#which. write what you want but she’s a grown-ass adult not a toddler!

[rms-mathematic]

Why is this fandom so desperate to give Velvette parents.

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/740284683556929536/

Omg I'm so sorry! I wrote that anon when I was sleepy so it had very ham-fisted wording. Yes, I meant to ask about portraying self-esteem issues about bodies. I thought guys don't talk about it much.

To that one person, why would dudes comparing dick sizes be considered smut? I can see it being rated M. Are you suggesting the rating go up to E?

--

Ahahaha.

Uh... anon... if that's truly what you were trying to ask... I think maybe you need to work on your writing a bit more. The vibes you give off are odd, to say the least...

Like, creepy pervert angling for foot fetish photos while lying about what they want-level weird.

It sounds like you want to heavy-breathe while reading guys' descriptions of their own penises, not like you want help with writing.

--

The reason your ask reads so "She breasted boobily down the stairs" but from the other side is that guys, at least from what I've seen, do not stand around comparing their dicks, at least not in the way you implied.

The people who most commonly compare their junk out of curiosity are toddlers.

This is something tiny children do. Anecdotally, some teens do it, but a lot don't, and there are clickbait articles about athletes sizing each other up this way, but they are just that: clickbait. I'm not saying it never happens, but you wrote about it like it always happens.

It is fucking weird to have a grown-ass man routinely doing it outside of maaaaybe some weirdly homoerotic scene in a stoner comedy or something.

People joke about this practice because it's a thing that exists, not because it is ubiquitous.

That's also why it reads like porn. IRL, if some dude is like "I think we should compare our dicks... uh... and they should be hard so we can compare properly", many other guys are going to interpret that as sexual. And also self-deluding. Which is a good reason to say no.

--

Most people in locker rooms and public bathrooms try to give each other a little privacy if they can, regardless of gender. Openly ogling is what you do if you're about to proposition someone for sex. Or, if it's hostile, you stare because you're about to beat them up.

I'm not saying a guy couldn't sneakily see the size of another guy's junk and have a response, but the whole way you described this sounds like you've never spoken to a human before. Did you seriously get this idea from those clickbait articles?

Among other issues, penises become erect. They look different in different states of arousal. Surely, you've heard of "growers vs. showers"? Temperature also matters. There's a whole fucking bit on Seinfeld that everyone quoted for like years and is probably still quoting about "shrinkage"—i.e. a guy is insecure that someone saw him when he'd just gotten out of the pool and his dick looked small because he was cold. Hopefully, the locker room isn't that cold, but you still don't know what a dude's dick looks like all of the time from catching a glimpse of it one time.

So an adult man who is not completely unfamiliar with penises is not going to 1. openly stare at another man in the locker room and 2. look only at his penis and have some crisis about "Mine looks different".

I suppose for the right character in the right circumstances, you can sell any kind of goofy-ass reaction, including the "breasted boobily" stuff where women think consciously about their tits in a way that actual women generally don't and male authors love to write. But you have to make it a whole Thing. She has to have some reason why her nipples are super sensitive today and thus she pays attention when she normally wouldn't.

Instead, you keep asking these dumbass questions like you're 12 that boil down to "Literally all men are the same cardboard cutout based on their D&D stats from this character sheet. Please tell me some facts about these stats!" instead of approaching people as individual humans who all react differently. You haven't even said anything about what kind of culture these characters come from. Both personality and specific culture (not just big things like nationality but shit like whether they're athletes who change with the same guys all the time) are going to affect how and whether men talk about self esteem and bodies.

You're boiling this down to "What does the penis-having alien species all do?" despite already getting several answers that told you to stop doing that. You either didn't listen or didn't understand what people meant so badly that it's pointless to keep giving you help.

This is not a good way to write three-dimensional characters.

--

Now, I'm not saying nobody has ever snuck a peek in a locker room. Lots of people, regardless of gender, do that. But we're talking covert looks and that kind of looking gives you glimpses of many body parts and not always a very clear look either.

Most actual men on most actual days of their lives are going to feel insecure about their bodies relative to someone else because the other dude looks better at the gym or grows chest and facial hair more easily or is much taller or isn't going bald.

We love to make jokes about penis size, but in my experience, the level of perpetual crisis dudes have over potential baldness is way higher. There are a shitton of ways to be insecure about yourself and your body. That goes for any gender.

Maybe a dude feels insecure because the other guy is much less body-conscious and has an easier time changing in front of people or because he's paid five times as much and is changing into a thousand dollar suit.

Many of the markers of masculinity and attractiveness have very little to do with penises.

There's also a vast difference between your POV character thinking some other dude's huge package is admirable and your POV character thinking he himself is inadequate. He could think his own dick is average and that it would be nicer to be hung like a pornstar without being insecure about it. He could also have a big dick yet still be insecure about it because he's a weirdo who's obsessed with penis size. He could be a size queen who wants to take a ride on that. He could have an ex girlfriend who thought big penises hurt and be creepily fascinated and wonder whom this guy fucks and how they manage.

--

All this shit is a character point. Stop treating it as immutable truth where someone can give you the Correct Answer™ for you to slot into your writing or spank bank fantasies.

