#vent out frustrations because in general this weekend has been frustrating

[demodraws0606]

Warning : Salty Rant below

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

. .

.

.

This is gonna be slightly irrational but this weekend has been very shit and I need to rant right now.

The amount of salt I have for the horrendous q!BBH takes that have come ever since his team has been betrayed is enormous right now.

Lord help me to conjure all the self control I have not to yell at people that maybe they should listen to cc!BBH when he says that "he would kill the ENTIRE SERVER if it means getting the eggs back".

I was so happy to see cc!BBH gaining another reason to make his character spiteful against the other islanders but now I can't stumble into Tumblr without people making q!BBH out to be this pillar of morality again.

Like I'm sorry that I think q!BBH indiscriminatly terrorising people like q!Slime and killing them is like worse morally than killing a Stone Egg that we have no evidence to believe is actually connected to the real eggs (even more so that in some people's case they think they would've been forced to do it anyways).

It was shit that they betrayed their words and I do like how it kinda flipped the q!BBH's dynamic with the entire server on it's head making him look like the only rational one.

Even then GGN didn't even think they were betraying the deal since they were going by the logic that if they didn't kill the egg it was fine (at least q!Etoiles did)

However now I'm stuck again with the fandom treating BBH's characters like poor little victims who did nothing wrong which is a thing that I hated ever since the DSMP. Except now there is even less justification for it because the cc! straight up told us in our face that his character isn't moral by any means.

[gemharvest]

Hate thissss I feel like I haven't been properly productive today (somehow posting two art things Doesn't register properly in my mind) so I wanna stay up to get as much as I can down, but I also need to go to sleep in case I'm called in tomorrow because fuuuuuck going to work on little sleep that shit sucks. But also, the possibility of being called in makes me wanna stay up even more, so I can finish art in case I don't have time tomorrow. So now I'm sat up at 12:30 tired as shit but unable to draw or go to bed. The never-ending cycle of hell.

[jev-urisk]

A Musing Monday 🎐

Today i'm musing about connections and how they are often synonymous with our opportunities, our ability to survive, and our thoughts- therefor changing who we are and who will become. Also coin metaphors 🪙

Last Tuesday out of the blue one of my partners was laid off, he started a new job two days later because he knows people who work at a cabinet mill. 🙏

My family made the most healing ratatouille that we ate off of all weekend because someone I know from work had too many eggplants. 🍆📈

We got our house thanks to the efforts of a friend with a real-estate license. I got the contact info for my current therapist from a girlfriend. I have a song stuck in my head from a child I work with and I pick up catchphrases from people on tv and I know how to do pushups for the 1st time in my life bc an online friend taught me how. 🔥💪

Its fun and frightening to think about- that we are obelisks of pennies created from every person that gave us their two cents 🪙🪙

If every trait, thought, inclination, or idea of yours was a coin- which of your coins are old, passed down through the generations until they were shuffled into your hands? Which are invaluable? Like my dads tendency to accept things (like my gayness and transness and polyness) as long as no one is getting hurt, which I know he got from my grandfather ❤️. Which coins are a burden you dont know how to get rid of? Like my mother's propensity to say "It could be worse, think of__ (children in Africa, Houseless folk, etc)" which has become my tendency to minimize my own experiences and neglect to give myself breaks 🫠. Which coins did you find on the sidewalk and which sit with you in your car? Which are made of metals you're allergic to? Which are tarnished and scratched but still good? Which coins of yours are most valuable to you? 🎐

There are so many times in my life where I felt like I couldn't get a leg up, and the only way I got through was stacking pennies, adding up my connections and the ghosts of connections past to try to escape the pit..

With that in mind I want to take a moment to shout out the change (🥁) that others have gifted me with recently, cuz boy buddy have I needed to stack pennies lately, but have been so blessed to have so many new coins.

Thanks @sableglass, the fire you put into the world ignited action into me. I spent a year lamenting the loss of a job until your 'fuck it we ball' attitude inspired me to get resolved about that 🤽‍♂️. I got a job offer today. You helped me get here.

Thanks @the-golden-comet , you were one of the first writblr blogs I came across. You shaped my idea of tumblr to be something positive and uplifting during a very hard time for me 🫂. Your stories are so free and wild (🐳💦) and wonderful that they changed my outlook on being a writer and that what im 'allowed' to put in a story is anything but a limiting factor. You taught me that the course of a day can be changed with a simple frog gif and that you dont necessarily need to know someone to know how much they care. 🐸💕

Thanks to @tragedycoded for DMLS and @words-after-midnight for Libaw. Yall write the mentalscape of various conditions so well that im taking better care of myself 🧠🌿. I'm more proud of the work I've put into myself. And i'm becoming proud of the person I could have become but didn't.

Thank you to @lychhiker-writes for being my first homie on tumblr and for letting me vent my various frustrations into your dms 😏😅, and for being a brave and honest alpha reader for 7C.

Thank you @wyked-ao3 and @cowboybrunch and @gioiaalbanoart for being such great cheerleaders for my writing 😭💕 seeing yall connect and feel your feelings in my comments gives me so much hope and happiness and I honesty dont thank yall enough. I finally finished ch8 (no, really, check the doc 👀) and your encouragement helped me really embrace Seeker, who I used to think was too boring, and get that chapter finished 🏁.

There are so many others and I'm sorry for not naming them all 🙏 but if I have read your work, thank you. If I follow you or you follow me, thank you. If we have ever bonked together in a discord chat like two wayward beyblades 💞- *Thank You*

Today, I feel like I'm finally out of the pit, and it's thanks to the random 2 cents and spare change yall have gifted me. Your influence is priceless. 🥰💰

(Still no taglist for Monday posts yet, hmu if you'd like to be on it!)

[heyftinally]

https://www.tumblr.com/defendingts/750845507072622592/what-do-you-think-the-p-and-the-r-in-pr-stand-for?source=share

“no celebrity is treated the way Taylor is.”

That is such an outrageous claim. Taylor is praised by 90% of the media. Taylor has a [rabid] fan base that send literal death threats to people who voice their negative opinions on her. Taylor being called out for genuinely bad work and bad choices is not hate it’s accountability.

Britney Spears has it worse than Taylor and continues to have it worse than most celebrities. Miley Cyrus endured some of the worst treatment from the general public and media of a current star when she was growing up. Justin Bieber has been abused by the media since he was 15. Michael Jackson was ridiculed at every turn when he was alive and people still tried to take advantage and drag his name through the dirt after he died. Marilyn Monroe was treated as more of an object than a person and still is mistreated today with misrepresentations of her life being made for entertainment purposes. Cassie literally just had footage of being assaulted by her ex Diddy released to the public. God I could keep going but I won’t. The proof is out there. She’s just too blind to see it. She claims she’s not a Swiftie but she clearly is. If she’s neutral towards Taylor she could at least acknowledge that Taylor has had it very easy in contrast to MOST celebrities.

I had her original account blocked but she made a new one and keeps posting in the anti tag and I’m just fed up. I’ve blocked her again but I needed to rant. Most people in the anti tag aren’t actively hating just expressing their frustrations and even if they were hating. ITS IN THE ANTI TAG. OMG. Sorry but she’s clearly a Swiftie who doesn’t have a god damn life and is baiting people into her ask box. She probably sends herself messages to show she’s got a larger following than she actually does. It’s pathetic. She calls antis pathetic but really we vent to a couple of blogs who agree with our thoughts and those blogs post them. She’s the one seeking out these things to complain about them. It’s so f*ckin annoying

I've honestly called other performers WAY worse things than I've called Taylor Swift. I've criticized countless artists for a variety of things. Hell, anyone who knows me knows I have just as many issues with Harry Styles as I do Taylor Swift (they're basically two versions of the same issues if you ask me).

I tag my posts the way I do for one reason, and one reason only: so that swifties can block me, block the tag(s), and fuck off. I'm not going to sit here and try to convince someone that they shouldn't support her - that has to come from your own moral compass. But in return, don't come on to my posts and tell me I'm wrong for having an opinion based on the facts we're given 24/7.

And as far as the old bullshit of "antis are pathetic" (how very 2010 tumblr lol), I say mocking someone for having an opinion you don't like is MORE pathetic. Taylor Swift is shoved down our throats literally constantly - if I'm forced to be aware of her bullshit, I'm going to have an opinion on it. If that opinion isn't favorable towards her, sucks to fucking suck. You know what I don't post about? Who Hilary Duff did or didn't go on a date with last weekend. Because I have no clue what happens in her personal life, and I'm not about to go be a stalker freak to find out. If Taylor Swift can't stand people not liking her, maybe she should put less of herself on display. And again, if swifties don't like my opinions, they can block me and my tags like adults and move on.

[useless-bi-otch]

Cookies'n Cream - Chapter 19

Last chapter / MasterList / art by @aneenasevla

Chapter 19 - Trial and Error

Okubo knew that when he saw his friends again, they would ask about his night at Tomori's house. They'd ask for all the sordid details, probably hoping to feed their own fantasies with them. They wouldn't accept vague answers and probably wouldn't believe him if he tried to lie, to create a false scenario to throw them off. He would have no choice but to tell the unvarnished truth.

And he knew they wouldn't be happy. He showed up at Kaneda's apartment when he was invited to another game night a few days later, already prepared to deal with the general outrage, name-calling and questions about his manhood.

Or maybe it was his lucky day! Perhaps, if he explained in detail what happened, the guys would be understanding. Who wouldn't lose all desire to fuck after what he'd witnessed, anyway? Maybe he would find some solidarity there...

"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!!"

Or maybe not.

"Guys, tone it down," Kaneda asks with a sigh, pausing the game while Rihito and Himuro stuck their faces into Okubo's personal space, snarling furiously, the three of them practically glued to eachother on the couch. "It's past nine, the complex has rules about noise at night even on weekends..."

"Sorry, man, but there's no way not to scream! It's our way of venting frustration out with such levels of stupidity!," Rihito justifies himself, gesticulating, almost hitting Okubo's nose. "Seriously, Okubo, does your heart pump blood to your brain at all?!"

"You should also ask if it pumps blood to his dick, because holy fuck..."

"Screw you guys!," Okubo growls, red with anger and mortification at Himuro's comment. "You don't know shit about what happened and yet you stay there, talking shit, not even letting me explain-"

"Explain what? How did you completely squander the golden chance we got you over some stupid stuffed animals?," Himuro interrupts him, to which Rihito nods vehemently.

"Yeah! We were just joking at the time, damn it! You're not that old to be going limp for such a shitty reason!"

"I didn't! Are you dumb or deaf?," He asks, his tone squeaky to make himself heard amidst the accusations. "Just shut up and listen to me, okay? First of all, there were no plushies in her room! At least not as far as I've seen..."

"We heard that part, but we still find it hard to believe," Kaneda comments, leaning back a little and resting his hands on the rug while looking at them over his shoulder. "Why else would you've given up on sleeping with Miss Uta like that? This has nothing to do with her in particular, does it?"

“Uh… no. I mean, yes, but at the same time no...?," He gestures uncertainly, making a face at their irritated expressions. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but if you close your mouths and listen to me, you'll understand my side! None of you would've been able to perform if you'd seen what I saw. No, Himuro, not even you," He says quickly when Himuro opens his mouth to retort. This makes him frown.

"Huh? Do you really think I couldn't do the deed over some stupid stuffed animals? You wouldn't believe half of the absurd places and situations where I've banged a chick, believe me."

“I'd ask for details, but your man-whore escapades always piss me off and I want my ire fully focused on that idiot,” Rihito points at Okubo, who lets out an angry grunt while rolling his entire head, since rolling only his eyes didn't seem good enough.

"Holy shit, didn't you hear anything I said? There was no fucking stuffed animals in her room! Believe me, I wish there was...," He then moans, holding his head between his hands. "It would've been so much better than what I saw..."

"…Okay, Okubo, you're starting to scare us," Kaneda puts the joystick aside as he sits on the left arm of the sofa, a little worried. "What was in her room that was so horrible? was it something offensive, politically incorrect..."

"If by 'politically incorrect' you mean things like race supremacy, fascism, racism and all that stuff, no," He shakes his head, grimacing. "And by 'offensive'… well, I got a little offended!"

"Jeez… wait, did it have something to do with you?," Rihito frowns. And then his eyes widen. "Holy crap… is she one of those fujoshi girls by any chance? Did she make perverted drawings of you?! Himuro and Kaneda said that she likes to draw, so..."

"Damn it, Rihito, did you really need to bring such a mental image into the conversation?!," Himuro complains with a disgusted grimace. "Now I won't be able to stop thinking about that shit! I mean, Miss Uta never gave me the impression of being the type of girl who draws lewd stuff of her idol with other guys, but it's not like we know her well enough to make any claims."

"What- holy fuck, no!," Okubo screeches in horror. "It's not like that! I'd have jumped off that boat and swum west to get as far away from here as possible if it was something like that!"

“Then what the hell is it? What was in her room that was so hideous that you couldn't perform and have a hell of a story to tell us while we beat the cops and run over people with an ambulance?," Rihito asks while opening his arms, and Kaneda looks disapprovingly at him.

“This taken out of context could result in the police coming to visit my apartment before midnight, you know?"

"I'm talking about the GTA ambulance, dude."

"Yeah, but my neighbors don't know that!"

"Focus, you two!," Himuro raises his voice impatiently. "We have a more pending matter here. Now spit it out, come on," He turns to Okubo, practically commanding as he points at him. "What made you go limp, anyway?"

"I didn't...! Aaargh, forget it," Okubo puts his hand over his face, giving up. "It was the damn posters on the walls! There, i said it!"

He stares at them, in complete silence, as he sees the confusion on their faces.

"... Huh?," Rihito blinks. "What do you mean by 'posters'? What posters, dammit? Posters of what? A boy band she likes? Actors? Some yaoi anime, I don't know?"

"No, I'd accept it easier if it were those things… except the yaoi anime stuff…," He snorts. "They were posters of fighters."

"Wait, like the ones in her living room?"

"Yes, but make it triple," Okubo widens his eyes, raising his hands on either side of his face and moving them a little away from each other to emphasize. "I could barely see the walls underneat them, damn it. Can you still blame me for giving up?"

He waits for their reactions, wanting to see some sympathy, however small, in their features. And, as expected, he doesn't. The room that was a cross between a living room and a kitchen is filled with grunts and the sounds of hands smacking over faces in loud clacks.

"What do you think? I'll blame you, your age, your fagness, everything I can blame!," Rihito throws his arms up in frustration. "Who the fuck cares about a bunch of posters?!"

“That's fucking why I didn't want to tell you anything! Where is the solidarity with the suffering of your peers?," Okubo asks indignantly, and Himuro is not moved.

“It went down the drain after we heard such a stupid reason! Posters, Okubo? They're just pictures cut out of magazines and pasted on the walls, nothing more! And you even had the nerve to say that I wouldn't have been able to perform in such a place..."

"Stop trying to play the playboy act when you haven't been in my situation, damn it! I'm telling you, that room looked like the headquarters of a gay magazine!," He gestures almost desperately. "There was no pornographic pictures, but it seemed that they were all in ambush, just waiting, wanting to watch and judge my performance..."

"For fuck's sake, stop freaking out, Okubo!," Rihito slaps him on the back of the head, and he wasn't fast enough to dodge. "What are you thinking? That this is Harry Potter? That the posters would magically come to life and the fighters would point at the two of you on the bed and go 'put that baby carrot away, loser' ?"

"No, damn it! Let me finish before you keep talking shit!," Okubo threatens to kick Rihito in the face, who, unlike him, managed to dodge the blow. "These posters weren't of just any fighters! They were..."

"… Oh. They were posters of our friends, weren't they?," Kaneda is the first to conclude, widening his eyes a little. "Sekibayashi?"

This makes Rihito and Himuro widen their eyes as well. They turn to Okubo, who nods slowly with a grim expression.

"Yep. And Gaolang."

“Ooh, jeez… and both of them were shirtless, right?"

"And sweaty, yeah. Flexing muscles and all."

Kaneda sucks air through his clenched teeth, shudering a little.

"And there were others like this? In the entire room?"

"The entire fucking room, man. Now you understand me, don't you?," He faces his friends, seriously. "I'll ask again: can you blame me? Huh?"

