinking back about my life, the ugly moments and bad things that my family and I have experienced in the last years, and I am really happy about the fact that no hite is carried in my heart toward nobody; No hate for a specific person, no hate for specific ethnic group, no hate for specific religion and no hate for a specific nation or country. I simply don't hate. Hate is an intense feeling, which may be easily developed, but it requires a huge amount of energy and positiv work to be neutralized. The same huge amount of energy you will also need, if you are experiencing some bad stress and have to deal permanently with the wrong people and bad situations. So don't let hate take part of your heart and ruin your life, be strong and try to handel your bad cases reasonably as much as possible. . . . #softarchs #instadaily #instaday #instagood #lifestyle #chicagoland #illinois #chicago #windycity #hate #nohate #selfdefense #protectyourself #prevention #dontgoogleit (at Chicago, Illinois) https://www.instagram.com/p/ByGQxN3Ap-F/?igshid=zq643sqb9fnb

[musepirations]

❞ Okay so after the last couple of days, there is something really bothering my; something that kind of baffles me a bit and something I feel like I really need to get off my chest. So here I go: IF YOU DON’T HAVE ANYTHING NICE TO SAY, PLEASE JUST DON’T SAY ANYTHING AT ALL. It’s a message I’ve seen spread in the rpc plenty of times yet still it seemed like it hasn’t really made it through to an astonishing amount people. I don’t know what the hype is around being mean. It might just be me, but this ‘mean aesthetic’ some of you all developed is truly scaring the crap out of me. Do you REALLY think it is cool to hurt people ?? To be mean FOR FUN ?? If there’ anything that makes me click that unfollow button in a heartbeat it’s mean rpt’s or rph’s or really, any blog in general ?? You people RUIN moods, RUIN lives and RUIN other people. And the funny not really thing is that you probably don’t even realise it. Because ‘eyy it’s just the internet, don’t take it so serious ??’. Well news flash, darlings, some people DO take hate serious. Even if it’s sent by an anonymous chatter or a virtual bully -- just because you can hide behind a greyface like the cowards you truly are, just because you can hide behind an alias or a group of stans who thrive on seeing others being made fun of or dragged or “”””exposed””””, doesn’t make you any less of a bully. You are the people that drive others to hate their life sometimes so bad that they don’t want to live it any longer, those who push others’ heads in toilets; those that make others feel like shit for no apparent reason. You are bullies. You aren’t more or less than those people we all claim to despise, just because it’s virtual. Once again, JUST BECAUSE YOU SIT BEHIND A SCREEN DOES NOT MAKE YOU ANY LESS OF A BULLY. So please, and I know this is a useless plea but I’m going to ask it anyway, don’t do it. Don’t send hate messages. Don’t make others feel bad for no apparent reason (or any reason at all ??). Don’t be a cyberbully. Stop making the rpc such a toxic place; stop draining all the positivism out of it. The amount of blogs I’ve stopped following only the last two days because of the negative vibes was... Ridiculous. A KIND WORD TRULY COSTS NOTHING -- but still it can make a WORLD of difference to someone. You don’t know what’s going on in people’s lives, don’t risk making things even worse just for the hell of it. If you have a problem with someone, talk to them personally and off anon. Or just unfollow them. It is YOUR CHOICE who you follow and who you don’t follow. Not everyone gets along with everyone, but that still isn’t a reason to send that person that annoys you for some reason nasty hate messages on anon. Just live and let live, for one fucking more time I’m going to say this. DON’T HIDE BEHIND A GREY FACE AND SEND HATE -- it doesn’t make you ‘cool’, it just makes you petty. And a bully. And a coward. And if that’s what you want to be, then I feel for you, and I truly think you have to search for some serious help. Go find another hobby, please. As for the people who are victims of anonymous hate -- please, sweethearts, for the love of God, don’t let them get to you. Block their IP adresses which can be done by clicking the three dots on the anon message and click block. Turn off your anon for a while. It’s truly relieving, knowing that those cowards cannot slide into your box anymore and you won’t be waking up to hate. Because we both know they don’t have the guts to come from behind their little mask. If you get hate, just remove the message; don’t give it any attention. That’s all they want; they want to get a raise out of you. A reaction. Don’t grant them that little joy of seeing you get worked up. Just remove it. All of it. Time after time. Ad watch them bugger off because they see it’s useless. Because they’ll see you’re smarter than them, and more mature than them; that you are the bigger person. If they want to get you down, it only means you are above them -- don’t let yourself drop to their level. Never. Just keep your head held high. Always. And I promise it’ll blow over eventually. Just NEVER GIVE IN TO HATE. Especially not anon hate. And with that, I said what I wanted to say. I will no longer take accept negativity on my dash, really... I hope no one does !! Xoxo

[despairforme]

 HOW TO “GENERATE” MOTIVATION & INSPIRATION. 

     I’ve seen SO many of my friends struggle with motivation these days, so I wanted to make a little psa about how to attempt to get motivation back ( this also helps fight depression yo ) --- It’s all about POSITIVE VIBES. Positivity attracts positivity. Motivation is driven by the WANT to do something, and that doesn’t ( usually ) come on its own, but needs a kick-starter ( this is where inspiration comes into play ). Inspiration is easily triggered by positivity, and everyone has positivity stored in them ( it is a human thing after all ), so what’s needed is to extract it. This part is where people say that their depression prevents them, and a big reason for that is because they are waiting for the positivity to come to them, but relying on something to come to YOU is not as good as generating it YOURSELF. So, can positivity be generated when you feel down? By: DOING YOUR BEST. This is a cliche saying, but it actually works. Do one more thing than you did yesterday. For some, this is a slow process. Doing one more draft, answering one more ask - but the thing is, the more you do, the better you will feel about yourself. And, there it is: you have made a positiv feeling/vibe/emotion. By feeling good about yourself, and sending out this ‘ positive vibe ‘, you are attracting inspiration, which will turn into motivation. Then, it’ll be easier to do more things, which, again, will give you an even better feeling - more motivation - more productivity - more positive vibes! When you hit a certain point, you will have “excess” positivity, which you can give to the people around you! So now you’re not only making positiv energy, but you’re also distributing it to your social circle, which will make good things happen to you. You’ll feel better about yourself, your work, and the people in your life ( and they will feel better about you ). And all of this JUST because you decided that you wanted to do a little more than usual. People who say that “this won’t work for me”, are ruining for themselves, because that means that instead of generating positivity, you are making negativity, which brings NOTHING good. Don’t say: “this won’t work for me”, don’t say “this might work for me”. Say: “THIS WORKS FOR ME”, because --- Well, it does. 

     Small personal note about my own experience with this ‘ method ‘ of generating motivation ( feel free to ignore this) ; People tell me that I can’t understand what it’s like to be depressed and that it’s impossible to just “do” things when you’re feeling down, but, trust me, I DO know what that’s like. I suffer from a rare medical condition that causes me a lot of pain, which I have been very depressed about ( still feel down sometimes about it ), but I can STILL use the method described above to make motivation! So, I have no doubt that it will work for you too!