[firelxdykatara]

i was rewatching a few parts of 7x12 to remind myself exactly how that absolutely stupid clusterfuck of a fight went, and... man it was even more ridiculous than i remember.

first of all, they were on a goddamn airship. tight quarters do not mix well with huge and/or ranged weapons if three grown ass adults decide to start fighting like fucking toddlers who never learned impulse control. especially since it either wasn’t a ship intended as a prisoner transport, or it was the stupidest prisoner transport known to man, since there was nothing separating the area apparently meant to contain the literal actual serial killer from the pilot’s seat. but that’s honestly small potatoes compared to the massive Idiot Balls everyone else on that ship was carrying.

the only one with a functioning braincell was tyrian goddamn callows. jfc

(rant below. this fight pisses me off so so so much. it is absolutely terrible writing. if you have to turn three otherwise competent and intelligent and mature adults into ABSOLUTE BUFFOONS just to make a fight happen so that you can kill one of them, learn how to write better for the love of god)

tyrian callows, known serial killer, sitting there and clearly gleefully spoiling for a fight: it’s taking too long for this show to get to the good part!

robyn hill, an allegedly intelligent woman, who already has her weapon out for some fucking reason (even though she wasn’t even on that arrest warrant and there wouldn’t have been anything stopping her from leaving as soon as the ship landed): ah, yes, this serial killer who is working for someone even worse is a voice of reason i should listen to! i’m going to fire an arrow from inside a pressurized flying metal container that is not meant to have holes punched in it, at a man who isn’t even trying to detain me much less threaten me, because this serial killer thinks it’s a good idea for a fight to start!

qrow branwen, an allegedly intelligent man, who had, up until that point, been urging robyn (who already had her weapon out for some fucking reason) to calm down, and suggesting they just go fucking talk to ironwood to figure out what the hell was going on since they had absolutely no context for anything and qrow himself certainly hadn’t done anything worthy of a warrant being issued for his arrest, so going quietly with clover would have been the intelligent move as that would allow him to talk to ironwood which was what he was asking for in the first place: well, this allegedly intelligent woman just shot at clover, who pulled out his weapon to defend himself, and since i was literally two seconds ago telling her to calm down so that we could make it back to james and i can figure out what the fuck is going on......i’m gonna jump in and attack clover, forcing him to fight to defend himself on two fronts in these very small quarters! i am then going to act surprised when the serial killer, who was sitting there the entire time and who literally egged the fight on because it was what he wanted to happen, gets free and, because he’s clinically insane and also working for salem, something i knew from the start, stings the pilot and intentionally crashes the ship. golly gee, i wish someone could possibly have foreseen this outcome other than the insane murderer i just helped set free!

now, to clover’s credit, he didn’t actually do anything wrong or idiotic on the plane. robyn shot him, and he deflected the shot because he was defending himself. then qrow jumped in, despite trying to calm her down literally three seconds earlier, and clover had to defend himself on two fronts. he had no way of stopping tyrian from getting free because the two idiots who let it happen were attacking him relentlessly, and when the serial killer sent the plane into a dive, he got the hell out of dodge. very reasonable, and even reasonably intelligent.

he tried to bring qrow in quietly, after the crash. but when qrow made it clear he was going to fight, clover obliged--and this was fair too, because he had absolutely no context as to why qrow was on that warrant, and no reason to question it. and since even after clover saying ‘i’m gonna have to take you in’ qrow was saying ‘let’s just go back to atlas so i can talk to james’, it was more than fair of him to try one more time to just end things without a fight.

(i will say, though, that their conversation makes absolutely no sense. clover trying to follow orders because he has no reason to question them, and qrow wanted to talk to ironwood anyway so that would be the easiest way to accomplish it, suddenly means that he and qrow weren’t friends? what??? and then there’s the fact that qrow could easily have shifted into a bird and flown the fuck away to figure out what the hell had gone wrong. i doubt he thought clover would leave robyn to freeze to death [not that she would have anyway, since the show completely forgot the cold was actually supposed to be a severe threat], since by that point he had a reason to arrest her too, and at least in a jail cell she’d have reasonable medical care or at least have time for her aura to recharge.)

but then tyrian joined the fray.

and all of clover’s braincells promptly keeled over and died.

because qrow, seeming to grow back at least one braincell, looked at this serial killing Salem minion and thought ‘ok, he is the greater threat’--qrow wasn’t trying to kill clover, but he knew tyrian wouldn’t hesitate to kill either of them, and if he had even an ounce of intelligence he probably figured out that this was tyrian’s plan the whole time--and switched targets, attacking the serial killer instead.

clover ‘i lost all of my braincells in the last five seconds’ ebi, rather than attacking the known serial killer who was definitely a lethal threat (whereas qrow was not likely to have murderous intent even if he planned to try knocking him out so he could get away), chose to attack qrow again instead. this left qrow initially fighting on two fronts, and incredibly vulnerable as a result.

and here’s where we get the absolute worst decision in the history of mankind.

“you and i have unfinished business.” “i agree. so what say we put the kid to bed and then finish it?”

qrow. that is a serial killer you are talking to. you fucking know that he absolutely means to kill clover, because you are not a fucking idiot. (well, ok, you are, because all your braincells fell out on that plane, but that’s beside the point.) and you’re going to willingly team up with him, signalling to clover that you do have murderous intent, and then you’re going to be surprised when clover winds up dead, to the point of blaming a man who wasn’t even there?!?!?!?!

i’m beginning to think that qrow branwen was snatched away at the beginning of the plane fight and replaced with an idiotic clone, because his writing has not improved since v8 began. but this fight is absolutely the epitome of how not to write a fight scene leading to a significant death oh my god. it’s like a masterclass in mistakes you shouldn’t make, because if you do you will make your allegedly competent, intelligent, and mature adult characters seem like violent toddlers who completely lack impulse control, and that image is going to stay with the audience when one of them continues to do things like blame a man who wasn’t even present at the fight for clover’s death. and the other one mocks the dead man as if she wasn’t the idiot who started the fight that got him killed in the first place (by letting tyrian get free so the rest of it could happen).

[idjitlili]

Hey,I’m date mike

legolas x reader

a request for loteriel_greenleaf thank youuuu my dudeeee i really didnt know what to write,even though i just finished an imagine ,i felt like another was due. also been trying to make lembas bread god.

summary:imagine sparring with legolas,and being apart of the fellowship.

warnings:uh straddling/potential language i dont know yet./sexual themes no smut though. word count:1602

You had grown up mostly in Rivendell ,yes you are an elf,yet an orphan. Elrond had found you when he was was travelling for a meeting with Gandalf,Lady Galadriel,and saruman he had no choice but bring you with. He did not know what happened to your parents, however it was assumed you were abandon,probably due to being born out of wedlock or an affair(that was common but there was still a chance). You didnt know either being just a babe.