Kaneda shakes his head, his expression solemn. Rihito and Himuro were still speechless with astonishment, their jaws hanging open. Himuro even seemed to have pale slightly. The two look at each other, the bridges of their noses sweating.

"Hey, Himuro… do you really think you'd be able to perform in a place like this?," Rihito asks, to which Himuro looks to the side, his expression uncertain.

"Uh... I had sex with a girl who had a Karl Marx poster on her bedroom wall once, but I think this current situation is much worse..."

"I'd change places with you without thinking twice, dude, trust me," Okubo affirms, moaning softly before plopping down on the sofa. "Few things are more of a turn down than that, honestly. Which sucks, because everything was perfect. We cuddled up together on her couch while we watched a movie... but by then I wasn't in the mood anymore."

"Man, that sucks…," Rihito laments, and Okubo was pleased to see that he now seemed more supportive of his struggle. "I thought girls got over that phase of turning their rooms into shrines dedicated to their idols when they got out of their teens. How did she think you'd go along with doing anything there, huh?"

"I don't know," Okubo shrugs. "I wasn't going to ask, I sneaked into her room and if I said anything about it, she'd find out that I snooped aroung and might get mad at me. It was on me, curiosity got the better of me and I paid the price."

"I tried to warn," Kaneda sighs, while Himuro shudders.

"Yeah, but maybe it was better that way. What if you only saw her room when the two of you got in there with the intention of fucking? She'd see you going limp firsthand."

"Don't remind me of that! But yeah, it could've been a lot worse," Okubo concedes, his expression softening a little. "The night wasn't wasted, anyway."

"How so? Is this what? The fifth or sixth time in a row that you miss a chance to get laid for a completely random reason?," Rihito scratches his hair, messing it up even more. "It seems like the universe is conspiring against you or something."

"Come on, if he’s saying that the night wasn’t wasted, it’s because he took advantage of it in other ways," Kaneda comments. "At least there didn’t seem to be another room available…"

“Of course there is! What about her crafts room?," Rihito asks, and Okubo shakes his head.

"There was no bed or divan there, it'd not be comfortable. And it was full of photos not only of her friends, but also of her parents and brother."

"…Oh," Rihito doesn't even try to reason with that one. Himuro leans a little towards Okubo.

"Alright, but what about the living room? Couldn't you try to do anything on the couch?"

"No, man, the living room was full of posters too."

"Holy shit...

"What about the kitchen? I've been in her kitchen before and I'm pretty sure there weren't any posters there!"

"No, dude, having sex in the kitchen is not romantic for a first time..."

"Damn it, Okubo, there's no way we can defend you then!," Rihito opens his arms again, frustration making him almost scream again. "How long are you going to keep making excuses? That way it looks like you don't even want to bang her anymore!"

Okubo immediately opens his mouth with the intention of saying he wanted to, because damn, of course he wanted to! He had never stopped wanting to. The problem was, that wasn't the only thing he wanted anymore when it came to Tomori.

He wanted to sleep with her. And he also wanted to go on other dates with her. He wanted to practice more baseball batting, explore other restaurants where they could eat, watch bad movies that the two of them could make fun of together, introduce her to his favorite anime, watch her draw and paint, learn to cook from her, holy shit, he just wanted to stay by her side no matter the situation...!

He wanted to explain all this to his friends, to say that there had been a slight change of plans, that now his goal was no longer about getting casual sex, but getting that woman to accept being his woman. But at that moment he couldn't, as much as he wanted to. The strong embarrassment prevented him, the fear of becoming the target of ridicule, the fear of showing that fragile side of him in front of them...

Was it what they'd call toxic masculinity these days? Yeah, probably. He sighs heavily.

"Just because I encountered some obstacles along the way? No way, Rihito. Of course I still want it, and you can bet I'm not giving up because of it. I just concluded that I simply won't be able to do that on her house.

"Jeez, what a fussy fucker…," Himuro snorts, sarcastic, turning around to get something from the kitchen. "You'd tought that he's the one about to be fucked, with the way he's acting..."

Rihito bursts out laughing, throwing his head back and slapping his own thigh. Even Kaneda makes a farting sound from his mouth, quickly looking away when Okubo glares at them as if he wants to spend the first culprit on them.

"Damn, I'm giving up on you!"

"We're the ones who should say that! But anyway, that's your problem, not ours," Rihito waves a hand. "We're already doing our part, it's not our fault if you're too stupid to take advantage."

"Leave him alone, Rihito," Kaneda coughs to contain his laughter. "At this point rushing things isn't going to change the situation."

"And walking at a snail's pace, like Captain Erectile Dysfunction is doing, won't change it either."

"Captain Erectile Dysfunction? That's not what your mom called me yesterday, asshole!"

"Oooh, so we're doing low blows now? You're really bringing moms into this? Then don't complain when your face looks even more fucked up than usual after I'm done with you!"

"Don't start fighting in the middle of my living room, you two," Kaneda grumbles while the two gorillas put themselves in fighting stances, snarling at each other. "Soon the food will arrive, then you'll be able to put those mouths to a good use. Liu sent a message, Himuro," He shows his phone to Himuro. "He'll booze drinks too."

"Excellent. It's what we need the most after all this fuss," He nods with a snort. "Games, booze and not talking about that stuff anymore, for the sake of my sanity."

"Yeah, mine too," Rihito grunts, Okubo and him giving each other the middle finger before relaxing their postures and going back to the couch. He was relieved that the conversation was over. Who knows if his friends couldn't get more embarrassing truths out of him if it went on too long. They called him a loudmouth for a reason, after all...

* * *

When Okubo said that he was willing to do anything to show that he regretted his wrongdoings and that he wanted to prove it to her, Tomori chose to believe him. She saw now that she no longer needed to worry about regretting that decision.

She just didn't expect him to go through with the promise after he had earned her forgiveness. And not to those extremes.

"I'm really sorry!," He exclaims, a little too loudly, while bowing deeply before the astonished manager, the waitresses and even the cleaning staff of the bistro. "My behavior that day was inexcusable!"

"Ooh… we appreciate the attempt, sir," The manager says after exchanging a brief look with one of the waitresses. "But there's no need-"

"Yes, there is! I mean...! Uugh, I'm sorry for yelling...," He scratches the back of his neck quickly when two of the women flinch slightly, a little nervously. "I know it's kinda late for this, but I won't be able to be at peace with myself if I don't do that. I disrespected your work environment, inconvenienced one of your employees, and made a lot of people uncomfortable. Mainly my date here," He raises his eyes a little to Tomori, who was standing by his side with arms crossed. "Apologizing is the bare minimum. And covering the damage of what I broke too..."

"Oh, but that has already been covered. You paid for the broken crockery."

"Uh… I did?"

"Yes, just before you ran off after that lady," One of the waitresses nods, and Tomori recognizes her as the one who had the tray with orders knocked out of her hands by the disaster that was a drunk Okubo. "You paid with your card, and it was more than we needed to replace the broken crockery."

Okubo blinks, a little perplexed, and then turns his eyes to Tomori.

“I…I didn't remember that. I was drunker than I thought, holy cow..."

She lets out an accidental giggle, clapping a hand over her mouth afterward. Now that everything was settled, it was easier to remember that night without feeling resentful or embarrassed. At least not like before.

"Yeo! And I'm glad you transferred money to people who deserved to be reimbursed, and not to someone taking advantage of your drunk generosity. They could have whiped your bank account clean..."

"And would you've let them?"

"At that time I felt very vindictive, so I think you already know my answer."

"Damn, you're mean...," He makes a pout, to which the manager and employees allow themselves a brief laugh.

“Our work ethic wouldn't have allowed it. Anyway, we appreciate your gesture, Mr. Okubo," The man nodded with a kind smile. "And we accept your apology. Fortunately, nothing serious happened that night that would justify your permanent expulsion from the establishment."

"Oh… so my date and I can go back to the bistro?"

"As long as it doesn't happen again, yes. Our zero-tolerance policy for drunk customers is still in place," The manager warns. "But since the damages were paid and the apology was sincere, I don't think we have anything to worry about. Now we just need to return all the extra money you gave us, it wouldn't be right..."

"No need, you can keep the extra as compensation for the trouble!"

"Sir, we cannot accept this, it goes against our policy..."

Okubo and the manager stood there, arguing about pay, work ethics, and other related matters, and the employees took that as their cue to get back to work. They bow briefly to Tomori, then go their separate ways, and she stands there, patiently waiting for the subject to be over so they could sit down to eat. It was so good to be back in this place and not feel sad and out of place because of the memories.

And it was all thanks to him, who had kept one of the last promises she expected him to keep. And without her needing to push him into it, to top it off! It wasn't something that deserved a standing ovation, as apologizing for execrable behavior was the least thing to do, but it was still something she appreciated and that made her want to hug him, kiss him, find a private place so they could get all cozy and confortable...

"Later. Baby steps, you predator, baby steps..."

"… Very well, half of the amount will be refunded then. This is my last offer, it's take it or be thrown out of here for good," She hears the manager suddenly threaten, and that's enough to make Okubo back off.

"Okay, okay, half then! Damn, being classified as persona non grata in two establishments would look really bad on my resume...," He grumbles with a slight shudder. "Can my date and I sit down and place our orders then?"

"Sure, make yourselves comfortable. Your waitress will come to you soon," The man says goodbye to them with a polite bow, moving away towards the kitchens. Okubo sighs heavily before turning to her with an arched eyebrow.

"Come on, are bakery and restaurant owners always this inflexible, to the point of being scary? Or did your boss taught a few tricks around the commercial areas of Tokyo?"

Tomori laughs heartily. "I said it to Rihito, and now I say it to you: cooks in general are pretty tough and adamant about their convictions. It was almost a miracle that Kanny accepted you back into the bakery, considering what I've seen and heard from her."

"Do I have to consider myself lucky then? I don't even want to think about what will become of the poor bastard who pisses her off to the point of being kicked out for good," He touches his own jaw with a grimace, smiling when it makes her laugh again. "But anyway, I did what needed to be done. Now I can show up here with you without feeling like a complete idiot."

"Yeah...," She nods as the two of them walk to the veranda, choosing a vacant table; it was a beautiful, sunny Sunday and it made more sense to enjoy it outdoors. "I'm glad for that, really. But... is it really okay for you? I still haven't forgotten that conversation about how this place brings back bad memories."

"Tomori, if I were to run my whole life away from bad memories, I wouldn't be able to consider myself a fighter," He steps forward, pulling out a chair for her to sit on, making her blush with the chivalrous gesture. "You said yourself that I need to face my problems head on like a man, and that's what I'm doing. And in addition, I can make good memories with you," He smiles as he sits down in front of her. "Let’s exorcise this place together?"

She puts a hand over her mouth quickly, trying to stifle a laugh. "Keep it down, or you'll offend the manager with that out of context comment, and that's when you'll get kicked out."

"Damn… I'm noticing that, since you came into my life, I've been running more risks of being kicked out of places, for good or not," He comments playfully, to which she arches an eyebrow.

"Oh really? So am I to blame for that?"

"No. I'm to blame for being an idiot full of behavioral problems and who now needs to bust a gut to improve them, all for the ankle-biter he likes so much. So, the near expulsions are kind of unavoidable consequences," He reaches across the table to pat her hand. "But I’m not complaining, the pros far outweigh the cons…"

"Uugh, you..." She hides her red face in her free hand, the other still being stroked by his callused fingers. And even though she knew it was inappropriate in a public place, she didn't want to remove her hand from under his. "Apparently the first joint memory I'm going to create here will be of me, holding myself back from getting up and kissing you in front of all these people."

"See? We're already starting to get over the bad memories," He laughs, all happy, scratching his nose. "I knew coming here was a good idea, even though it was kinda uncomfortable for me. You won't want to die of embarrassment every time you come here, will you?"

“I… damn, I did say that, didn't I?," She opens an embarrassed smile, but the joy with his words prevented the feeling from lasting long. "No, I won't. I mean, not until you take that task on yourself. I expect everything from that silver tongue of yours."

He chuckled again, and she noticed that he didn't seem to understand the double meaning her words carried. Funny… she had the impression until then that he was a very physical man, in every sense of the word. He had a past as a womanizer, after all. He should pick up on that kind of insinuation pretty quickly, shouldn't he?

So far, the two of them hadn't done anything physical beyond hugging, kissing and groping here and there, though never in intimate places. She appreciated his clear attempts to be respectful, but by now she was more than ready for them to take things further. It was what she wanted from the beginning, after all.

The difference was that that desire was now tempered with other feelings that she could no longer ignore. She had lived too many special moments with that man and known too many facets of him to just want one night with him and nothing else. It was time to let the wolf that everyone accused her of being show her fangs a little. Just a little, so as not to scare him too much. But enough to make him want more.

“Just wait, big guy. I will make you want nothing else after I'm done with you.”

"Ahaha, you don't need to worry. If I ever embarrass you, it will be in a way that'll make you laugh, instead of getting mad," He promises, oblivious to the direction her thoughts were taking. "But now that you mention a silver tongue..."

"Oh?," She straightens her shoulders at this. "What about it?"

"We've gone out to several places together, but never to a karaoke," He smiles excitedly. "You said it's another one of your family traditions, right? I'd like to hear you sing! And then I'll let myself belt out too, hehe."

... Oh. Damn, if she didn't know him better by now, she'd think he was extremely innocent. Or that she was being too perverted. But she would never complain about having another date with him, or spending any time with him in general. She smiled.

"Haha, yes, it is one of our traditions, especially at family gatherings! I even have a karaoke machine at home and would've turned it on the last time you visited if I'd known you were so into it."

“Nah, it's not even that. I mean, I do like karaoke, but I was thinking more of a place where you'd like to go and where we would feel more comfortable," His smile becomes more ingratiating. "Karaoke bars have private rooms, after all. What do you think? Wanna go to one, one of these days?"

"Oh, I’m in! We can have a competition and then sing as a duo!," She claps excitedly. "​​What do you think? I'll even let you choose Baka Mitai to have an advantage, I've been generous lately."

"Hey, hey, making fun of my musical tastes is a low blow," He snorts. "Baka Mitai is an ode to a lost love whose lyrical self only knew how to appreciate when it was too late. It's sad and beautiful, as all good songs should be."

"I didn't know you liked that kind of music. From your clothes I always thought you liked rap, especially the American style..."

"Rap is cool, but what attracts me the most is the clothing itself. My thing is enka!"

"Seriously? Wow, you'd get along great with my dad then," She laughs. "He's always listening to Sakamoto Kyu, Miyako Harumi, Itsuki Hiroshi..."

"A man of culture, indeed," He crosses his arms and nods, very solemnly, and she laughs more. "Maybe one day he and I will have a friendly competition at karaoke…"

He then shuts up, seeming to realize what he had just insinuated, turning very red and clearing his throat with a fist in front of his mouth.

"I- I mean...! In a completely hypothetical situation, of course, no one can predict the direction that life will take. I mean, if one day he suddenly shows up at your house when I'm there... no, no, that wouldn't be very good either, what would he think...!"

Tomori can't think of anything to reply, her face hot, her mind filling with ridiculously sugary scenarios. Many of them involved Okubo and her father, chanting Enka at the top of their lungs in her parents' living room, while Tatsu complained that the yelling was interfering with one of his work calls and her mother, Saeko and she watched with fond exasperation...

Okay, if writing imaginary fanfiction during conversation, in a public place, wasn't a worrying sign she was losing her mind, she didn't know what else could be. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, laughing a little too loudly.

"Haha, no- no need to worry about that, my parents never show up at my house unannounced. My brother sometimes does, but that's because he's a complete no-brainer. And because he wants to make sure I'm not hiding any men there."

"Jeez, how old does he think you are?," Okubo rolls his eyes, still a little red. And then he seems to think harder, frowning. "Wait… I don't think I know that either. How old...?"

"Twenty-seven," She replies, smiling, relieved that they were changing the subject. "Twenty-eight in February! Yeah, I'm getting old, I know, hehe..."

Okubo blinks, then looks away with a strange expression. It looked almost like…guilt? Tomori frowns.

"What's wrong? Come on, I was kidding! Twenty-seven is not that old..."

"No, that's not it! It's just that...," He scratches the back of his head, pressing his mouth in an uncomfortable line. "I'm thirty-six. That means I'm almost a decade your senior."

"Yeah, so...?"

“It's just…I don't know, isn't that a little weird?," He now whispered as if he was afraid that the people at the tables nearby would hear them. "I get closer to my forties every day, while you're not even in your thirties yet..."

Tomori ends up laughing in disbelief. "Damn, I think you should've thought of that before agreeing to go out with me and make out with me over all these weeks, hahaha!"

"Hey, hey, as far as I know the make-out sessions were completely consensual, and the consent was enthusiastic on both sides!," He points at her with a pout, and she laughs even louder.

"It was! So why bother worrying about it?," She shrugs with a smile. "I always knew about your age and it never bothered me. I mean, if I were a fresh-out-of-school girl, with no steady income and immature, it'd be really wrong. But I have a job, I own a house, I pay bills and taxes and I even have a completely developed frontal lobe," She jokes, raising two fingers of her right hand in a V for Victory. "Rest assured that you're not taking advantage of an impressionable girl."

"Heh… I don't really know about the “impressionable” part," He ends up saying after reassuring himself, smiling again. "You always seemed very impressed with my accomplishments, hehe."

"Of course! It's impressive and admirable how you're still able to keep your belt even though you're close to the age at which most fighters retire."

"Are you seriously calling me old? That's uncalled for!," He complains, but his tone was still playful amidst the indignation. "I'll show you who the old man is, just wait and see."

The laugh dies in her throat, her mouth still open as she processes his words. A funny, familiar tingle creeps up her spine, accompanied by an involuntary shiver in her legs, and she finds herself pulling them together in an attempt to contain it.

Ooh, damn... did that mean he finally wanted to-

"Get ready to bust a gut when we go to practice batting in the park!"

... Aaaand no, he didn't want to. At least not at that specific moment. She calms down, trying to hide the slight disappointment to return his smile.

"You always say that, but I often see you holding back when it's your turn to throw the ball. I know the strength those arms have and I want to see more of it."

"If you know that, you should be asking me to go easy on you," He jokes. "But that's ok, I can step things up if that's what you want. Let's see how far you can take it without asking for a break, hehe."

Tomori shifts in her chair again, biting her bottom lip lightly. Holy shit, was he doing that on purpose or did he really have no idea what his words sounded like? If it was on purpose, he was being a little cruel. You didn't play around like that with a horny woman, dammit!

Good thing she came prepared for the occasion, wearing clothes that showcased her assets well and that he would be unable to ignore as he watched her move. She wasn't stupid or had a low opinion of herself: she knew she was pretty and she knew it affected him, even if just a little. It was time to get something out of it.

"Just you wait, I'll make you swallow these insinuations," She promises, hoping he got her subtle message. "But for now I just want to eat something. What do you say we order that baked camembert I was eating that other time? You didn't get a chance to try it..."

"You're right. Too Drunk and acting too much like an idiot for that," He opens an embarrassed smile. "Let me pay for it this time-"

"No. Stop right there. We'll split the bill," She decrees adamantly, pointing to him in a warning. "If you keep paying for me left and right, then I'm going to start thinking I'm too young for this relationship."

"You should've thought of that before you let me pay for that whole second date, lady! Now I'm too used to it," He doesn't shy away, smiling cheekily. "But I'm willing to negotiate..."

"Oh, are you?," She plays with her fingers on the table, batting her eyelashes slowly at him. "And the terms of the negotiation are…?"

"At least let me pay for the camembert and I promise I won't hold back when we go to batting practice," He offers, his smile widening. "Take it or leave it."

... Oh. Seriously, was she going to spend the entire afternoon interpreting his joking words as sexual innuendos and then be proven wrong? At that rate, the date was going to be torture! The best kind of torture.

She ends up smiling more widely. If he only knew how much she enjoyed that kind of foreplay, the innuendos would be even more blatant. And she couldn't wait for him to realize that.

"Alright. Just the camembert then. And I won't forget your promise."

"Okubo Naoya doesn't go back on his words. You should know that by now," He reaches across the table, and Tomori doesn't resist the invitation, also reaching for him and intertwining her fingers with his.

Yeah, she knew that all too well now. It was one of his traits that she most appreciated. And a part of a whole she had decided she wanted all to herself.

* * *

There were some sights that were pretty common to see in a park over a weekend. One was couples enjoying a sunny, peaceful day together. Another was that of parents playing with their children, sometimes practicing baseball pitches and hits.

What was not common was the vision of a mixture of both situations. Okubo was well aware of how much attention Tomori and him must have been drawing to themselves, playing hit and catch with a professional baseball apparatus; a relic of his days as a player. Not to mention the fact that he was too big, and she, too beautiful, and that was a rather unusual combination.

But dammit, he couldn't care less! What son of a bitch wouldn't lend an arm to be in his place? Especially with her dressed like that...

"Alright, I'm ready! Give it all you got!," She exclaims as she positions herself, holding the bat as he had suggested and spreading her legs, which were partially exposed by that pleated skirt that didn't even reach her knees. If she lifted her leg just a little, he could probably see the tattoo...

"Naoya? I said you can throw the ball now!"

"Uh- Oh, okay, sorry!," He lifts his head with a start, being awakened from his rather inappropriate thoughts for the occasion. "I got a little distracted here..."

"Too busy coming up with a last-minute strategy?," She asks with a provocative smile, swinging the bat a little. "Do you realize that my hits are a little too much for your tired legs?"

"Is that any way to talk to your coach? I'll make you some push-ups if you don't quit it!," He warns, half joking, half serious. Man, her doing push-ups in clothes like that would give him a blessed view...

"I can handle it! Just throw the ball to see for yourself," She raises her arms in the air, still holding the bat, and stretches with a small groan. "Just let me stretch a little..."

She had closed her eyes, and Okubo took the chance to enjoy the scene, swallowing a little. She was wearing a comfortable, short-sleeved shirt, the hem tied just above the waistband of her skirt, and as she stretched, it rose a little and partially exposed the skin on her abdomen. Her skin looked so smooth and soft... she even had an adorable little mole near her navel, damn. what he wouldn't give to smack some kisses around there...

"… Naoya? Getting distracted again?"

"Wha- aah, yeah!," He jerks his head up, face burning, praying he wasn't blushing too much. "I- I was assessing your posturing! Wanting to make sure it was right so you don't risk straining a muscle while swinging the bat."

“Ooh, got it,” She nods, resting the tip of the bat on the ground, looking a little thoughtful. And then she smiles, offering, "Want to help me with that?

“Uh…what?”

"Help me with my posturing! I've been doing this for a good few years, but who would deny receiving guidance from a professional?," She shrugs a little, her smile becoming sweet. "Can you give me a hand? C'mon, I want to hit better so I can make you proud..."

Holy shit... He sure could give her a hand, as many hands as she wanted. To be able to hold those hips, that little waist, feel her so close to his body, her back pressed against his chest, the movements under his hands every time she swung the bat...

“Okay, you're sounding like a thirteen year old now. Get a fucking grip, this isn't porn!”

He inhales and exhales discreetly to calm himself. If he wanted to prove to Tomori that what he felt for her went beyond mere sexual attraction, he had to start by not acting like an idiotic teenager. He nods, smiling as he approaches her.

"Damn, what a diligent student, haha! Alright, I'll help you with your posture. I particularly thought it was good so far, but if you're feeling like there's something that needs to be improved..."

"It's more to relieve conscience. Again, I trust your judgment," She explains it simply. And then she lets out a little gasp as he places his hands on either side of her hips. "Ooh…"

"What? Was it too sudden?," He asks worried. "Sorry, I should have told you I was going to-"

"No, that's not it," She says quickly, straightening her shoulders and returning to position the bat high. "It's just that… wow, your hands are really huge, haha…," And she rotates her hips a little, as if testing the firmness of her grip, his hands accompanying the movement while the hem of her skirts went up and revealed a little bit more of that skin...

“Holy fuuuuuck...!”

Okubo experienced a few seconds of self-indulgent pride as he managed not to have any stupid reactions. On the outside, he maintained an expression of neutral calmness, but on the inside, he felt an almost primal urge to take her in his arms and go find the nearest love hotel. Or the most secluded area of ​​the park, in case they couldn't countain themselves long enough.

Hell, as much as he was still ashamed of his behavior that Saturday when he and his friends found her at the market, there was no denying that Rihito and he were right in their analysis. A nice, soft body with curves and extra fat in all the right places. The wonderful personality that accompanied it only made him feel even more like he'd won the lottery. So he had to pull himself together and wait, hold back until he was sure she knew he wanted her in every way, not just the physical one. Until then, he had to be respectful. So hold your fucking horses, dammit!

"Ahaha... yeah, I've been- I've been told. Gorilla hands," He laughs, managing to blush just a little. "Okay, back to your posture! You know that the rotation force when turning the bat is all in the hips, right?"

"Yes, I know! It's all about steadying your legs and turning at just the right angle, isn't it?," She nods, not looking at him, still testing the bat's mobility. "I try to do like the professional hitters, but I always end up with sore hips after a while, haha."

"It's the lack of habit. Muscles retain memory, you know? That's why I encourage you to practice even when I'm not here," He explains, placing his hands on her hips to help her straighten up. "Your body will gradually get used to the movements and withstand the bumps more. But until then, let's stop trying to bat like me and try to bat more like yourself. You're doing great anyway."

"Does that mean you don't have to help me after all?," She asks, again moving her hips under his hands, and Okubo holds his breath for a moment when the tied hem of her blouse rises and he feels the softness and warmth of her skin in contact with his fingers. Holy crap...!

“Take a deep breath and keep it inside your fucking pants!”

"Yes, I do, like any attentive coach!," He declares, because even if he was going to keep his perverted toughts to himself, any excuse to touch her was very welcome. "Now try to follow my hands, as if this were a dance. But without wiggling, otherwise the hit comes out more like a weathervane, haha!"

She stops moving, allowing him to guide her. She looks to the side, and for a second Okubo thought he saw her frown and pout. Did he sound too harsh in that last recommendation? He was going to comment on it until she straightened her back and locked her hips in place.

"Like this?," she asks, bracing her legs and back…which almost presses against his chest, the curves molding so well to his muscles and filling his head with fantasies that involve a lot of that friction, a lot of sweat and none of those clothes...

“Bloody hell, this woman is going to kill me at this rate!”

"Yeah, like that," He tries to pull away discreetly, putting a safe distance between his hips and hers, still holding her by the waist. How he was managing to keep his voice from denoting his arousal was a mystery. "Remember the feet too. They need to be steady, but can follow the movement of the hips to keep their balance, like this," He rotates his hips to the side, feet firmly on the ground, but moving accordingly and leaving small furrows in the grass. "How about we try it now?"

“Yeah, just throw the ball,” She nods, smiling, but again she looks a little uneasy about something, her brows still furrowed. Okubo was afraid he was sounding cold, maybe even robotic, but dammit, if he didn't countain himself, she would notice his excited frenzy and be embarrassed, maybe even offended! He would make up for it by showering her with praise after the hit. He puts on the baseball glove.

"Alright! Get ready... yeah, just like that!," He nods approvingly. And then he smiles cheekily. "Just don't complain after experiencing all my potency, huh! ... Tomori, you've moved out of position," He notes confused, when she flinches a bit and brings her legs together in the process. She shakes her head.

"Sorry, it was just an annoying itch here on my leg… ok, you can throw now," She straightens the bat, a little red, and Okubo, although confused, doesn't inquire further. He nods, lifts one leg to propel himself, and throws the ball, putting more power into the motion to make the projectile whizz as it slices through the air.

She swings the bat with clenched teeth, and he cheers, throwing his arms up as the ball hits hard, flying over his head.

"Attagirl! Now c'mon, run, put those legs to work!"

She drops the bat, laughing and panting a little as she dashes to run around him, as if reaching for the bases of a real diamond. He was going to run to catch the ball... but he finds himself frozen in place as he follows her with his eyes, a little transfixed.

Her skirt fluttered with the constant movement of her legs, her belly more evident when the hem of her blouse rose with the running, her hair rippling making him imagine a creature that only existed in dreams running through a forest. What was the name of those deities in Greek mythology who were more beautiful than humans...? Nymphs! Yes, the sight made him think of a giggling, playful nymph becoming one with the elements as she ran barefoot on the grass...

Except she wasn't barefoot. And not naked, as nymphs usually were. But he could still fantasize, dammit, fantasies were free and private...

“Watch out before your hard-on becomes too obvious, you idiot!”

He shakes his head to dispel the inappropriate thoughts as she pretends to throw herself onto her side, sliding a little on the grass, laughing out loud. He immediately crouches down to her level, laughing too.

"Nice job! Hell, I should've used the stopwatch on my phone to count your time, but I forgot."

"And apparently you forgot the ball too, haha! You've been a little distracted today...," She comments, panting a little, lying on her side on the grass and resting an elbow on the ground and her chin on her hand, blinking slowly at him. Holy shit, that position only accentuated her figure even more and made her legs look shiny with sweat. He could almost see the tip of the tattoo under the hem of her skirt...!

"Sorry about that, it's just that I'm really thinking about the best way to help you improve your skills. Analyzing, planning and such…," He rubs the back of his head, smiling and hoping she doesn't take his embarrassment the other way. She blinks, surprised.

"Wait, really? I thought we were just playing..."

"And we are! But we can still learn while we play, can't we? This will be good for your physical conditioning, for your health... I don't know, I just want to help you in some way, even if a little...," He scratches the back of his head.

Tomori blinks again, and then she blushes. She looks away, biting her bottom lip, reaching out to grab some grass as she clenches her fists.

"That- That's very nice of you, but... why?"

Okubo swallows hard. If there was a chance to subtly demonstrate how he really felt, it was now.

"Come on, do we need a reason to want to see someone we like improve and be well?"

She stares at him as if she can't believe her eyes, which were huge and shining. Ff she realized now, if she said something about it, if he'd gone a little too far..."

"You...! Help me stretch!"

"... What?"

"You heard me!," She whines a little, still furiously red, sitting down on the grass and stretching her legs out in front of her. "Acting all smooth, making me all red and flustered like that… how am I supposed to concentrate on batting practice like that, huh? Be a good coach and help me not get cramps at the end of the day instead of making me want to kiss you and getting us kicked out of the park for misconduct, okay?"

“Uh… yeah, sure,” He nods, perplexed, sitting down across from her while holding her foot.

Was she mad at him? Why? Damn, had he gone overboard in his attempt to be romantic and she'd taken offense? But she said she felt like kissing him, so that couldn't be it, could it?

Fuck, he was lost as a fucking goose! He sometimes agreed with Rihito's assertions that women could be incomprehensible creatures.

He looked up at her, watching her reach out to touch her feet, wanting to ask, wanting to understand what had made her so mad… and being summarily distracted by the sight of her blouse's neckline, deepening as she moved her torso, the breasts that seemed just the right size to fit in his hands tempting him. Was that a little mole just above the right one? Fuck, she was so beautiful, so hot, so...!

“Enoooough! You're supposed to be a gentleman, not a pervert who can't hold his pants in place, damn it!"

He clears his throat harder than necessary, making her look up. "I… I didn't bother you with what I said, did I? I really need to learn when to shut up..."

She stares at him as if assessing him. And then he sighs, closing his eyes a little.

"No, it didn't bother me. On the contrary. It's just that sometimes I can't stand how cute you can be without making the slightest effort. I almost feel jealous..."

"Why? You're adorable!," He says, astonished that she thought so. "The cutest girl I've ever met, and I'm not just saying this to get on your good side. We're kinda past that phase, haha..."

She bites her bottom lip, blushing, and Okubo had know her long enough to learn to recognize the mixture of happiness and irritation in her expression. Shit, had he said something he shouldn't have said again? He just couldn't stop making an ass out of himself that day!

"Eer... Tomori, I-"

"Let's keep playing!," She interrupts him unceremoniously, raising her voice to the point of squeaking a little and raising her hand in the air. "Help me to get up, please."

He does so, confused and worried, lifting her without trouble. He even puts his hands on her back to help her steady herself, her breasts pressing momentarily against his chest and holy fuck, control yourself, control yourself, control your fucking self...!

"Let's go batting again, and this time, I want to see if I can make you sweat," She says in a determined tone "And don't forget to run after the ball this time, huh! I'm going to hit it as far as I can."