Anyways Elrond brought you to this meeting and in the end Gandalf ended up with you. Soon enough you knew him as your only Ada,and yes you were trained by the elves to defend yourself,when Gandalf was out of town.All the talk,and books about adventures,made you hungry for your own. You wanted to see hobbits,dwarves,anything. You wantd to know if elves in other realms were stuck up like Thranduil,well that is what gandalf told you about him.It only took a century or two for your ada to let you come on an adventure with him. That being taking you to elronds secret council,about destorying the ring.

You may of stared at the hobbit and the dwarves a little too long in awe,when they noticed you had looked away red in embarrassment. However you didnt notice a certain blond elf ,staring at you. He was curious of who you were,he had never seen you before,surely he wouldve remembered such beauty..you were so zoned out you missed all the arguing only to hear.

"I will take it!I'll take the ring to mordor!" the hobbit had shouted making everyone go silent. "though I do not know the way."

You ada had lent to put a hand on the hobbits ,before speaking confidently to the small fellow."I will help you bare this burden ,frodo baggins." the hobbit had smiled to your father. "I am coming too, Ada." you had walk next to him,wrapping your arm around his. Legolas now knew who you were ,but Gandalf was definity not your really father,maybe you were gold digger,joking he just wondered how he never knew that Gandalf had a daughter. Anyways you know what happpened after that,you have my sword ,bow axe, we're coming too.

You had kept yourself to yourself ,not talking overly,but if you did it was to your ada. Other than him you would talk to mostly the hobbits about what life was like in the shire. You felt intimidated by the men  ,legolas , and gimli they did scare you just a bit.  So you avoided them until you couldnt no more.

Well you stopped avoiding legolas,after Moria,he had to carry you out as you screamed out for you ada. You had witnessed Gandalf sacrifice his life to save the fellowship. You had yours around legolas ' neck,head in his shoulder whilst you sobbed drenching his tunic. He had held you on his hip,like you would with a toddler,running with you in his arms. Once you had gotten outside ,your sobs had gotten loud,legolas had tried to put you down but you just held tighter.  He had held you until you had reached near the Nimrodel in the eaves of the forest ,in which he had let go but you had your legs and arms wrapped round him so tight he didnt need to hold you,while he held his bow up in defence.

Turns out it was just elves that surrounded you ,and Aragorn knew one of them,a blond guy,pretty sexy if you were honest. In which he began leading you to lady galadriel,who you had not seen in many years, same with her husband celeborn who stood beside her walking down the stairs like jesus walking on water. You miss part of the coversation only to begin listening at the mention of your fathers name. "tell me where is gandalf as I much desire to speak to him." celeborn's voice as smooth as ice . "he has fallen into shadow." the look on Gimli's face when she says that hes like whoa shes good."y/n.." she calls out gently ,you had jumped out of legolas arms ,running towards her ,only for her to wrap her arms around you into a bear hug.

"not all is lost,as he remains in spirit." she had spoken to you ,in your mind ,as her hands rubbed your back comfortingly,before you pulled away. Her  eyes land on legolas ,back on smirking at you. "you and the prince." she had 'spoken' to you only shook your head ,with a small blush on your face,legolas watched confused as why lady galadriel had looked at him ,only to see you blushing. Lady galadriel had found a way to distract you from mourning in tears.

Not long after she had led you all to place you could rest for the night. In that legolas had settled next to you and after a while he had broken the silence between you both. "when my nana died,it was like my ada died with her,after her death he became cold and cut off. He treated me like another soldier ,nothing more,I had no one to comfort me. I wish to be here for you ,so you always have someone." he spoken barely above a whisper,you had never heard legolas speak so much ,let alone with so much feeling. "thank you,i never thought I would make friends with a prince ,let alone be carried for hours by one." you had spoken with a small smile,he had sent one in return before wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"I couldve done it for three days,with my elven strength." he had flexed his spare arm ,making you giggle. OKay this was very out of character for legolas."sure ,prince." and with that you were lent against his shoulder,in which you soon enough you fell asleep ,in his hold.

The next day you just pretend the events from yesterday never happened and your ada was still alive ,he was just gonna pop out and scold you for getting so friendly with the elven prince.

Turns out not even three days later ,you find your father alive and well ,you almost stab him like a kebab then and there. " Yeah just let me mourn your death and then your like boom ,guess what bitches I was alive the whole time." in which from that he just scolds you for using language before pulling you into a tight embrace ,apogising for the hurt he had caused,so bruh you werent as sad as before,so thats a plus. Only thing is if you got your freaky on with the princes he's always about.

The next interaction you had with legolas was the eves eve of the battle of the pelennor fields.In which he asks you to sparr with him,as he wants to know which one of you were the better fighter. Obviously it was you but his excellence ass wasnt going to agree with you. That leads you now on the green grass ,a distance away from the tent,sweaty,with clanging metal. So hot that you are just in your vest and pants,legolas was just in in his long sleeve tunic and pants ,pretty normal. Gandalf had left to go to Minas Tirith because of a certain took being a little bit stupid,no offence he's young and cutie pie ,dont be mean.

So basically you have no adult supervision ,even though you are an adult but I guess you would call it parental supervision then. You and legolas had been going at it for at least an hour neither of you giving up or losing;uh thats what she said.  Well that was until you knocked the blade out of legolas' hand but while doing so you had tripped on your own feet dropping your blade on to make legolas fall flat backwards,with you on top. Thats what she said. However legolas was quick to flip himself on top of you ,legs either side of you hips ,his other blade to your throat. "I should have won that,I just tripped, plus if you wanted to take me on a ride you should have just asked." you had smirked at the elf who's cheeks were now red,he smiled shyly removing the blade.

You used this to flip him off you ,you now straddling the elf,just a little lower. You had grabbed his wrists pinning them above his head ,making it so your faces were barely inches away. "what do you say to that ,hm? son of the elf with a huge dildo gaggins sized cock up his butt." you had whispered ,okay so that wasnt very seductive."I say you better kiss me then take me into the tent,now." his voice stern ,you simple smirk pressing your lips to his quickly.