"Haha, o-okay! I know you can, just apply everything I've taught you so far," He nods, trying to smile. And then he blinks. "Uh… are you wanting a tighter hug to feel more confident or…?"

"Huh?... Oh! I'm sorry…," She pulls away from him as she takes two steps back, embarrassed and also looking…frustrated? Damn, he couldn't tell! Maybe he should spend a few hours watching those body language videos or something...

She picks up the bat she'd dropped on the floor minutes before, swinging it around in the air as if testing its weight, but doing so with an abruptness that, honestly, scared him a little. He just hoped he hadn't pissed her off enough for her to want to hit balls other than the baseball one. He puts on the glove.

"Are you ready?," He asks, and positions himself when she nods.

"Yes. And throw it hard! No taking it easy on me!"

“Okay, you asked for it…,” He nods seriously. He didn't want to overdo it, but if he held back, she might get even angrier at him. Better not risk it. He lifts one leg to gain momentum and throws the ball with a vengeance, grinding his teeth.

Tomori does the same by swinging the bat... and hitting the ball with her face instead of the bat when Okubo's throw pierces her block easily. Her head snaps back with the impact, and he widens his eyes in horror as she screams sharply in pain, landing on her back. Fuck!

"Tomori! Shit, shit, shit...!," He runs towards her, seeing her grab her own nose, her eyes closed tightly and watering with pain.

"Ooouch! Ow, ow, ow, fuck, shit, goddammit...!"

"Sorry! Holy shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I thought you could handle it!," He screeches, a little terrified, while helping her to sit, ignoring the people who passed further ahead and stared at them with reproach, because of their dirty mouths. "Are you hurt? Is it bleeding? Let me take a look..."

"Uugh, the... the ball!"

"Huh?"

"The ball is rolling down the slope!," she exclaims, pointing with one hand while pinching her nose with the other. And sure enough, there went his prized ball, hurtling down the small hill. "Go get it before someone else does!"

"But- But your nose..."

"My nose is fixable, but a stolen ball is not! Hurry up, Naoya!"

"O-Okay!," He exclaims, jumping up and giving her one last worried look over his shoulder before running down the slope, looking for his ball, but with his wild thoughts still on Tomori.

Hell, few things were more disastrous than making a girl bleed in the middle of a date! If she was mad at him before, now she must be wanting to kill him! Or telling her boss about what he'd done, which would be the same thing.

Would she forgive him if he let her hit him too? If she threw the ball in his face too, or if she hit him with the bat... would it hurt less in his face or balls? Definitely in the face! He just wanted her to stop being so angry with him, or at least explain what was wrong...

He finally descends the small hill, ending in a paved section of the park that people used to jog. The ball had come to rest a few yards away from the walkway, still on the grass, and luckily there weren't any overly curious children around. Just a couple of jogers, an old lady passing by with her dog on a leash, and that was it. Thank god. He bends down to pick up the ball, not paying attention to the jogers, the old lady or her dog that had broken free of the leash and was running towards him...

... Oh, fuck.

"Pochi, no!"

And Pochi, like the little shit he apparently was, didn't listen to his owner, running towards Okubo and his ball with that typical body language of dogs when faced with food or their favorite toy: the skins swaying in his running pace, tongue sticking out, drool flying everywhere, mouth already opening to snatch the ball…

Okubo lets out a half-alarmed exclamation, grabbing the ball and leaping to his feet. He had to run fast up the hill, then there was no way that fat bulldog could catch him! He turns, making a dash for the grass, the dog's rasping breath at his heels...

* * *

"... And there you go, Mr. Okubo! Fortunately, the fabric of your pants prevented the bite from going too deep, so you won't need stitches," The doctor rubs his hands, smiling. "And how's your nose, Miss Uta? Has the bleeding stopped?"

"Yes, it did. Thank you so much for the cotton," Tomori smiles embarrassed, feeling quite stupid with those cotton balls coming out of her nostrils. "And you were right, we really don't need to lean our heads back to stop a nosebleed."

"It is a very common mistake. Now you know how to proceed the next time you go to baseball batting practice," He laughs, and they both groan softly in embarrassment.

They were at that moment inside one of the wards of an emergency room; the last place either of them had expected to stop when that date began. Especially Tomori, who now didn't know how she would even look at Okubo, who was glumly staring at the bandage on his bitten ankle, in the face.

The meteoric throw and the canine attack that he suffered seemed to have clarified her thoughts, previously taken by a mixture of lust and desperate frustration. All she could think about now was how her ridiculous, pathetic behavior had indirectly resulted in him getting hurt and having his pants ripped. Just because she was mad about the ball she took on her face and didn't want him near her until she was sure she wasn't going to explode and curse him...

“Who told him to throw it with all his might, you idiot? It's your fault!"

Yeah, she knew that, and it didn't make her feel any better. Just very guilty. But there was still that damn frustration to temper...

“Yeah, we'll keep that in mind, Doc. Thanks," Okubo nods, making a move to unroll the leg of his pants to cover his ankle, but then apparently remembering that the hem had been ripped and eaten by a dog. He huffs, straightening up again in his chair. "Can we go now? Or we have to sign some form or something..."

"Oh, not yet," The doctor shakes his head. "You were bitten by an animal, and even if the wound has been treated and disinfected, we still cannot rule out the most unpleasant possibilities. I already contacted the nurse and she will bring the rabies vaccine-

"Vaccine?!," Okubo jumps up half a foot from his chair, turning pale, his eyes bulging. "What vaccine? Nobody told me anything about any vaccine!"

Tomori glares at him, astonishment at his reaction sweeping her guilty thoughts into her subconscious for the moment. The doctor, on the other hand, didn't seem surprised.

"Yes, a vaccine. It's standard procedure for any animal attack, Mr. Okubo."

"But- But the dog had an owner! It wasn't a stray," He tries to argue nervously, gesticulating agitatedly. "I- I doubt he had anything, doc, I don't need any vaccines-"

"I told you, sir, it's standard procedure," The doctor interrupts him, albeit politely. "Rabies becomes intractable once the symptoms appear, you know? It's better not to risk it," He then smiles. "Don't worry, the application is very quick. It won't hurt. You don't have to be afraid."

"Afraid? Who's afraid?! I'm not afraid of vaccines, are you crazy?!," He screeches, furious and embarrassed, his face very red. "I'm a man, okay? Men aren't scared of those things!"

"Of course," The doctor nods, unshakable. "If you don’t want the vaccine, you will need to sign a term stating that you've been warned of the consequences of refusing treatment..."

“He'll take the vaccine,” Tomori finally finds her voice, stepping between Okubo and the doctor. Okubo's eyes widened in astonishment.

"T-Tomori?! I'm not-"

"Don't 'Tomori' me, sir," She points to him, seriously. "Would you rather risk getting a serious infection than take a three-second shot? I won't let you be so remiss about your health, Naoya! Come on, I'll stay here by your side if it makes you feel better."

"No- no need...!," he splutters, so red he looks like he's about to hyperventilate. But in the face of her unresolved gaze, he had no choice but to lower his head and stammer, “O-Okay then. I'm gonna take the vaccine... but I'm not scared! I'm not! I just think it's unnecessary, that's all!"

"Of course," The doctor nodded. "I'll talk to the nurse. I'll be back in a few minutes. Excuse me...," He bows briefly and leaves them both alone in the infirmary.

The awkward silence lingered longer than she would've liked. They hadn't had moments like this since they'd made up, and Tomori didn't know how to act with all that guilt. Was he offended that she was being bossy? She had no right to tell him what to do, she wasn't his mother (and thank god she wasn't!). But she still couldn't let him take unnecessary risks because of a silly fear, she cared about him too much for that.

Who knew Okubo Naoya, Ultimate Fight's heavyweight champion, was afraid of needles? There's so much about him she didn't know, the kinds of things you didn't see in interviews or press conferences or sports magazine articles... and she was wasting the opportunity to know so much more by behaving like a hormonal teenager, throwing herself at him without thinking about whether he would feel comfortable or not...

"Tomori... I'm sorry."

His murmur silences her tormenting thoughts. Tomori turns to him, surprising him with his head down, looking nervous.

"You're sorry? For what?"

"I… I don't really know, to be honest," He makes a face. "I just know that you seemed upset about something today, back in the park, and all I could think of was that somehow I'd screwed up. Again," He sighs. "If you tell me what I did wrong, I promise I'll try to fix it. I just don't want you mad at me again..."

Tomori felt like the most heartless person in the world at that moment.

She really traumatized him, didn't she? It had been deserved the first time, but now that they'd patched things up, he didn't deserve to feel that way anymore, constantly walking on eggshells in an attempt not to piss her off again. She didn't wanted him to be constantly fearing he'd lose her for any slip he made.

Specially because the slip of the time was on her account, not his. She was so determined to seduce him that she forgot the most important thing about that date: enjoying the day and having fun with him. Damn, sex could wait, the priority there was the relationship that they both were cultivating!

But she sure as hell felt frustrated. She was confident that she could get him wrapped around her little finger, but he hadn't even noticed her attempts. He even turned the tables and left her falling head over hells for that 'adorable idiot' act, which she had no idea she liked until she met him. It was so unfair!

And yet, none of this was his fault. She shakes her head.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Naoya. I wasn't mad at you," She guarantees, approaching and touching his shoulders with her hands. "I was just a little frustrated with some things."

"What things? Is it something I can help you with?"

“It could be, if you just stopped being such a gentleman and fucked me already!”

“Nah, it's nothing for you to worry about. It's just that…,” She sighs, and he blinks in surprise as she leans over and rests the side of her head against his, eyes closed, “I still have a hard time dealing with your cuteness and how it makes me act like a fool, especially in public places. Every time I go out with you I discover a new side of you that catches me off guard. Quite different than what I used to imagine."

"… Different good or different bad?," He asks, uncertain, squeezing the fabric of his pants between his fingers. She smiles tenderly, placing a kiss on his temple.

"Different very, very good."

His face lights up with the cutest idiotic smile in the world, and she would have kissed him again, this time on the mouth, if the doctor hadn't chosen that moment to return, bringing the apparatus he was going to use in a sterilized tray.

"I'm back! The vaccine is ready. Let's get this over with, shall we, Mr. Okubo?," He smiles playfully, and Tomori feels Okubo shrink completely under her arms when the doctor picks up the syringe and the needle to fit them.

"L- Look, is this really necessary? I'm pretty sure the dog didn't have rabies..."

“If you don't want to risk developing fatal symptoms, yes. You can hold your date's hand if it makes you feel better."

"I already told you I'm not scared, for fuck's sake!"

"Language, sir."

"Sorry... but I'm not scared! You heard it, right, Tomori?," He turns to her with an intensely clouded expression, sweat dotting his forehead and the bridge of his nose. "I'm not afraid of these things, I've faced much worse in the octagons!"

She holds back the urge to laugh, albeit with difficulty. She extends a hand to him, the other on his shoulder. "Of course, Naoya. Here, you can hold my hand. Protect me from the sight of that horrible needle piercing your arm..."

"Don't put those mental images in my head, woman, for crying out loud!," He practically squeaks. And then he clears his throat, intertwining his fingers with hers. "But- But of course, I'll hold your hand to comfort you. No need to worry, okay? It's- It's just a little shot, I'll barely feel it, really, hahaha...!"

She didn't know whether to feel sorry for him or burst out laughing. The doctor, apparently used to those demonstrations of feigned bravery, showed no reaction as he prepared the syringe, moving his shirt sleeve away and cleaning the area where the injection would be applied with cotton. Okubo holds his breath, tensing in his chair and squeezing his eyes shut as he squeezes Tomori's hand. She comforts him by patting his shoulder, smiling from ear to ear.

It was hilarious. And adorable. How a man that size managed to be so cute, she had no idea, but she wouldn't question it. He would only appreciate how tremendously lucky she was to have the privilege of his trust.

"O-Okay, doc, I'm ready! Just- Just do it quickly, I don't want my date to be nervous...," He mumbled, still with his eyes closed. "And go easy too... come on, why is it taking so long? Just get it over with! It isn't nice to make me wait when I don't even know if-"

"I'm done, Mr. Okubo."

"... Oh. Okay."

Tomori puts her hand over her mouth as she makes an involuntary farting sound, her shoulders shaking, managing to feel a little guilty when he glares at her with a pout.

"C'mon, It's not funny! I was worried that a sight like that would make you nervous, okay?"

"S-Sorry! Thanks for worrying,” She strokes his face, which seems to quell his irritation right away. He closes his eyes again, smiling.

"You're welcome. Anyway, glad it's over..."

"Yes, the first dose has already been applied," The doctor nods. "Let’s schedule the second one for next Sunday, and the third one will be twenty-eight days after the second application-"

"I'll have to take two more shots?!," He screams, horrified, as Tomori flinches, the strident noise making her ears ring. The doctor is unfazed.

"Yes. Immunity is only one hundred percent effective with this procedure."

"I-I think I’ll settle for only seventy, eighty percent effectiveness, honestly-"

“He'll show up for the other two shots. I'll make sure of it," Tomori cuts him off without pretense, ignoring how he stared at her with his mouth hanging open. The doctor nods again.

"Thank you. Now about the care this wound will need..."

He finally dismisses them after making some recommendations and after reminding Okubo about the booster shots, much to his thinly disguised dismay. They leave the office, Okubo limping slightly and Tomori enjoying how he looks at her with hurt eyes.

"What? I'm the one who should be making that face, considering you bloodied my nose."

"It was unintentional, I already apologized! Was that your revenge by any chance?," He asks in an accusatory tone "Getting even for the ball I threw at your face by putting me to be stung again and again?"

"My god, you're so dramatic...," She rolls her eyes. "Vaccines are for your own good. I feel like a mother saying these things, dammit..."

"Ew, no!," He shudders all over with that, his expression disgusted. "I don't want to think of you as my mother while I kiss you!"

"Then don't! Think that what I did was because I cared and wanted to help you. And think that I can accompany you when you take the next doses," She smiles. "Wouldn't you like that? Me, holding your hand and telling you how brave you are..."

His grimace dissolves, his eyebrows rising a notch as he seems to consider her words. And then he smiles, bending down to bring his face close to hers, speaking in a low, husky tone that sends shivers down her spine.

"Oh yes? So I was a brave boy?"

"Heh... the bravest boy," she murmurs, returning his smile, and closes her eyes when he brushes the tip of his nose against hers.

"Good to know… but in that case I think that brave boy deserves an reward."

"Hnnn... and what does the boy want as a reward? A chocolate bar? Another baseball? New pants?," She asks playfully, and he laughs low.

“Nah, that I can arrange myself. What I want, only you can give me..."

"Me! Say I'm the one you want!"

"A kiss from you."

"Damn it!"

"Not here in public...," She looks away, blushing, placing her hands on his chest and giggling when he makes an exaggerated pout, wanting to reach her mouth. "You're nuts… wait until we go back to your car."

"Wow, not even a peck?," He whines, and she ends up not resisting. She holds his face between her hands and pulls him so that their lips touch, in a peck that takes longer than she intended to give, because he rests a hand on her back to keep her in place.

Such a sappy man... how could he make her crush on him gets even bigger?

They only stopped because some hospital workers passing by looked at them reproachfully. They grinned at each other, holding hands as they left the premises.

"Seriously, thanks for today, Tomori. You don't have to accompany me in these next few sections if you can't…,” He comments, to which she shakes her head.

"If I can, I will for sure. But if something unforeseen happens...," She thinks for a second. "Shall we mark the days of your next appointments on your phone's calendar? Then you get notified and don't forget."

"Alright! Let me just... uugh, I forgot...!," He groans as he takes the phone out of his pocket. And Tomori makes a pained face when she sees the phone's screen. If it was already ugly to look at before, now it seemed absolutely irreparable, completely cracked and even with spots of liquid crystal leakage.

"Oh, damn... was that when Pochi attacked you?"

"And I fell on my ass in the middle of the pavement, yeah. And dammit, you remembered the dog's name..."

"Kinda hard to forget when both the owner and you were yelling 'No, no, bad Pochi!' at the top of your lungs."

"Don't remind me of that! I won't forget the name of that fleabag any time soon, either," He snorts, looking at his phone with disgust. "It's not worth keeping this thing anymore, honestly. I think it's time to buy a new one..."

"I'll help you choose a very exclusive model, so you don't end up as another victim of some mediocre fad," She grabs his arm, bouncing happily, and he ends up laughing in spite of himself.

"Looks like I'll always be able to count on your presence in my random endeavors from now on, doesn't it? My faithful squire..."

She laughs too, thinking that she would like to be more, much more than that. But for the moment, being like that with him was enough.

NEXT CHAPTER

[oncetherenowhere]

I don't know what to do about my job. There's so much about it that should be GOOD for me- it's very flexible, and I have a four day work week. It's predictable, generally. The rhythms are the same. It's really close to where I live, so it's really accessible for me.

Work vent under the cut.

But I'm so overworked. Worse than that, it seems like everyone who isn't in my department thinks that my job is "easy." The coworker I've been having problems with kept saying that, on top of micro-managing me (he corrects me about mistakes that HE makes but forgets about making...and doesn't believe me when I try to explain the truth of the situation. Or maybe he's being obtuse on purpose? I can't tell). My boss doesn't believe that this coworker is actually giving me issues, because, to him, this coworker is "one of the nicest people he's ever met!"

My coworker M, who is in charge of our tiny department, believes me, and is pissed. She said that someone once quit because this micro-managing guy behaved the same way towards them.

It's gotten to the point where I don't want to work here either. At first, it was annoying. After months of this getting worse and not better, it makes me dread going into work.

I keep looking for other jobs, but options right now are bleak.

It's getting to the point where, the day before I have to go back to work, I spend it completely stressed out and scared for the upcoming week. I work so hard that I spent my weekends recovering. I can't slow down because we're in busy season.

I just don't want to do it. I don't know what else I can do. The problems would be manageable if I didn't have someone constantly sneering at me.

The horrible thing is, the coworker I'm having problems with is VERY outspoken about his politics- he brags about punching sexists and homophobes (though I think this is rhetorical on his part), and how much he cares about different things. It almost feels like he's using it as a shield for criticism- like he feels as though he can't be bad or mean, because he believes in good things.

I just don't want to work here. I feel like such a baby. At every job I've worked, there's always been someone who has singled me out like this. I've always taken the proper steps- talking to them, then talking to management, documenting their behavior- but it always gets worse and not better. People generally don't believe me when I speak up, then the person being mean to me gets worse since I snitched. At my very first job, it went into genuine harassment and sabotage. I'm not open about my autism diagnosis, but it's like someone can always tell and pick on me for it anyways.

I'm scared that if I tried to get a new job, it would happen again, and even be worse. Maybe this is the best it can get for me. I should take the good things about this job, and get a thick skin about the rest.

Thick skin...I've been told to get one my entire life. I've genuinely tried. I don't think I have it in me. I want it, believe me, I don't want to feel this hurt and sensitive, but it's never worked for me. I know the only behavior I can control is my own, but it's so frustrating to be a sensitive person, and constantly told to deal with everyone around you, to accommodate them because you can't change them- but at the same time, you yourself are expected to change. Why do I always have to "deal with it?" Why can't someone else change their own crappy behavior for once, take a look at their own personality?

I know that isn't fair. I'm just complaining.

I just don't want to go to work. I wish I had enough money to focus on a hobby for once. My life feels like work, home, self care/chores, sleep, constantly, with very little in between. The monotony is making me incredibly depressed.

I just don't want to do it. I don't want to go. I want to cry.

[gregorygerwitz]

I just cheered at your response to your latest ask. I've only been in the 911 fandom since start of S7 but I am really struggling with so many people making Buck's Bi storyline about Eddie. People watch an entire episode through their shipping lenses and it's become so frustrating because this is about BUCK being queer and having positive experiences with men/Tommy. I simply don't read into every buck/eddie interaction the way everyone else seems to because if you step away - it's often not that deep. I think the shippers need to realise that a general viewer of the show and the way the script is at the moment - buddie romantically is not there. Maybe it will be at some point which would be great but my god - let Buck experience this without people constantly making it all about Eddie.

I've written so many posts about it at this point that I've lost count but yes. Exactly.

This is a storyline about Buck realizing his sexuality. Realistically, BuckTommy isn't going to be endgame. Statistically, that's just not going to happen - but they're really cute and I want them to be together for a little while. I love their relationship and how healthy it is. There's communication, and growth, and a sexuality realization arc, and that's so rare to see on TV anymore. I'm so used to my favorite (queer) ships either not being canon or being put through so much drama for the sake of drama that I wish they weren't canon (I think the only exception I can think of here is HenRen), and it's especially rare to see a bisexuality arc treated with so much care and love without it being a stepping-stone to being gay (Netflix you know what you did).

I wish the storyline was treated as well by the fandom as it is by the cast and the writers. Lou and Oliver are doing a fantastic job, and I hope they get to keep doing this job, because I love seeing BuckTommy on my screen. I think they have really good chemistry!

But I know that, realistically, the fandom is just going to keep being Like This. I've been in big fandoms before, and the most popular ships do have a lot of chill fans (I like to think I'm part of that group, but I haven't seen me from the outside, so I'm not a reliable source there), but the ones that are like this - making everything about their ship even when a scene has nothing to do with it, and sometimes nothing to do with either character - are just so loud that they drown everyone else out.

And it sucks, but that's why we curate our own experiences online to the best of our ability. I'm going to try to keep having fun (and write more Kinkley fic when I have time this weekend) and do my best to ignore the loud fans during the hiatus. Hopefully things will quiet down while we're between episodes, or at least the block button will be easier to use (thank goodness for KXit so I can block specific posts, or else I would lose my mind)

And, if you ever need to vent about something, believe me, I will understand. Feel free to message me - either through anon again here in my ask box, or if you want to privately communicate - and I'll commiserate with you happily. 💜

[hocusbogus]

Corporate Life Reflection

I’ve been having such an amazing Dec 2022 because I was quite free to do what my soul was called to do which was writing, vlogging, sharing thoughts and ideas, working out, cooking, and visiting exhibitions. When January rolled in, and everyone is back to work, the hectic lifestyle of corporate life came creeping back in. December felt like a “break” and I was being pulled away from the reality that I created for myself during those times. Now everyone is chasing timelines, pushing boundaries, and it is simply just chaos.

The thing about me is, nothing is that urgent. I’ve settled down, and I’ve made peace with a lot of things in life especially when it comes to working, and especially corporate work. I genuinely do not hold it to a higher value than other life-saving ones.

Corporate is the epitome of capitalism, it’s the biggest driver, hence I just don’t see the urgency in any of it. So when others try to create urgency out of things that I do not see an urgency in, it will be triggering and frustrating for me. I realized that yesterday after I lash out at an innocent person just because I was annoyed and triggered.

I was able to digest and admit that I was triggered by a certain situation and it has led me to vent it out on someone that has nothing to do with it mainly because I let it affect me. But it did affect me so I have to admit that I cannot pretend like it did not.

For me, a lot of things can be managed and it is actually not as urgent as you think it is but then not everyone thinks as I do and people do put a lot of value in their ‘work’, and a lot of attachment to it. I understand them because I was once them, but I strongly believe that the upcoming generation will slowly change this habit and mindset.

How did I manage it? I just slept on it. I watched BTS, things that make me happy, scrolled TikTok for some wisdom (haha), and I love relatable corporate memes. Then I just went to sleep because I was exhausted, mentally.

This morning I woke up feeling slightly triggered still as all of it came flooding back into my mind. But since I’ll be working from home for the next two days till the weekend, it gave me peace of mind. Out of sight out of mind. No wonder I was so high-strung working in my previous two jobs because I had to be in the office a lot of the time and all that other human energy was just overwhelming.

This is temporary, everything is temporary. This is just a stepping stone for me. This is not what I will do for the rest of my life, I am sure of it, it’s a journey.

I just wanted to document how I feel right now because I’ve been complaining about not writing since I started the new year. I will find time to write, I will find time to reflect and pen my thoughts.

Life is so much more than my 9-5, always.

I’ll write another post on all the amazing things that happened since the new year.

[fizzingwizard]

personal life stuff venting etc (also tmi menstruation warning)

I'm feeling ok now, but the weekend was weird.

It's been very busy at work. Like, nonstop busy, no time to sit down, no time for a break. Mostly due to people being out sick and no subs. The rest of us have to pick up the slack, etc. It's gotten worse, though, because we have had days that we literally couldn't make ratio. We are just sending teachers to different rooms during the most difficult times and dealing with the ratio being off at quieter periods... It's so difficult to get crafts and stuff done this way. Usually this is my favorite time of the school year, my kids are as grown up as they'll get, and we can have so much fun. It's still fun, but mostly it's me and my co-teachers moving frantically from one thing to another. A lot of it is due to covid, of course. Just gotta hustle.

anyway. I really wanted to be on time updating Fox this weekend, and I wanted to finish my Valentines fic too. But Idk, I was in such a weird headspace. I just hate everything I make sometimes. But when I get that way and I don't write, I tend to lose momentum. It's happened a ton in the past. So this year I made a resolution to push through with writing projects even if they suck. So that's what I did, and I finished the chapter of Fox and I finished the Valentine's fic, and I wrote the majority of both of them over the space of two days. (Which I'm sure the amount of typos can attest to :P)

But I am not in love with the new chapter, even though it's one I was really looking forward to. It just feels off. And then the Valentine's day fic. I almost deleted it four or five times. Like, "closed the document and started to drag it to the trash bin" deleted it. The whole time I was writing it I was like really?? why is this what I'm writing?? it's not that I think it's so terribly awful, but kind of uninspired.

And then I wondered... could I be about to have my period? Bc I had expected it a whole week ago and it didn't come, but I'm often a little irregular so. Idk if I can blame my weird feelings while writing on hormones, but I just felt extra irritable, extra impatient the whole time, it was really frustrating. And then this morning I was indeed sucker-punched by my period. Which doubly sucked because today was HORRIBLE in terms of getting any down time at work xP I was in so much pain. In activity time I just said to my coworker "Let's have all sixteen of them sit down at the table and do coloring pages" (which works now that they have the attention span to sit there for a while lol). We were supposed to paint our solar systems but TOO BAD, Fizz's uterus has mutinied, she needs to freaking sit down for five min without getting up because someone dropped a spoon or bumped their head or needs to go to the toilet right this very second yadda yadda

also this weekend i got to video chat with both my parents at the same time. and boy that was weird. not gonna go into it right. but since the divorce any time we talk separately it feels bad. but they were hanging out together for the superbowl and it felt the same as when i was a kid. actually im tearing up now typing this. during the call i kept thinking how their divorce completely upended how i felt about marriage and relationships, and now seeing them together with things seeming so much the same even though they're so different is freaking me out all over again in a different way. thats neither here nor there but may also have been a factor in why my weekend was weird. by the way yeah im an adult and im behaving like a petulant kids re: my parents' divorce. i know i know.

anyway so I do think maybe hormones were part of it. but im also just generally feeling bad about writing lately. maybe its just that i hadnt done it for a good while, and when i finally got back into it was like a honeymoon period, and now im like wait this is supposed to be fun little escapism. i literally had to bargain with myself back in june when i posted my first fic in ages that i was going to write whatever i wanted, regardless of what other people thought of it, even if it was massively unpopular. i was going to be one hardass mofo who didnt give a shit. welp. unfortunately im still me lol. i know i can just rewrite the bits of those fics i dont like, im just frustrated that right now, i go in to edit and cant think of anything, its like my heads in a fog. words? i know some? haha. gonna keep blaming it on hormones tho.

this is just a vent post so no one take it too seriously. also i know these whiny posts about extremely small problems sound self-centered and are annoying so sorry about that. if i were smart id delete every post in my personal tag. i wont say im never self-centered but makes me feel better to write it down, and putting it on my blog so it's "out there" even if not a single person reads it (i dont really want anyone to, lol) makes it feel less locked away than just writing something private, if that makes sense.

as always im also absolutely swimming in blessings to the point that its seriously ridiculous i feel sad at all. but that's life. anyway i will get over it, probably by next week, lol

just noticed i stopped capitalizing things halfway thru haha

[mormonmonastery]

(Venting anon. TW for mentions of homophobic violence as well) I just… I haven’t been active for more than a couple weeks at a time for four years now, and I wasn’t expecting to be hit this hard. But it really hurts! The gun imagery hurts when last weekend a lesbian couple were shot and killed in Moab! For the first time in ages today I walked around in public feeling like someone was going to see the gay on me and shout me down for it. The more things like this happen, the more I want to just sever myself from the whole thing. I don’t observe any of the rules anymore, and I have no clue what I think about God, aside from feeling like His chosen left me behind. But I don’t quite have the nerve to properly get my name removed. Plus new roommates moved in for the new school year and I have no idea how they’ll be about me being gay, so I’ve been avoiding being home all day because I keep tearing up over it and AHHH 😭

I feel a deep sympathy for how you're feeling, despite not really being able to imagine just how awful it feels to be attacked like this. I'm sorry that you're stuck feeling this stress and that one man's cruel and irresponsible language still impacts you even after you've taken some steps back from the church for your own comfort, health, and safety. That's really the important response. All that follows are reactions that your message sparked in me and which you can take and leave as you see fit.

I'm hoping that, because it was an address only delivered to BYU faculty instead of something like a conference talk or a devotional, that this will end up being a relatively small ripple in the discourse pond for most average Mormons; that at most they'll hear a few rumblings about it before moving on and that we won't see it pointed to as a justification for more hate or violence. I don't know how well that hope is placed. And even if its harm is confined to BYU...that's still a large population of people placed at greater risk. Even what you tell me already about feeling less safe just existing in public is enough to damn anyone who prompted that fear while claiming to speak in the name of God.

I believe what the New Testament writer said when they wrote that God has not given us a spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7). Because of that, I don't think anyone who use their power to create fear is speaking with any of God's spirit in them for as long as they persist in fearmongering and the perpetuation of hatreds. I believe that if there is a time when Elder Holland stands before Christ at the judgement day, he'll have to understand and accept responsibility for the exact fear his words caused you to feel and for the miscarriage of his stewardship in saying them. I don't usually like so baldly saying that God will prove someone else wrong; it's a card that's usually best left unplayed and I think it a mean thing to make God into your cudgel. But, frankly, I would not want anything to do with a God who would not outright condemn this kind of speech, who would stoop to the small and petty level that endorsing it would mean. I choose not to believe in any God like that because they have no continuity with the God I have encountered; if such a cruel God somehow turns out to exist, I would rather walk backwards into hell.

It strikes me as grievously irresponsible to reprise Neal Maxwell's whole "musket and trowel" metaphor to compare continuing to persecute LGBT+ people with a historic instance of Mormon persecution, particularly when DezNat is a thing that exists. I honestly don't know how intentional that was, but I also think that if Holland was intending to wink at DezNat he couldn't have found a quote that would be better at achieving that if he tried. I'm sick and weary of even metaphorical violence and I long for the prince of peace. I don't know anything about the couple shot in Moab, but it does indicate the preponderance of violence in our society and the persistence of violence against queer people specifically—which makes telling people to aim their metaphorical muskets at anyone a rhetorical flourish that is distasteful at best and even worse in this context.

I agree with the Latin American liberation theologians that, while God loves all of their children unconditionally, they have a "preferential option" for the poor (literally and in spirit) and the marginalized. I believe you're God's chosen at least as much, and quite arguably more than, any church leader, so long as you wish to claim God's preference or believe a God exists in that way.

It is sad to feel left behind by church leaders but, at least for me, the larger sensation is this sadness from the other direction. It's sad to realize that a man like Jeffrey Holland, who I have received inspiration and comfort from hearing in the past and who I feel like God has been able to use as a messenger for me at times—it's simply sad to see him refuse to move past an attitude and set of beliefs that I can see as so clearly unchristlike and to mistake them for a unique and essential aspect of Christ's gospel. I want to have charity for my brothers and sisters who I see as being stuck there but it's hard—I feel overwhelmingly sad and frustrated and impatient and remorseful about them and it is hard to alchemize those feelings into charity. It's sad for me to feel like, if I'm to continue to grow spiritually and ethically, I might very well have to leave behind this person whose words have at times been an aid to my own spiritual growth. I think that's why my reaction and the reaction of others has been to feel a little more hurt and a little more betrayed than whenever the general authorities who are more frequent purveyors of homophobia deliver this kind of talk—they rarely gave up that kind of talk long enough to inspire me. Of course I knew or intuited on an intellectual level that Holland wasn't significantly better or more enlightened on these issues, but it feels different to see it displayed publicly like this. And it's sad to me to see people I like and respected on the other side what seems to be an ever-widening and impassable gulf in how we understand who the God that has revealed themselves to us is and what their character is like. I cannot believe that God could bring about or observe a situation in which two people were capable of sincere, consensual, and committed love for each other and then condemn them for living in that love and promise to erase their capacity for that love in the resurrection. Apparently, Jeffery Holland can believe that and believe it quite strongly. It's sad for me to realize that about him and about so many other people in the church like him.