Before you lead him to the tent. "dont you dare tell ada about what we about to do?"

"what eat some potatoes?"

"shut up,i would like that."

[realfuurikuuri]

MissingArm!AU Chapter 5: The Torment of A Father

This one took a long time to get out. It was actually done and supposed to be uploaded on thanksgiving, but I got too busy to get that done, and the next day was another hassle, so here we are. I don't really have much to say for this chapter, aside from the fact that it's the first in a set of 3 that I've been wanting to finish since I started writing this. As the usual check out @spookylovesboba on a social media site of your choice, and uh... I have a good music recommendation for this chapter. I couldn't find a song that plays into its themes so... pick one for yourself, I guess. Leave it as a comment and I'll give it a listen.

Direct link to chapter 5 on AO3: XXX

Chapter below the cut

Mao Mao walked through town using a sheathed Geraldine as a cane. Because his feet still hurt. It was a warm day with large clouds. It hadn’t gotten windy yet, so the rain was still a bit off.

Badgerclops and Adorabat had only left yesterday, and he knew he should get some rest, but Mao Mao had stuff to do. Like, meet up with Ol’ Blue for his appointment. Who would’ve thought the Valley would have a therapist? He expected the closest one to be in the nearest kingdom. He was lucky that the valley had one, yet he didn’t feel very lucky. He knew he’d needed a therapist. Basic introspection was enough to tell him that. He didn’t want to go. He never wanted to go. He still didn’t want to go. However, he was a grown-ass man. He could take care of himself.

He stood in front of the door to the office. It was the same as the one he wrote down, yet he still checked it over and over. He was just postponing the inevitable. He was a grown adult! He could do this!

Not without a drink first.

Mao Mao hobbled his way into a 24-hour convenience store. He worked his way to the back where the booze was. They didn't have the kind he liked. Mao Mao faintly heard the doors chime as someone else walked in; he considered seeing who it was before deciding he should hurry and pick a drink. He was juggling on getting a can or bottle when he heard a commotion a familiar voice.

“Just give me the money,” it said.

Mao Mao sighed, deciding on the can, walking up to the front of the store. There he was, pressing his golden dagger to a sweetipies throat, was his son.

“What in the hell are you doing?” he asked.

Jǐngtì rolled his eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing? This is a stickup. A sheriff should know that.”

“If you needed money, you should’ve just asked.  I’m your dad I would have given you some.”

“Don’t worry, I already know your credit and debit information. Thought the bank would have called you by now?”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said,” also, you probably want to check your credit score.”

Mao Mao pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen, just… get off of the counter.”

Jǐngtì eyed his father before driving his fist into the sweetipies nose and getting off the counter. Not the best outcome, but Jǐngtì listened, which was more than he expected.

They left the store after giving the sweetipie some ice. Mao Mao walked closely behind his son. He had no other place to go, rather; he had no other place he wanted to go. Jǐngtì noticed his father and let out an annoyed grunt, picking up his pace. At first, it was a brisk walk, then a run, then a race. Mao Mao continued to follow them, even though his feet were leaving bloody paw prints.

Jǐngtì jumped off a bench, springing off a lamppost to the rooftops. Mao Mao repeated the movements, following closely after his son. Jǐngtì suddenly swung around. Mao Mao stumbled to a stop. Jǐngtì’s claws grazing his cheek instead of his eye. It was easy to forget that he was part cat. He had tufted fur around his shoulders, and a bushy tail, but kept a sense of balance and hidden claws. He preferred using the tanuki magic he inherited from his mother (it wasn’t that hard to realize why) but he still knew how to make best use of his feline traits.

Jǐngtì quickly broke from the rooftops, springing off the rooftops with a backflip, and reaching out with both arms to pull himself into a window in one smooth motion. A move that a one-armed man shouldn’t be able to do. Mao Mao jumped off the edge, sticking Geraldine through the window to use as a lever to pull himself inside.

Jǐngtì was waiting for him with one foot out the window and a purple ox in his arms. He looked Mao Mao square in the eye before throwing the ox in one direction and leaving in the other.

That would have worked on anyone else.

Mao Mao went after the ox first. He caught it the air, landing on a shop awning, setting the ox neatly on its feet before the awning snapped back like a trampoline, sending Mao Mao flying through the air, back to the rooftops.

Jǐngtì sneered at the act, gritting his teeth, and stamped his foot against the shingles. “God, just stop following me! What the fuck do you want!”

“I just want to talk,” he said.”

“About what?”

Good question.

“What are you carrying,” Mao Mao blurted out.

Jǐngtì looked at the plastic bags he was carrying with some disbelief. “Shouldn't you know what groceries are?”

“I know what groceries are,” he said,” I mean why do you have them?”

“Shouldn’t you also know that people need to eat?”

“No. I mean like… what are you doing here?”

“Getting groceries.”

Could the kid try not to get on his nerves? “What I mean to ask what are you still doing in the valley?”

“You and I still have some unfinished business, of course. Why wouldn't I still be here?”

“I just thought Tanya would have picked you up before she left.”

“Mom was here?”

Mao Mao felt like he just picked the wrong answer in one of Badgerclops’ dating sims.

Jǐngtì stopped. Mao Mao expected him to cry. He could already see tears, yet Jǐngtì just blinked them away with a sigh. Jǐngtì said nothing else. He slowly turned around and began to walk away.

“Wait!”

Mao Mao grabbed Jǐngtì by the wrist.

“What do you want?”

Mao Mao paused while he thought of a reason. “You want to get something to eat?”

* * *

Jǐngtì sat on the bench outside Muffin’s Bakery, twiddling his thumbs while he waited for his father. If it was up to Jǐngtì he would have picked somewhere else. Dessert wasn’t his favorite thing, but he didn’t really care. He was still numb. He expected mom to show up eventually, sooner rather than later, but he at least expected to meet her. He was just another afterthought. Jǐngtì shook his head and wiped tears from his eyes. Don’t let it show. Can’t let it show.

Don’t be weak. Can’t be weak.

He pulled up the bandana and rubbed the tears out of his eyes. He searched around for something to focus on before he broke down completely. He settled on looking over his shoulder to the inside of the bakery. His father leaned against the counter, waiting for the order. His eyebrows knitted together. The fox inside was giving Mao Mao a wide berth, shuffling in his seat, and sweating nervously. Muffin didn’t seem to notice the hard air. Were all sweetipies oblivious? Jǐngtì preferred not to dwell on sweetipies; all the sweetipies creeped him the fuck out. They were just so weird.

Jǐngtì watched Mao Mao get the order and sit down next to him. Mao Mao got beignets while Jǐngtì got the cobbler he didn’t want. He only got cobbler because he knew it annoyed his dad for some reason. He didn’t feel like annoying his dad, so why the hell did he even get it? Jǐngtì almost got up and threw it away until he remembered the pit in his stomach. Something disgustingly sweet was better than nothing.

They sat in silence for a moment before Jǐngtì spoke up.

“Why are you using your sword like that,” Jǐngtì asked.

“Using it as a cane? It’s because I hurt my feet the other day.”

“Fighting that monster?”

“Yeah.”

The pointless and pathetic small talk quickly gave way to silence again. They sat like that for another moment when Mao Mao managed to say something.

“How are you feeling,” Mao Mao asked.

“Why do you care?”

“I’m your dad. Caring is what I’m supposed to do.”

“I know,” he said,” I’m just wondering why you’re suddenly starting to do that now.”

“I’ve always cared-”

“Did you?” Jǐngtì interrupted. “Did you really? I go to prison and you do... whatever this is. Became babysitter to a bunch of creepy fucking toddlers? I know for a fact that you could have done something to get me out of prison.”

“It’s not that easy-”

“It really is. You could have paid bail yourself.. I know for a fact this goddamn ‘mao clan’ or whatever has enough money to literally pay a king’s ransom with excess. Instead, you let Mom spend 4 years collecting the money herself.”

Mao Mao stumbled over his words. “I… the situation was complicated. The monarchy-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he calmly said.

“What?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jǐngtì shuffled to the other side of the bench, refusing to even look his father in the eye.

“Why’d you get the groceries?”

“Cause I was hungry and would rather not starve to death because none of them want to do chores?”

“Who’s ‘them’?”

“My… roommates, I guess.”

“What roommates? Who are you staying with? Where are you staying?”

“Sky Pirates.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Mao Mao jump to his feet and begin pacing back and forth.

“Why would you?” He took a deep breath, taking the time to gather his thoughts. “You’re staying with the sky pirates?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I have a room at HQ you could have stayed in.”

“I didn’t want to. Matter of fact, I still don’t want to.”

“You shouldn’t be staying with the sky pirates-”

“I don't see why it's such a fucking problem with you! You went years without a call or even a letter! I can’t understand why you suddenly want anything to do with me.”

“Why wouldn’t I want anything to do with you? I’m your father.”

“You sure as hell don’t act like it.”

* * *

Mao Mao coiled his tail around his finger. It was a replacement habit. When he had both arms he tended twiddle his thumbs. The new habit gave him something to do while he thought of something to say.

What could he say?

“Look, son-”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

Mao Mao ignored it.

“Son, I know that… things were difficult. It was prison. It has to be. It must have been an incredibly difficult time for you.” He put his arm over Jǐngtì’s shoulder. “You had to learn to do things on your own, learn to make judgments for yourself, with no guidance or advice.”

“It must have been a painful thing to go through. It had to be. You managed to survive it and now you’ve come out stronger. You’ve gotten rid of a bit of that weakness. Leaving you in jail wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. It was a lesson. It taught you about consequences and weakness and-” I know it sounds harsh, but-”

Jǐngtì quickly stood up before he could finish. He took a deep breath and stared at the ground while he thought. “I know it sounds harsh, but-”

Mao Mao never got to try to justify himself.

Jǐngtì grabbed Mao Mao by the face and pushed him back with all his might. Mao Mao went over the bench crashing through the Bakery’s storefront. Mao Mao righted himself, stumbling into a landing, using only a cat's instinct. The danger of surprise attacks lay in the ‘surprise’. If it didn’t win the fight outright, the sudden switch created an opening. Mao Mao knew this; Jǐngtì did as well. His son seized the opportunity. He lunged forward. A punch that should have landed. Mao Mao caught it with his right hand; a feat only possible because the move and strategy was something he taught his son. A surprise throw to create a gap for a well-timed finish.

“A single wrong move can turn the tides,” he said, pulling Jǐngtì in for a leg sweep counter.

Mao Mao felt something strike the side of his head. An elbow split his skin. “A single wrong move can turn the tides,” Jǐngtì smugly repeated.

To know that he’d pull him in for a leg-sweep creating just enough space for an elbow that a one-armed man couldn’t stop. Did he read that far ahead? Mao Mao couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as everything tilted.

He grabbed Jǐngtì’s arm. They began to fall. Jǐngtì prepared to grapple on the ground, however, Mao Mao pushed off the ground, reeling back and then pushing Jǐngtì away with all his weight.

Mao Mao was still reeling from the attacks, his sense of balance too busy somersaulting to keep him from falling on broken glass. A stray shard went into his side, slipping past the ribs into the meat.

The pain was blinding. All Mao Mao could do was lie there in pain, waiting for Jǐngtì’s finisher. Would it be a kick to the skull? A stomp to the face? Mao Mao put his money on the forme; It seemed more Jǐngtì’s style. He waited and waited, but it never came.

Mao Mao pried himself off the ground.  He considered pulling out the shard but decided it was the only thing keeping him from bleeding out, so it was best to leave it. He looked for Jǐngtì, finding him back outside, sitting on the bench. Mao Mao grabbed used Geraldine as a cane to stumble toward his son, heaving for breath, barely able to even stand.