[isa-ghost]

Bro Average & Divorce Analysis

Y’all are right, don’t demonize Stacy. It’s unfair and stupid and some of the extents people go to to demonize her are straight fuckin gross. Don’t do it. But don’t criminalize Chase either. Don’t make out either of the two to be evil. Here’s why--

In Bro Average, the divorce was shown super spontaneously (a big reason why people demonize Stacy so much).

The only two reasons for the divorce that have solid evidence to support them are that the Brodys either had serious financial problems and Chase’s channel wasn’t doing enough, or that Stacy thought Chase’s dream job was childish and dumped him because of it (his trickshot names and reactions to scoring shots are arguably “immature” for a man Chase’s age, even if there’s nothing wrong with being a child at heart. Stacy might even think being a YouTuber/vlogger in general is immature, we don’t know).

More solidly supported is the financial trouble reason--

“No, baby, no. No, I know, yeah, I’m trying, okay? I’m working, I’m trying to get all the shots. Just look, just don’t take the kids.”

“Just don’t take the kids.” really makes it sound like she’s threatening him with taking them away from him if he doesn’t start making money. This right here is probably one of the biggest reasons why people demonize her so much.

“This one’s called I’m Staying At My Sister’s This Weekend.”

Stacy is separating from him. Chase is no saint here, it could be because he’s too stubborn to get a more financially helpful job. Or, he’s simply trying to hold out hope that his dream job will take off finally. (Speaking as someone who had a father who did that, and it ended up not taking off and royally fucking things up financially for the family). What we know of Chase so far from all of his video appearances shows he’s got that Soft Heart And Big Dreams personality, it’s very likely that’s what he tried to do. It’s a common movie/show trope that the father figure just can’t bring himself to let go of work-related dreams until it’s too late. But the stubbornness isn’t out-ruled here. We don’t know which was the case. Either way, Stacy separated from him.

“Well I don’t care what your sister says. Just please, at least let me see [the kids] on the weekends still.”

Okay 1) Stacy’s sister has no say in Chase’s visitation of HIS kids. She’s not the legal guardian, even if she’s a relative, regardless of why she says he can’t see them. 2) There is no reason Chase can’t see them on weekends or at all. Whether the separation (not yet divorce) was because of Chase’s “immaturity” or because of financial failure, there is no reason Chase can’t have any visitation with his kids whatsoever other than “you’re too immature, so you’re not mature enough to be a father” which is a little bit unreasonable, not to mention a huge assumption on Stacy’s part and definitely more opinion than fact. (Another big reason people demonize Stacy).

“This one’s called Fuck You Chase, I’m Leaving You And I’m Taking The Kids With Me.”

He could have said it that way out of frustration, she could have actually said that word for word. We don’t know. But Stacy moving to her sister’s to get away from Chase and refusing to let him see the kids was a very obvious sign she’s getting ready to divorce him. This is where people shouldn’t demonize Stacy. If she took the kids with her, she obviously cares enough about them and takes being a mother seriously enough that she wants them. Not to mention, if Chase is at fault for the financial troubles because his dream job of being a vlogger won’t take off and make enough money, then why would she leave the kids with him?

“H-H- Hey sweetie! Yeah, daddy loves y-” [Chase is hung up on.]

Here I personally think it was Stacy that hung up the phone (whether she pressed the button or if she made the kid do it, because it’s not far fetched to say that if his kids love him, they wouldn’t hang up so suddenly), BUT if Chase has little kids, like we’re pretty sure he does based on the sounds we hear in Dark Silence, then maybe the kid just hung up too soon on accident or something. If Stacy DID hang up on him or make the kid do it, then this is yet another reason people demonize her. The assumption alone that she might’ve been the one to do it is another reason people demonize her. It’s more evidence that she’s completely cutting Chase off from his kids.

“This one’s called Fuck You Chase, I Want A Divorce”

Again, we don’t know if that was said by Stacy word for word or said out of frustration. If it was, Chase is reasonably upset and kind of has every right to say it that way. It’s our fault if we take that as a reason to demonize Stacy.

[Chase breaks down crying]

THIS is the moment I think his depression truly started, or kicked into the severity we see later on in the storyline if he had depression this entire time and just never showed it on-screen in what we see. He’s lost his family, and Stacy is being difficult about visitation.

It was never mentioned that he drank, he never seemed drunk, and he was never shown drinking alcohol here, before the divorce or even right after. There is NO evidence that he drank heavily before Bro Average and the divorce. If anything, him using the teabags might imply he drank a lot of tea. He started drinking whiskey AFTER the divorce, out of grief because he lost his family to is drinking to to try and numb the pain. He didn’t even really show he has depression during BA/before the divorce. He’s actually extremely bubbly and happy in BA in the scenes he isn’t talking to Stacy/being upset about the divorce, which I know doesn’t mean he’s not depressed, but he certainly doesn’t show it here as strongly as he does in any video we see him in after BA.

**Also gonna just mention here about the idea that Anti might’ve had a hand in the divorce. We have 0 evidence for that so it’s possible but equally as unlikely. I personally feel like Sean would’ve included SOME kind of way to show he did. At this point in time (April 2017) he might not have even planned on having an entire ego storyline OR have egos interacting with each other. So again, its possible but also unlikely.**

“This one’s called The Drive-By.”

And THIS is where all the huge confusion on our end comes in. Did he really pull a drive-by? All the rest of his trickshots seem like they take place in that office building. And we see all of his struggling with Stacy going on there too, like they’re arguing while he’s at work trying to make money for them. 99% of BA takes place in that building, its just this scene we don’t know about.

There’s actual gunshot noises and screams like he actually committed a drive-by. It’s also not uncommon for people both in media and real life to do something stupid, rash or even violent when they’re under too much emotional/mental stress. It’s actually proven that men especially act out in violence because of fear of being perceived as weak if they show vulnerable emotions like sadness (*vibrates in psychology major, oops*), so they vent through physical, often violent means instead. (I doubt Sean knows that, and I doubt even more that he planned such an intricate real life detail in something that wasn’t even supposed to be an ego power hour in the first place, but I digress).

This face especially right here makes me think he might have actually done it. He looks dead inside, almost like he’s glaring. If Anti had a hand in the divorce, did he make Chase do this too, if he really did do it?

“This one’s called Stacy I Love You, Please Don’t Go.”

It’s not uncommon for a mass shooter to commit suicide after they commit their shooting. Not only that, but obviously of course, suicide is extremely common in depressed people, and the divorce (with or without the depression as an added factor) is a big motivator for someone to do something like this, especially since Chase likely doesn’t have much else to live for besides his kids, which are being kept from him completely by Stacy. Basically what I’m saying here is, there’s A LOT of good reasons why Chase would try to kill himself. Also want to mention really quick that Chase did not show violent behavior that we saw before this, so him being violent towards Stacy or the kids remains ruled out of the reasons with evidence why Stacy would divorce him.

There’s a real gunshot noise when he shoots himself. It has also been CONFIRMED by Henrik in KJSE that this suicide attempt was legit, because he said he saved Chase.

We should also keep this scene after the outro in mind. Is it just as canon as the rest of BA? Is it just Sean being a goof and this is a blooper? Did Chase not successfully kill himself? That’s a big possibility. We don’t know. But we DO know he definitely shot himself for real and Henrik saved him. I’m kinda leaning towards this being a blooper of Sean being a dork, personally.

ALSO-

*Galaxy-brains for a moment here* What if Chase’s dreams of being a YouTuber/vlogger DID end the divorce and now as some twisted ass irony, he’s actually achieved his dream because he has to pose as Jack on the channel? Now THAT I could see Sean doing, especially since he said he’s been plotting for months and definitely had a vague plan during Mayhem, which is when Chase posing as Jack while Jack is comatose was revealed.

Anyways, TLDR; Don’t demonize Stacy, it’s gross and we have no justified reason to, only assumptions. But don’t demonize Chase either, because from all we’ve seen of him so far from BA and afterwards, he was only trying to make a dream career happen and his refusal to let that dream die killed his marriage. Both he and Stacy have their flaws here, so don’t demonize one or the other.

[aroworlds]

The Vampire Conundrum, Part Two

When Rowan Ross is pressured into placing an aromantic pride mug on his desk, he doesn't know how to react when his co-workers don't notice it. Don't they realise he spent a weekend rehearsing answers for questions unasked? Then again, if nobody knows what aromanticism is, can't he display a growing collection of pride merch without a repeat of his coming out as trans? Be visible with impunity through their ignorance?

He can endure their thinking him a fan of archery, comic-book superheroes and glittery vampire movies. It's not like anyone in the office is an archer. (Are they?) But when a patch on his bag results in a massive misconception, correcting it means doing the one thing he most fears: making a scene.

After all, his name isn't Aro.

Contains: One trans, bisexual frayromantic alongside an office of well-meaning cis co-workers who think they're being supportive and inclusive.

Content Advisory: This story hinges on the way most cishet alloromantic people know nothing about aromanticism and the ways many trans-accepting cis people fail to best communicate their acceptance. In other words, expect a series of queer, trans and aro microaggressions. There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual", but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with romance.

Length: 3, 737 words (part two of two).

Note: Posted for @aggressivelyarospec‘s AggressivelyArospectacular 2019.

Romance, too, feels like one of the mechanisms by which a dangerous trans body can be rendered more acceptable to cis folks.

“His name’s Aro,” Melanie says after lunch, showing a new volunteer around the office. She pats Rowan on the shoulder as she walks behind his chair, startling him enough that the clipping path he’s making around a photo of Damien’s head goes veering off to the side. “He does our website, our flyers and the information guides we send out. Aro like from the Twilight movies!”

Introductions once only encompassed Melanie’s habit of overly-stressing pronouns when referencing him—a dysphoria-triggering reminder that she doesn’t think him masculine enough for people to assume it. Isn’t that bad enough without her also getting his name wrong?

He sighs, frustrated. Complaining about this, when trans people are in desperate want of a working environment free of outright antagonism and discrimination, feels unreasonable. Hell, Rowan knows aromantics who’ll revel in being named “Aro”, so isn’t his hurt just pettiness? Isn’t this why he’s no longer welcome at home, a man too intolerant of his family’s mistakes? How many times did they tell him that his harping on about little things demonstrates a concerning lack of gratitude for their acceptance?

His co-workers do seem to believe in Rowan’s masculinity; he shouldn’t take that for granted.

Instead, he feels like he’s failing at being both transgender and aromantic.

After a fair amount of editing, he places Damien’s image in the brochure mock-up and exports to PDF. The office will make suggestions, some useful, some ignorant and some so absurd that Rowan will laugh with his friends later on, but that’s fine. He can’t expect otherwise in a workplace where everyone considers him possessed of unknowable ability with computers. They’re good people, in the main, and they care about their work.

It’s just complicated, and Rowan hates the feeling that complicated is the best cis people will let him get to a normalised acceptance.

“Aro? An Arrow fan called Aro? Really? Do you like comics or are you one of those people only into DC TV?”

Rowan looks up from attaching his PDF to an email to find the volunteer sitting on a creaking office chair and crab-walking it over to Rowan’s desk. “Comics?”

“Oh, good.” The volunteer sighs as if in relief. “I mean, the TV show? It isn’t terrible—better than most of DC’s movies, at least—but I’m so tired of people who call themselves fans but have never touched a comic book.”

Rowan glances at his journal cover, ponders its possible similarity to the show’s motif and nearly bursts out laughing. He’s never read a comic and doesn’t plan on doing so. He prefers indie podcasts and audiobooks on account of increased representation and greater ability to sew and cook while listening. “I’m not an Arrow fan. Sorry.”

Another show about cis people possessed of everyone-should-pair-up amatonormativity?

Hard pass.

“You’re not?” The volunteer gapes, waving his hand towards Rowan’s cluster of pride mugs. Three, now. Only one contains coffee, which feels like a terrible oversight. “Is this a joke, then? Are they getting you arrow stuff because of your name? Like some office thing?”

Aro.

His name is not Aro.

Rowan once thought the concept of snapping a mere storytelling device, something as ludicrous or impossible as “glittering eyes” or “romantic interest that lasts after getting to know someone”. At best an experience had by people without a brain that doesn’t devote most of its time to screaming alerts at the prospect of anything dangerous. Absurd, irrational, void of any real-life relevance.

Not even with his family has he felt this chilling, all-encompassing moment of enough.

He looks back at his computer, attaches a second PDF file to his email and, before he considers pesky things like consequences, clicks send. Then Rowan climbs up on his office chair, steps up onto the desk and whistles like a country boy who owned a border collie prone to sneaking off the property and rounding up the neighbour’s sheep.

Everyone in the office gapes up at him with a motley assortment of parted lips, unblinking eyes and, in Melanie’s case, the pointing of a long, vermillion-polished fingernail.

Up high, the room reeks of nesting rodents and the popcorn ceiling desperately wants refinishing.

Now Rowan’s brain tells his limbs to shake and his chest to heave; of course, he thinks as he shoves his hands behind his back, anxiety kicks in after he’s neck-deep in it! “My … my name is Rowan. I chose it.” He looks at the vent on the opposite wall, fighting to sound collected. Is that black mould? “Dad told me if I rejected my deadname, I was rejecting them. That I was being cruel and selfish. I earnt my name!” He stops, gasping for breath like a hooked fish—which, given his terror, feels far too appropriate a simile. “My identity is aro, short for aromantic, like being queer—one way of my being queer. So ... there’s a PDF booklet in your inbox about aromanticism. Read it! I’m proud of being aro, but you need to call me by the name I chose! It’s Rowan!”

He jumps down off the desk. The creaking laminate and the thud of his dress shoes, a little too large for Rowan’s feet, sound abominably loud in the sepulchrally-quiet room. Heading past giddy into faint, but pushed on by a heedlessness of the “this can’t possibly get worse because I’m going to be fired” variety, Rowan snatches up his satchel and reaches into the side pocket to pull out his handful of print leaflets. He drops one in the lap of the gaping volunteer, tosses the rest on an empty desk for luddites who prefer paper, and returns to his chair.

Seven sets of speechless eyes bore holes through his skull, shoulders and spine.

Rowan jams on his headphones, opens his no-romance metal playlist and turns his music up to a volume just short of deafening before queuing new posts to the project’s website.

When he invented the God of Trans Men as flippant rhetoric to cope with Melanie’s questions, is it right to pray to him?

***

Two hours later, doing his best to radiate an aura of do not disturb on pain of your bloody death, Rowan fights to pay attention to the last event write-up. Leaving early means asking permission and walking down the row of desks, risking stares and comments; he instead corrects Melanie’s idiosyncratic punctuation. Didn’t Melanie go to school at a time when they taught more than English comprehension? How doesn’t she know when not to use an apostrophe?

There’ll be consequences. Warnings? A formal discussion in the private office the supervisors only use for interviews? A request that he undergo counselling? A strong recommendation for psychiatric assessment? Firing? It isn’t like they can’t throw a rock and hit thousands of people under the age of forty with general computer skills and design ability who aren’t prone to standing on desks to make unwanted announcements.

No. Focus on the damn comma splices.

Should he ask his psychiatrist for the soonest possible appointment? New meds?

A tap on the shoulder makes Rowan’s head threaten to brush the probably-asbestos-riddled ceiling; he gasps and yanks off his headphones, trembling.

Melanie stands beside his chair, holding out her phone in its glossy pink case. “Those words that are underlined? Can I click on them to find out what they mean, like on a website? Like ... al-lo-sexual?”

“Hyperlinks in an interactive PDF—the file on your phone—work the same way as on a website,” Rowan says without thinking: in the last three months, he’s been asked this ten times. “If you click on those links, they’ll take you to a glossary at the end of the document with definitions.”

Damien sits facing his usual computer, his head tilted as if watching out the corner of his eye.

Melanie smiles the expression of a woman in an alternate dimension where Rowan doesn’t engage in embarrassing outbursts. “You’re so good at all this stuff, Rowan.” She stresses his name just enough that he can pretend she didn’t. “Where did you learn it all?”

He once tried to explain his philosophy of clicking on things only to realise that while the concept of generational divides requires excessive generalisation, a difference exists in terms of his willingness to fearless experimentation with electronic devices and programs. “School. Uni.”

“You’re so lucky. School was nothing like that when I was a girl. You have so many more opportunities now. And identities.” Melanie sighs and pushes a wisp of grey hair back from her eyebrows. “It’s good, it really is.”

Rowan blinks, startled into silence by a rare glimpse of validation stripped of performance and demonstration.

He hadn’t thought anyone here capable of it.

“It says that some people feel repulsed by romance? Are you like that? Should we do something? Do we need to not talk about romance in the office? Like, if I describe my daughter dating her boyfriend, not that I want to, is that bad? Do we need to hold a meeting? Damien—Damien—”

Damien turns, wearing the blinded look of a rabbit frozen in a spotlight. “Yes...?”

For how long has Damien worked with Melanie? For how long has the office rolled with Melanie’s interruptions and proclamations, her meetings called about the slightest of issues? For how long has the office accepted Shelby’s incessant reminding and Damien’s inability to surrender event photography to someone who knows how to modify their flash settings? Isn’t there a chance that they’ll tolerate Rowan’s occasional moments of desk-blathering?

A trans aro should be able to sew a patch on his bag reading “aro” without provoking cis weirdness. Since when does someone read a new word on his bag and assume that’s now his name? Isn’t that another over-the-top demonstration made by awkward cis people trying to prove their acceptance, something that’s never made Rowan feel safe?

Even when he’s aromantic, he never gets to avoid cissexism.

He slides his hands between the seat and his legs, aware of Melanie’s once again drawing the office’s unbroken attention. “I, personally, don’t care if people talk about their romances,” he says, certain that Damien needn’t answer Melanie about meetings, “but I do care when people assume I must want one. I do care when Sh … some of you just keep asking if I’m dating anyone.”

Rowan long set aside the need to bother with romance. He isn’t aromantic in the way most people first think of the word, as he does fall in love, but it describes his frayromanticism nonetheless. Why put himself through the inevitable messy, angry break-up when his partners don’t understand why what started as romance ends up to him as a friendship? When dating isn’t without trans-related challenges, why force himself into a type of relationship that he knows won’t last?

Romance, too, feels like one of the mechanisms by which a dangerous trans body can be rendered more acceptable to cis folks, in the same way it sanitises his equally-threatening bisexuality. If queers are holding hands and exchanging rings, just like cis and heterosexual couples, they’re safe.

He wants to be normal, but not that normal.

Melanie surprises him again by nodding. Opaque red only colours the corners of her lips; the worn centres reveal the brownish-pink beneath. “Like how we now don’t assume everyone’s—what’s the fancy word you use for not being you?”

“Cis. Yeah.”

“At my first job, I never dared yeah my elders. Can I ask what’s this a-sexual thing? Not-sexual? That’s a thing that can go with your a-ro-manti-cism? Am I saying it right? Is that something people can be?” Melanie grabs the volunteer’s vacated chair and wheels herself up to Rowan’s desk. “Tell me about this. Please.”

Damien gives a theatrically deep sigh, winks at Rowan and turns back to his keyboard.

Rowan’s tangle of feelings bewilders him too much to be simple relief, but he doesn’t appear to be at immediate risk of losing his job.

***

“We need to have a meeting!” Melanie announces ten days later, striding up to where Damien peers over Rowan’s shoulder to approve the touch-ups on a series of scanned photos. Rowan grasps the want to have a section on the website showcasing past events, but surely Damien’s film-camera predecessors weren’t all unable to take decent pictures? “Today. Perhaps before lunch?”

“Do we?” Damien doesn’t bother to turn his head. “What’s the number on the urgency scale, remembering that whiteboard markers aren’t a five?”

“I’m aro-ace.” Melanie stresses the words, beaming with the confidence of a child presenting a new finger-painted masterpiece. “I didn’t know, but I definitely am. I’m aromantic and asexual.”

“I’m glad for you.” Now Damien faces her, scratching his shock of unruly brown hair. “I don’t know why this needs a meeting? Do you want something addressed?”

Rowan leans back in his chair, too startled to do anything but watch. Melanie’s interrogation of him about all things a-spec over the last few days left him certain that she was questioning, but he didn’t expect this announcement—or Damien’s reaction to it.

“I’ve been reading, and I sent around a list of links everyone else should read, too. We must do something about our website. And, of course, everyone should know I’m aro-ace, and then let people ask any questions. Then we should consider changes to our submission forms, and then...”

Already, Melanie has done more to integrate her identity into the office and its projects than Rowan ever dared risk. Why, then, does he feel as though he’s being pressed inside a metal suit three sizes too small? Shouldn’t the end result be worth enduring a staff meeting in which she announces she’s aro-ace? Melanie being Melanie, she’ll gladly answer questions about aromanticism. Doesn’t that give Rowan everything he wanted—ability to be out as aromantic but someone else’s dealing with allo nonsense?

Matt’s right.

Rowan’s just a coward.

Damien nods at Rowan. “What do you think about that?”

“Uh...” Rowan draws a delaying breath, fighting against a brain too bewildered to be useful in forming comprehensible speech. “Uh … you’d have to run form changes past someone higher up, wouldn’t you? We have to ask about everything else? But...”

He doesn’t name Melanie a friend, but fellow aromantics aren’t common enough that Rowan will reject a companion—even if they’re cis and have subjected him to half a year’s discomfort, anxiety and alienation. He slides his restless hands under his legs, biting his lip against the sickening realisation. Melanie’s enthusiastic fearlessness may make this office and program better for him as an aro, but how can it answer all the attitudes that made Rowan fear coming out in the first place?

If he’s a coward, doesn’t he have reason?

“We do need a meeting,” he says slowly, his heart pounding in his chest like blast beats in death metal. “On better integrating marginalised people into our office. Because the way you emphasise my pronouns, Melanie, or the way Shelby reassures me five times that I can correct her … that doesn’t make me feel safe. It makes me feel reminded. Different. Too visible. And that’s why...”

“You ended up standing on a desk?” Damien asks with the gruffness of a middle-aged cis man trying to sound gentle.

“Yeah,” Rowan mutters. “That.”

Melanie clasps her fingers to her lips. “Oh! I didn’t mean anything by it! I just wanted people to get it right!”

How many times has he suffered through well-meaning people explaining that in response to his saying that they made him uncomfortable? How many times has he heard people justify their actions as though good intent always mitigates bad impact?

“You’re … you’re still making this about you! The only answer I want or need from you is thanks for telling me, Rowan, I won’t do it again! That’s all! Not your reasoning, not this effort to justify! I want to know that you hear me, that you’ll acknowledge that your intent however good still made me come home crying from dysphoria, and that you’ll stop because I don’t want to put up with it anymore! That’s all!”

For the second time in less than a fortnight, a chilling silence envelops the office.

“We need a meeting,” Rowan says breathlessly, reminding himself that at least this time he isn’t standing on his desk, “discussing how to include marginalised people in our office. Discussing all the microaggressions. Maybe you need to find … educators, trainers who come in and do this. I don’t know. I’m just so tired of never feeling safe or normal, never feeling like I can say anything because this isn’t hate and at least you’re not my parents! Like I don’t ever get to have anything better!”

He stands up, unsure what to do past fetching himself a distracting cup of coffee.

Maybe, then, he’ll be able to survive the way Melanie looks at him—as though he just ran over her puppy.

She just came out, and he did run right over it.

“I’m sorry.” Rowan sags onto his chair, leaning forwards to grab his satchel despite the unpleasant giddiness. “I’m sorry. It’s wonderful, Melanie, that you now know who you are and that you can come out. And it’s amazing that you’re doing things already, when I needed like six months just to get used to my knowing I’m aro. I just...” He reaches inside the satchel and pulls out a rough oblong shape wrapped in white tissue paper. “Here. I’m sorry.”

He, an allo-aro man, screwed up an aro-ace woman’s coming out. Shouldn’t he know better? He wants to laugh, wants to cry, wants to curl up in a ball and hide under his desk. Even now, when he’s trying to get what he needs as a trans man, he’s being the worst kind of aromantic!

Her lips pinched, Melanie takes the present in her hands, worrying at the top piece of tape with her long, pink nails.

“We’ll have a meeting.” Damien runs his hand through his hair as though he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I’ll talk to the heads about … sensitivity training, I suppose this also is. Would you be willing to write me an email outlining some of these behaviours and any ways we can make this office safer for you? Is that an appropriate thing to ask of you?”

“I don’t mind,” Rowan says. As long as he doesn’t go ignored, he’ll send a few emails—and he already has a few blog posts on which to draw. “Thank you.”

“Do you … want anything, now? To talk privately to me or anyone else? Or to a senior supervisor? Or someone with the government body? Can I do or arrange anything else?”

“Coffee. Please. And … and then to go back to fixing photos as though absolutely nothing happened because I don’t … do this sort of thing.” Rowan heaves a shaking sigh, pushing aside the thought that nobody can have failed to observe this. “Thank—thank you. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

He notices Damien gesturing at Melanie, notices that Rowan’s aro flag mug leaves with both and returns a few minutes later—now distracting from the office’s musty odour with its rich bitterness. He takes a few sips, but only by throwing himself into his work can he survive the gibbering, chattering thoughts building into a crushing tsunami of what the hell. Why did he do that? Why—no. Photos.

The soft clunk of crockery hitting laminate makes him look up.

Melanie leans against the edge of Rowan’s desk, her hand resting atop her new orange, yellow, white and blue aro-ace flag mug. “I’m sorry. Thanks for telling me.” She draws a deep breath, tapping her nails against the rim. “I didn’t know I could … that there’s an explanation, until I read your booklet. It described me. Things I didn’t realise about me! Things I’d been feeling! But … I’ve been learning about things like micro-aggressions. I didn’t know I’d been doing them myself. I’m sorry. I’ll keep learning. And thank you for my cup.”

“I know,” Rowan says softly, thinking back to the day when he realised the words “aromantic” and “frayromantic” describe him. A belated voicing of confusion and alienation; the naming of a constant sense of difference from the world. Revelation, understanding, explanation. “I know. I’m sorry, too. I don’t like … scenes. Or asking people things. I’m an anxious coward. So it just...”

He waves his hands, trying to mime an explosion.

Melanie, wide-eyed, jerks her head. “I couldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t done it first—and I wouldn’t have known to say anything if you hadn’t! And you’re asking us to do things knowing that we don’t understand, which must be frightening at least. You’re brave. And you shouldn’t be sorry.”

Rowan stares at her, unsure what to say in response. Never has anyone in his life freely offered such a sentiment. Never has anyone offered him something so generous without subsequent critique of Rowan’s intolerance for and impatience with their struggles to deal with him, praise softening the following reproval.

Brave.

His throat tightens and his eyes blur.

“Would you work with me on a proposal to put together for the submission forms? Damien insisted that I work with you, if you want to.”

“Uh … yeah?”

Melanie grabs a stack of papers from her desk and a chair. “I’ve gone through the old forms and highlighted passages. Do you want to read through and see if there’s anything I’ve missed or anything that should be left?”

He nods and takes the papers. Is this an alternate universe, the world flung upside down? Or, if people possess a minimum of decency, can he make needed change by addressing his problems instead of letting everyone talk over him? Can he build a world where he doesn’t endure cis or allo microaggressions by believing that their inconveniences aren’t worth more than his discomfort?

If his co-workers doesn’t object to correction, if they’re willing to make changes and investigate training, is the problem one of Rowan’s overreaction?

Does that mean he can talk to Matt the way he spoke to Melanie and Damien?

“Is something wrong?” Melanie asks, frowning.

Rowan shakes his head and plucks a pen from his frayro mug. “No.”

For the first time in a long time, that’s mostly true.

[mxflo]

The Bartender - Part 2

“You need to forget about him. I doubt he even knows that he’s leading you on.” Your coworker says as you leave work together. You had been telling her about what happened when Changkyun took you home and how you were thinking about going back to the bar just to see him this weekend. “I know I set you up for him to take you home but I thought y’all would have fucked and that be that. I didn’t expect you to actually like the guy. Sure he’s nice but he’s nice to everyone. He has to be. The bar has a reputation to hold so he takes care of his regulars, because you’re my friend, that includes you automatically. Plus, he doesn’t do relationships. Trust me, I tried, every girl has.” She keeps rambling on and you’re questioning why you even brought it up in the first place. 

What she was saying didn’t sound like the Changkyun you talked to that night, but she did know him longer than your measly one night, so maybe she had a point. “You know what? I’m sorry for that guy the other night. He isn’t himself when he drinks. I should have kept my eye on him better. Though I do have another friend who isn’t a total ass. Meet up with him this weekend. At the bar. I’m going home so I won’t be there, but go out with him on the date.”

“I don’t know. What if there IS something between Changkyun and I? Shouldn’t I at least find out?” You debate.

“No. Sweetheart, you’re barking up the wrong tree for what you want. I’m just trying to save  you your time and from being heartbroken if he lets it go to far.” She reasons. After some time you sigh and agree to her setting up this blind date. Things can’t get any worse than they did last time at least, you think to yourself. She gives you a quick hug before you leave. 

The rest of the week passes with not much word about the date other than he agreed to it as well. It’s Friday and you are ready for the weekend. You find yourself excited for the date but not to meet up with her friend, but to see Changkyun again. Even if he just becomes a friend, you decided, that you would be okay with that. You really enjoyed his company and that was going to have to be good enough. She was right anyways, he only took you home and didn’t do anything to show you that he was interested in more. You had felt like there was more between you, but that was probably one sided and he was just helping out the new girl at his bar, keeping up the good reputation it holds for being the safest with the best customer service in the city.

Walking into the bar, you text your date saying you are there and to find you at the bar when he gets there. You hadn’t heard from him yet, but you didn’t expect him to be there yet since you were fifteen minutes early. Not wanting to admit to even yourself that you went early just so that you could talk to Changkyun a little before he showed up. Your eyes find Changkyun making a drink behind the bar with the style and professionalism that continues to impress you. Walking up to an empty stool you sit down, smiling at him as he walks up to you. He places the drink in front of you, “Old Fashion, correct?” He says with a gentle smile that makes your heart skip. You nod as you take a sip, perfect once again.

“I love the new hair color. Looks great on you.” You say as you admire his freshly dyed red hair. You really wish your date just wouldn’t show up so that you could just talk to Changkyun tonight.

“Thank you. So where’s your friend?” He asks, eyes scanning the bar when he realizes he hasn’t seen her yet tonight.

“She’s home for the weekend.” You answer.

“Oh? So you came here alone? I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to come back alone after what happened last time, again, I apologize for that experience happening.” His voice genuine.

“I feel very safe here, Changkyun. Thank you for everything last weekend. I do appreciate it. Actually, I’m meeting someone here tonight. A blind date.” You shyly admit.

“Oh.” Shock heavy in his voice as his eyes dart to the door. 

“Yeah, so if you don’t mind I’ll wait here until he gets here.” You say stirring the ice nervously in your drink.

“Sure. You’re allowed to do whatever you want here. Let me know if I can get you anything.” Changkyun says, as he stands up a little straighter, and you can’t help but to notice a slight shift in his voice.

Your phone buzzes and you open the text from your date saying he’s running late but will be on his way soon, and he is sorry to keep you waiting. You type back with a playful “It’s fine, you just owe me an extra drink now.” To lighten the mood. He response quickly with a “Of course, all drinks on me tonight. See you soon.”