“How do you do it,” Jǐngtì asked. “How do you manage to come so close to doing something right? How do you manage to mess it up so swiftly, so consistently, so easily that it makes blinking look like a deadlift?”

Mao Mao had nothing to say.

“I’ll cover the damages. It was my fault. I got mad. I just thought… you might have changed, or at least learned your lesson.”

Jǐngtì stood up, grabbed his groceries, and walked away.

Mao Mao wanted to feel sad. He wanted to feel regret. He wanted there to be tears in his eyes, he wanted to say something, but he had nothing. No regret. No remorse. No rage. All his emotions and energy had been spent up and burnt out. He just felt tired. So unbelievably tired.

With nothing left to do, with nothing he wanted to do, he headed back home.

* * *

Somewhere along the long walk home, across the Valley’s grassy foothills, the pain had gone away. Actually, it would be better to say he had just gotten used to it. Maybe he’d just sleep with the shard in his side. He could probably take care of it tomorrow. Mao Mao felt a yawn come up, but he didn’t even have the energy to get it out. He put his head down and kept walking even though he was half-asleep. Habit and muscle memory would be enough to carry him the rest of the way. Maybe he’d get lucky and fall asleep with his eyes closed.

Mao Mao crossed the crest of the final foothill, absently hearing something. “Now where is he? I called and called, but he didn’t answer the phone. Does he actually live here? Thing looks like a dollhouse.”

Mao Mao could have sworn he recognized the voice. Who did it belong too? It didn’t belong to anyone in the Valley. Who was it? Damn! The name was on the tip of his tongue.

Bam!  

Mao Mao stumbled back clutching his bloody nose. Did he just walk into his own front door? That was what he gets for not paying attention.

“Mew Mew! There you are, my boy! What are you doin’ walking with your eyes closed? Don’t tell me you lost your sight. Already lost your arm can’t have you losin’ much more than that can we?” he said with a hearty gut-filled laugh Mao Mao hadn’t heard in nearly a decade.

The realization knocked the wind out of Mao Mao.

“Papa?”

[purplesurveys]

568

Have you ever had a really bad haircut? I haven’t had any truly awful ones. The only time I felt ‘meh’ about a haircut was when I went to the salon on my own and told the hairdresser what I wanted myself. I was never good at that kind of stuff, and always prefer being with someone so they can tell me if I’m headed somewhere good or otherwise. Did you ever order any clothes from the Alloy catalogue? I’ve never heard of that. What brand, color, and type is your favorite eyeliner? I’ve only ever used eyeliner at one point in my life and I’ve forgotten every detail about it. It was black, though. Do you wear eyeliner? I used to. I wanted to look nice post-breakup, so I learned how to do makeup to feel good about myself. Was there ever a time in your life when you couldn't cry? I guess when I have HAD to cry in the past, as in for a skit, I couldn’t. But I can be triggered and cry very easily otherwise.

What's your favorite type of yogurt? I hate yogurt, I hate everything that’s sour (except for sour tapes, but even those I can only handle at a certain level of sourness haha). What posters did you have on your wall as a teenager? Wrestling. My mom took them down for no reason eventually, even though I loved having them up on my wall. What are your favorite type of calendars? I mean I don’t obsess over calendars enough to have a favorite type? so a digital one on my phone and laptop is fine with me. I do sometimes wish I was rich enough just to be able to spend on those novelty calendars with Audrey Hepburn photos and Monet paintings in every month, though. Do you have a full-length mirror? I used to but it got transferred to my sister’s room. I don’t mind it though; I don’t use mirrors all that much. When was the last time you bought stamps? Elementary school, probably. Do you have any overdue library books right now? HAH, yes I do actually. It was a book I needed to do a Powerpoint on, and I completely forgot that its due date was on the 4th. The fee is like ₱2/day so I’ll have to pay around ₱8 to ₱10 by next week, depending on when I’ll feel like returning the book. How often do you do laundry? I don’t; my mom prefers to do it herself. Do you have a piggy bank? Maybe as a kid, but I never took it seriously because I didn’t sit well with the fact that I couldn’t see the money I’ve been saving. I’ve stuck with a good old wallet ever since, just so I can know my progress. Do you remember your locker combinations from high school? I don’t, actually. I wonder what numbers I used to secure my locks :o What's your favorite DIY crafts youtube channel? Aren’t a lot of those misleading and downright fake? Could you spend hours on pinterest? I’ve never spent more than five minutes at one time on that website/app. Do you own plaid pants? Nah, it’s not really my style. Have you ever had to wear a school uniform? I had to wear my school’s uniform for 14 straight years. All I ever wore Monday through Friday for that span of time. What was your high school's mascot? We don’t have a mascot; we just have school colors. What were your high school's team colors? Gold, white, blue. Who were your best friends in high school? Angela, Gabie, Athenna, and Sofie. Others I was close with were Chelsea, Kaira, and Fern. Who was your first boyfriend or girlfriend? Gab. Have you ever been to Chicago? Nope but it’s a dream. If yes, what do you like best about it? The FOOD, the culture, the museums. Have you ever stayed in a hostel? Nope, never been. Would you rather sleep on the top bunk or bottom bunk? Bottom. I wouldn’t like sleeping somewhere that felt unnatural, and lying down way high from the floor is definitely one of those things. Do you love camping? I’ve never tried, so I don’t know. Would you rather sleep in a tent or under the stars? Lie under the stars for as long as I can, then pass out in a tent. What insects are you afraid of? Cockroaches. Have you ever had a secret admirer that left you notes? I haven’t. Are you close with your cousins? I have a good relationship with most of my cousins, mom’s side; but I’m especially close with my eldest cousin, who I essentially view as my older brother. I’m so-so with cousins on my dad’s side - we were very close as kids, but they moved further to the south and I never really get to see them anymore, so we grew more shy as the years passed.  Are you close to any aunts or uncles? I love my mom’s cousins; they’re all younger than her and they’re mostly late Gen X-ers so they’re more hip and cool hahaha. I wouldn’t say we’re close but they are definitely much easier to talk to than other older relatives. Are you close to your grandparents? I seldom get to see my paternal grandparents because they live with the ^ same cousins I’ve since grown quite distant from, so I wouldn’t say I’m close to them but of course I love them all the same. I was very close with my maternal grandfather when he was still alive as I always knew what to do to make him laugh; and I am also crazy for my maternal grandmother, although in the last few years she’s been all about Jesus so sometimes it gets a little draining hearing about how I should always pray and that “God can answer all [my] problems.” Still love her loads, though. Who betrayed your trust? A friend did, many years ago. Who was your first best friend (apart from a sibling)? Bold of you to assume a sibling was my first best friend, because you’re wrong lol. I’d consider this girl we calle Kaye the first one; we were class number buddies in Kinder 1 (I was 4, she was 5) so we got close quickly. She changed schools by Grade 1 and I haven’t talked to her since, but I still remember her fondly. What was your favorite thing to do at sleepovers when you were younger? I was never allowed at sleepovers when I was a kid. What kind of popcorn is your favorite? Sweet-flavored ones. I could never take dry-ass plain/salted popcorn. It has to be something like salted caramel or parmesan. Does your town have a big fountain in it? If we do have one, I’ve never seen it. But I’m pretty sure we don’t. What is your town known for? For being on a mountain and being ridiculously hard to get to because 1) of its winding, accident-prone roads, and 2) IT’S ON A MOUNTAIN. I live in the area of Antipolo just before you start to go up, so I don’t get offended much by the complaints of everyone else; but I’m in solidarity nonetheless with the ~mountain-dwellers~ just because I used to go to school in upper Antipolo. Do you currently live in the city you grew up in? I mostly grew up in Antipolo, so yes I still live here. I did live in Manila in my early childhood but that time was much shorter than the time I’ve spent in my current city. What's one way in which you're behind the times? I hate Minecraft and I hate Fortnite even more. What's one way in which you're still a child? I love coloring books :) What's one way in which you're old? I have a bad back. Do you feel old or young? Or do you feel both at different times? Definitely feel a bit of both, depending on my mood. The perfect example could be that I can be annoyed seeing younger kids make so much noise, but the next day I can be exactly like those kids making a bunch of noise with my friends. How old are you? I am 21. Do you know what you want to do for your next birthday? No, not yet. Quite early to think about at this point, really. If yes, what is it? A private dinner would already sound perfect. What is the last new thing you discovered that was really good? Vaping. I mean don’t try it if you haven’t already, but yeah. What would be the best surprise you could receive right now? Tbh if my mom came home carrying a box of Yellow Cab pizza. AKA something that would NEVER happen; she snobs Yellow Cab cos she thinks they’re too expensive for pizza. Do you usually forgive when someone hurts your or try to get revenge? I get my revenge, subtly. Were there any subjects in school that were really easy for you? Our subject Language, which was mandatory back in elementary school, was literally basic English grammar. Not everyone in my former school spoke fluent English so a lot of them weren’t all that good at the subject; but for people like me who had a solid grasp of English and read a lot to begin with, the class was basically a breather from the other more difficult classes. If so, what? ^ I already told ya all about it. Did you ever skip a grade or get held back a grade? Skipping grades isn’t a thing in my former school which is honestly a good thing for me cos it would have bred a lot of competition. But students would have to repeat a level if their grades showed that they had to; I wasn’t one of them. What time of day were you born? 9:11 in the evening. What is the best hairstyle you've ever had? I loved my layered hair like 10 years ago. It was probably the only time I did something to my hair that wasn’t just a trim, so I enjoyed that experience. I also liked cutting my hair way, way too short last year; it was a bold move but I liked how it look, as did everyone else. Do you think you look better with dyed hair or natural hair? I’ve never tried dyeing my hair so I wouldn’t know. Do you think your look better with curly hair or straight hair? Curly, I think. Do you have bangs? I have baby bangs but they’re just stubborn hair standing around my head lmao but no I don’t have actual bangs. Do you think you look better with bangs or without? I haven’t tried getting bangs as an adult. I did look cute with them as a toddler though :( Do you think you look better with long hair or short? Long. What's your favorite rock band? Paramore, if they still count. Who's your favorite country singer? None. Do you ever listen to Celtic music? No. Do you listen to Hillsong? No. Did you try the unicorn frappuccino, and if yes, were you a fan? No I never tried it. Have you ever won a contest? I won a school quiz bee and an essay writing contest before, but I wouldn’t call the latter legitimate. It was just a writing contest about wrestling held by a local TV station and the three best entries got to win WWE t-shirts haha. Have you ever wanted to be a model, actress, singer, or dancer? I wanted to be a model when I was like 12. No fucking clue what was going through my head at the time. When you look at your baby pictures, do you recognize yourself? Sure. Has your hair color changed since you were a toddler? Nope. Do you wear matching socks? Yes. How many drawers does your dresser have? Three. Do you own an American flag shirt? No thanks. Do you own a British flag shirt? I don’t. The Union Jack got overused by 2011 Tumblr, honestly. Do you have a seashell collection? I don’t. Aren’t we prohibited from getting those from beaches? That’s the case in the Philippines, anyway. Do you have a rock collection? I do not. Do you decorate for Halloween? We didn’t decorate the house but I celebrated it with friends this year. What is your favorite thing to do in the pool? Float around and relax. Flamingos or pineapples? ??? Flamingos, I guess? Cacti or seashells? Seashells. Maple tree or palm tree? Palm tree. Dreamcatcher or wind chimes? Dreamcatchers! Have you ever taken a picture at the perfect moment? I probably have at few points. Do you have a crush right now? Yes. What color was your first car? My first and current car is white. Was your first car used or new? I’m actually not sure. It was my dad who purchased it. Do you have a car now? Yep. What color(s) eyeshadow do you wear the most? I never wear any.

[jungdrizzydraco]

An O.C. for Your Asses!!!

I wanna see if the characters are legit before I move forward with this short story im working on (I'm a character first kinda guy, so I work inside-out) leave any form of constructive critique you wish, they are still works in progress, thanks!!