Around fifteen minutes later your phone buzzes again. “Here.” You look up and see him walking in through the door, his eye’s catch yours and he makes his way to you. He orders you another drink, and one for himself then leads you to a little table off to the side for you two to talk. Changkyun had made your drinks quickly, no small talk, and he seemed colder to you both. You decide to ignore it as he’s probably just busy as you watch him immediately take someone else’s drink order. Once at your table you study your date as he tells you about his job as a manager of some store in the city. Half paying attention, half looking over at Changkyun when you get the change to sneak a glance. Each time you look over you notice his movements are harsh tonight. His jaw is tight. Once he looks at you, making eye contact. His stare cold and chilling. You bring your attention back to the conversation and tell him about you.

When you are paying attention you notice him on his phone a lot, and looking towards the door often. Almost nervous himself. Eventually he excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You decide to go to the bar to get another drink while he’s gone. Changkyun walks over and ask’s what you want, shocking you since he’s never asked what you wanted since that first time you ordered. “Old fashioned again, please.” He turns around to make it without much more than a annoyed okay. “Are you okay?”  You ask when he hands you your drink.

“Of course. Just doing my job. How’s your date?” His voice still cold and harsh.

“Fine I guess. The conversation is a bit forced. He’s on his phone a lot.” You admit. 

“Like he is right now?” He asks. Confusion across your face makes him speak up again. “He’s standing outside of the men’s room on the phone. Has been this entire time.”

“Oh.” You say, and decide to walk over to see whats up.

 His back is to you as you approach. “Baby, I’m just working late. I promise tomorrow I’ll be home all day.....I know......I miss you.....No, I do....tomorrow, I’ll make it up to you okay?” You over hear his conversation. You clear your throat loud enough for him to hear. He quickly ends the conversation and hangs up.

“What the fuck? You think you could cheat on someone, with me?” You raise your voice.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know this looks bad.” He says.

“I don’t care. This date is over. I don’t know what type of girl you think I am.” Your voice raising. “I have nothing left to say to you. I don’t want to hear another word from you. There’s no excuses for this.” Without another word he nods and walks past, leaving the bar. 

Shaking with anger you make your way back to Changkyun, who’s looking at you with curious eyes now. “He was fucking talking to a girlfriend or wife or someone. I knew this date was a bad idea from the start. I knew not to trust her judgement on what a good guy actually is.” You vent.

“Well, that gives you an easy out then.” Changkyun says, his voice a little warmer towards you.

“I guess I should go home now.” You say looking for your keys.

“Wait, you have had to much to drink to be driving home this soon. Stay, or i’ll call you an uber.” Changkyun demands.

“I’ll be fine. I’m not drunk.” You say.

“No, I won’t allow you to leave and risk it. I don’t care if you think you’re fine or not.” Changkyun says, reaching for your wrist to stop you from digging in your purse for your keys.

“I know you only care about your bar safety rating or whatever, but I promise I’ll be fine.” You snip.

“What? Who told you that? Sure I care about it, but I don’t want anything to happen to you, not the ratings.” He argues.

“Changkyun, don’t start. You play this nice act, saving me last weekend, being overly generous, then being cold and towards me tonight when things are fine, but then as soon as I’m in trouble again, you turn to being nice and caring again? You can cut the act. It’s fine.” The words blurt out without you realizing you’re now just taking out your frustration on him.

“Me cut the act? You come in here and seem really genuine and flirt with me all last weekend, to then bring a date in the very next? What do you expect? I thought you were different from your friends, but maybe I read you wrong.” His voice cold again.

“Wait. Changkyun...” You trail off as you realize your feelings before were correct. “I’m sorry. I...I was actually looking forward to seeing you this weekend and talking to you again, but she told me that you are like that with all your regulars and that you just care about your reputation for the bar, and that’s why she set me up on this date...”

“You listened to dating advice from the girl who has introduced you to some of the worse men around?” Changkyun laughs.

“I guess you have a point.” Embarrassment heavy in your voice. “I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about it.”

He sighs, taking your hand in his. “It’s okay. You can make it up to me though.”

“How?” you ask.

“Stay and chat with me again like last weekend.” He states.

“Okay.” You smile, then pick up the rest of your drink and take another sip.

“And then give me your number, and let me take you on a proper date.” Changkyun adds, making you choke a little on your drink from the suddenness.

The Bartender - Part 1

The Bartender - Part 3

[pin-upmamacassie]

Co parenting has me emotionally exhausted 😔 Just a few more months and we’ll be moving. I’m being optimistic and hoping for no issues with Gavin’s mom but realistically it’s probably gonna be bad. Cuz she’s STILL trying to start shit and it’s pissing her off that we aren’t entertaining her anymore. Like, at all. Unless it has to do with Gavin in the hospital, dr appts, school, sports, seeing him in general..we haven’t been responding to her. So, she tries harder and harder each week with new bullshit to get under our skin. We just haven’t been responding but that doesn’t mean it’s not taking a toll still.

I just KNOW she’s gonna freak out and blame me when we tell her we’re moving out of state..like she always does. Because apparently as she’s recently stated, I’m “poisoning” the relationship between Hubbs and Gavin. But yet who encouraged hubbs to go to her house, like she asked of him, to have his weekends with Gavin so she wouldn’t take all his rights away cuz she didn’t want him around me?... all the stress of that entire situation made me hemorrhage throughout my entire pregnancy with Sophia. Hubbs wanted to make sure I was taken care of so we didn’t lose another baby. But at the end of the day, I had his family if I absolutely needed help. His relationship with his son is important. So we made it happen.

And who was the one who left the house multiple weekends with a little baby Sophia so Hubbs could be at our home with Gavin instead of constantly being watched, having her looking over his shoulder at his personal texts because she wanted to make sure he wasn’t texting me or she would flip out on him as if they were together and I was the other woman? AND she had her boyfriend living with her at the time. That’s not awkward right? Her boyfriend wanted hubbs to go to his own home so they could have their privacy when it was hubbs weekend with him. But she only allowed that if I wasn’t there so I had to leave. He wasn’t allowed around Sophia at the time either because “he can’t have mixed siblings so he can’t know she exists”. THAT is what I’m dealing with. But I’M poisonous?

She gave him so much shit at the beginning of this year that he was in tears ready to give up on being a father because she is NEVER happy and makes him jump through impossible hoops to see his child and who was there talking him down encouraging him to keep trying ? Oh yea that’s right...the woman whose poisoning the relationship between your son and his father 🙄 I’m doing my best to be encouraging, helpful, friendly, supportive, civil...the best parent and co parent I can be but here we still are. 8 years of this and I highly doubt it’ll ever be different no matter what we do. Its truly sad. It’s nothing new to hubbs tho. It’s not just me that she has a problem with. It’s been like this with every single girl he’s ever tried to have a relationship with. That’s why he had always decided it would be best to stay single. Even when he was single she still gave him the hardest time ad impossible tasks just for him to see his son. So who’s poisoning who’s relationship?

It’s not just effecting Gavin and all the parents involved in this co parenting dynamic. It’s effecting Sophia and Landon too. They make comments or play pretend on things that they’ve happened to see or hear and it really breaks my heart because she constantly cries that we’re scarring Gavin but refuses to see that it’s effecting EVERYONE.

We had a big fight about a month or 2 ago and in order to avoid anymore conflict I blocked her from all social media’s and from her messaging me personally so she only can contact hubbs from now on. But hubbs still tells me things that she’s saying. I wish he wouldn’t but he needs to vent his frustrations too.

I’m just ready for some peace already.

[aelaer]

Good things happen - and some promotional credit card warnings

A lot of times life isn’t fair, but sometimes life works out just right!

This is totally unrelated to anything fandom and completely personal so feel free to skip over ;D But oh my god this is probably the best birthday present I can currently think of from The American Financial Powers That Be.

Okay, so back in Nov of 2018 I got LASIK. The cost of it will pay itself in the contacts I’d have bought instead for 5 years and I adore not being blind (rather literally, as I was legally blind without lenses) so it was well worth the investment. However, in order to afford it since no insurance covers it like, anywhere in the world I think, I had to do a payment plan. The surgery I had it in had a deal going with Comenity Capital Bank, which do a lot of store credit cards and optional medical procedure credit cards (like LASIK, liposuction, etc - anything considered cosmetic rather than considered medically necessary). One of the many cards they run is called Alphaeon.

Their promotional deal that I went for was 0% APR for 12 months if the card was paid fully in time. With my current job I was able to swing that monthly payment. Great, right?

Turns out they had some catches. They did two things: they encouraged me to go paperless, and put the first payment due date as mid December. Both are important, because it turned out:

The 12 month promo offer did not start at first due date. It didn't even start in mid November as they "deferred" the first payment. The due dates for their promotion offers turned out to be a *different* date than the big, big date blasted monthly in my emails and plastered over my account.

They set the start date several days before my surgery even happened, and because they said that a payment wasn't due until the second month, if I was paying with the idea of paying 12 months, I would still be beyond the "year" they set.

The paperless versions of these statements do not encourage you to click the statement; they encourage you to pay by the *other* date plastered on your account, which is just a "general" due date rather than a "promotional" due date. Nowhere on your account is specifics about promotional due dates expect buried within the statements, which, again, are not the encouraged action on the UX of the emails.

So you can imagine my surprise when, come this November, I owed almost $1,000 of accrued interest they tallied every month over the year (these guys have a ridiculous interest rate of 28.99% on this card).

Even if the last payment WAS due mid November, like I thought, I wasn't able to log in to pay it three days before the date because their whole system was having issues, and they closed their phones before I could get out of work (and hung up on me when I called them 10 min before closing!)

But I ended up calling the bank once I suddenly found I had to pay an extra $950 farking dollars just before Thanksgiving to explain my confusion regarding the date and the fact that when you go paperless, the date being different for promotional offers isn't clear whatsofreakingever.

The lower peons of the bank were very kind but naturally didn't have the power to take off that insane accrued interest. (I just like the word peon, they really were lovely). The manager or whoever I talked to was... well, I guess that's where the stereotype of heartless bankers comes from, because she was that. I'll be happy to tell you that while I totally had a panic attack on the call and was like, crying (because near $1,000) I didn't scream at her at any time. At the end of the call I did inform her that I would be reporting the incident to the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, because by God, someone was gonna hear how shady their practice was. But I was POLITE about it, dammit!

And then I spent the next 2-3 hours writing a 1,000 word essay for the CFPB. It had several screenshots and was from the POV of someone who has studied UX for a living, got into the big problem with paperless and the UX in the emails for it, the easy confusion that having two different payment dates with vague wording on "oh you *may* have a promotional offer" being under all the action buttons and completely missed on a phone screen, the login issues I had the last three days I thought a payment was due, the damning lack of documentation when I scheduled payments in advance that made it a he-said-she-said battle if the system hiccuped and didn't save a payment, and so on and so forth. I'm very proud of it, and I was gonna use that essay when the company's response ultimately came back with "too bad so sad" to go to my laser eye center and ask them to drop the card as a payment option to protect their future clientele. And then spend a couple hours a weekend going to all local plastic surgery places to do the same thing. Yeah it was gonna be my new hobby.

So I got the company's reply.

THEY TOOK OFF THE ENTIRE ACCRUED INTEREST AMOUNT. THE ENTIRE 950 DOLLARS.

My throat's all sore cuz I'm coming down with something but I'm still just like, screaming from joy. I did NOT think this would work, at all. I really didn't. I did it to help vent my frustrations, warn other people, and to have documentation for my persuasive speech I was gonna give local companies on my off time because I've been to several banking sites, and NONE were like this in hiding the actual info outside of the statements - that were easily missed with paperless.

Holy goodness. I still can’t believe it.

Long story short: Read the actual statements because that’s where they legally have to put in the real due dates, and shady shady shady companies like this may ONLY put it there while plastering another due date all across the site. Especially do this with any type of financing deals with any credit company and store credit cards, as they’re the ones who often pull stunts like this.

[himawari-haebalagi]

If you don’t want to see me rant and vent my frustrations just scroll past this.

I am so tired. I’m the black sheep, my family doesn’t respect me, they’re hypocritical and every time I try to meet them half way they don’t put in their share. People are gonna say I’m just being a teenager and that’s fine, but when I’m the one genuinely trying to compromise and talk things out like an adult only to be yelled at and blamed in return, it’s kind of hard to think I’m overreacting.

My mental state is fucked up. I have ADHD, anxiety, aspergers syndrome, OCD, depression, bipolar disorder, and those are just what’s been diagnosed. I’ve been on more prescribed medications than I can count, and my mom keeps telling me generic shit that doesn’t help and trying to convince me that if I try I can be normal.

They’re hypocritical. I only ever try and act in ways that I can fit in and yeah I’ve been a brat before and I’ve done stuff that people don’t want to deal with but I’m maturing and trying to have a genuine relationship with my family only to have everyone poke fun at me.

I’ve been homeschooled since sixth grade. I’ll be graduating high school in a couple years I want nothing more than to go back to public school to experience things and get social skills that I just don’t have right now. I’ve essentially been in quarantine for the past five years save for church, weekends with my friends, appointments, and volunteering at the library. I brought it up to my mom and- in her typical cold fashion- she seemed very disapproving and doubtful. She wasn’t supportive or encouraging.

I’m used to that. My mom’s always been that way. Very cold, stiff, almost like a mannequin trying to appear as this picture perfect person. She’s a Karen. I love my mom, I do, but she’s never been what I’m sure most would label as a good one. We’re Catholic. I’d consider myself and many other Catholics to be very accepting, open minded people, but my mom is one of those people that drive people away from Christianity.

I’m perfectly fine with lgbt+, people of other culture, race, and ethnicity, those who have different beliefs than me, etc. I’m not straight myself, so I’d be more hypocritical than my mother to be homophobic. My mom tries to be this picture perfect Christian by being overly strict, pushing her beliefs onto everyone and their mother, is judgemental, scolds me when I express my opinion in places I should be considered, and yells at me for talking about anything remotely lgbtq in front of babies. etc etc. I’m a Christian, my faith is important to me, but I see why people want nothing to do with us when my mom acts the way she does.

I get along great with my stepdad. However, today he’s been in a very grouchy mood it seems. We have actual conversations and he treats me like an intelligent human being, which I appreciate. We were supposed to go back to Kentucky (my home town) to help with a baby. Not sure how good of an idea it is with everything that’s going on, but I’ve learned over time that anytime I try to speak up I just risk getting my ass whooped and my ear drums busted. I was going to stay with my dad, but a couple days ago he called and said Tuk (his girlfriend who is the sweetest person on earth) wasn’t so comfortable with it at the time because of this covid19 thing, which is completely understandable and valid. A couple hours ago, maybe, my stepdad was ranting about how he was happy I was going with them but how stupid of an excuse my dad made. That the reason he provided wasn’t sensible at all. He asked me how many times i spend the night at my dad’s. Not that often, but I don’t normally have a reason to and he’s often very busy with work. I hang out with him most saturdays with the exception of this pandemic and bond. He said that it’s because my dad doesn’t want me there. That stung. A lot. I know it’s not true and I figured he must be in a really bad mood because he wasn’t really all that reasonable like normal, but it still hurt to hear someone I’m close with say with so much conviction that my dad doesn’t want me.

I’ve been studying super hard in school and even working on weekends just to please my mom, but it’s not enough to her. On top of that, I’m an emotional doormat. Whenever my friends need an outlet of any sort be it for ranting, venting, advice, and/or help it’s me that tend to be their go-to. I’m stressed. I love my friends and it’s just the kind of person I am to try and carry the weight of the world on my shoulders but I always do it until I snap and I can’t being myself to tell them or say no in fear of not being wanted.

I’m just being swallowed whole. The people that I love are all indeed human and have their flaws, it just seems that I’m the outlet that has these flaws lashed upon. I feel like my only source of comfort is reading, YouTube, fictional characters, and my dog. I’m tired all the time. I eat a meal a day and snack the rest of the time and barely have the energy to even read. I’ve just been doing my homework, attempting to read, answering to my friends’ beck and call, dealing with my family, and sleeping more than I’m happy with. I’m just emotionally and physically exhausted and the chances of anyone reading all of this are slim and the chances of those people actually caring are slimmer. I don’t want pity or anything, I just needed an outlet to vent because my life really sucks right now and I feel so selfish in saying that because there’s so many others that would kill to have my life and privileges but I’m just so exhausted. One of the only ways I can explain how I feel is that I want to go home. I know it doesn’t make any sense because it’s not like I’m away from my house or family or anything but I just want to go home. I feel exposed and suffocated and empty and stressed all at the same time.