Augustine Harriet Andersson

Age:22

Sign: Gemini (sun) Cancer (moon) Virgo (rising)

Height: 5'8

Eye Color: Formerly dark-brown, bleached to a pastel-hazel because of some dark magic fuckery

Hair Color/Cut: dark-brown,q shifting variations of a fade, whose design changes somewhat based on his thoughts and emotions (yes, this is an enchanted fade)

Build: lean, lightly muscled from years lifting cauldrons in his grandfather's potion shop

Notable Features: Dimples; left-dimple is deeper than right, multiple piercings on each ear, artificial left eye (looks organic but to magical eyes, it looks otherwise)

"Have you ever been like...fundamentally angry? I feel that way...like at my core, there's this rage that seethes and coils at the pit of my stomach, everyday, like a python that can't quite squeeze his prey all the way to death. Everytime I think I've grown up, forgiven something or someone or myself, there's this anger that tightens right back up all over again...like it's reminding me of something. Somedays...I feel like that feeling will petrify everything I've ever loved about myself, and I'll just be another slave to outrage and ego and pain...just like everyone else...haha, then I'll really be a normie."  -August Andersson, on his depression and internal anger issues.

Augustine Andersson is a witch-boy. But you could probably already tell that from looking at him: the way his eyes are almost constantly fixed towards some unseeable infinity, the way air molecules hum with fresh, manic energy around him, how he seems to absorb sunlight and the way his brown skin would filter the glow as a result of his connection to the natural...it was all very off putting to others around him for most of his young adult life. And as we all know, no one likes a freak, so such years had a hand in building his current trust issues, feelings of great anger and inadequacy, and all the tics and tricks he uses to keep such feelings at bay. He's not at a total loss; at his core he is a humanitarian, deeply compassionate and available to those who have managed to capture his heart, as well as wild and humorous. However, he keeps a tight lid on his darkest feelings and insecurities, out of fear that they may be too much for those around him (also, he might accidentally call forth a vile arch-daemon on accident, but that's neither here nor there.) After finally having had enough of his mundane time amongst the humans, he vanishes from his college campus one day and takes to the open road, hoping that like the many young, angsty teens in the movies he loves, he will find himself in his own solitude. But the best way to deal with oneself is when confronting someone else, and after a close-call with a reckless (and very cute) motorcycle rider on an interstate, August will be forced to deal with every single part of himself, the good, the bad, and the strange...

A few more things about him...

1. His father is Afro-swedish, hence his last name.

2. Loves to travel and is nomadic by nature.

3. He gets a special kind of warmth out of being moderately petty at all times.

4. He loves open spaces and bodies of water, as well as hikes through mountains (ok so he only went once in Vegas, so sue him, he really liked it!)

5. Surprisingly low maintenance, really just likes being around people that are happy, and the feeling easily rubs off on him.

6. Both positive and negative emotions easily rub off on him.

7. Can get caught up in moments of warm content, given his unstable interior life, and can get lost in wasting/spending time.

8. Gets restless easily.

9. Budding film buff, faves include Kill Bill vol. 1&2, Her, Moonrise Kingdom, Gone Girl, Blue is the Warmest Color, Moonlight, & Mean Girls.

10. August's father is very engaged with politics and civil rights, so in honor of that, he decided that his son's middle name would belong to one of the greatest figures of the civil rights movement: Harriet Tubman.

11. Favorite new movie is The Favourite.

12. Due to a lack of acceptance of his full self and the full spectrum of his sexuality, he is judgemental of others and holds them to the same near-impossible standards he holds for himself. 

13. Things he expects from others: To read his mind and conjure what he wants without saying, to have his needs and boundaries respected without actually stating so, for others to fit in whatever box he thinks they should be in, for everyone's intellect to be slightly lower than his own, but high enough not to annoy him with silly questions, ect.

14. Listens to Lorde, J. Cole, Rex Orange County, Frank Ocean, Lana Del Rey, Tyler the Creator, Young Thug and assorted film soundtracks.

15. Enjoys playing into his double-sided nature when it suits him, and has a secret glee in melding into different roles depending on who's around him.

16. Is attracted to more eccentric personalities in platonic and romantic relationships

17. Smokes weed to escape boredom. (and his problems)

18. Smokes weed because he likes the feeling.

19. Is secretly a little ratchet, but he'll kill you if you say so, it'll fuck up his reputation as the quasi-sociopathic erudite.

Magic House-Thoth

Augustine is a member of the Sacred House of Life, witches whose magic is passed down from the Egyptian Gods themselves. August himself is a descendant of an African slave-witch, once known as Ashe. She was taken to Egypt as a typical piece of cargo from zealot raiders, and was sentenced to a life of building the pyramids. Or so she would have thought: Thoth, the God of Magic and Knowledge, took pity upon her and beguiled her to follow an invisible force into the desert one night. He then revealed himself to her in his ibis-headed brilliance and bestowed upon her a set of choices: he could free her now and set her loose across the desert with all the things she would need for survival, or he could give her secrets and wisdoms unknown to man at the time, but she would have to frequently return to him for lessons. Ashe always prized knowledge and growth over any material thing, or even something such as freedom (I prefer to disagree myself). And secrets from a God must count for that much more, right? She indulged in option two. Thoth grinned and whispered to her the mysteries of life, the secrets of the stars, and the riddles of worlds lost and intangible, he spoke magick into her very soul. She would then use her newfound knowledge to fool her captors, freed any slave that would believe in her, and with her wits about them, guided them across the desert to build a library-like sanctuary, in honor of Thoth. The former slaves then learned from the god's teachings, passed through Ashe, and became witches and educators in their own right, and Ashe came to lead this new coven of magi. This is how the House of Thoth became to be. 

Magick: As a member of house of Thoth, August has the ability to manipulate various aspects of the moon, writing, hieroglyphics, knowledge and sciences, and the progression of time. His particular specialty is the creation of Moon Dust, a substance used as a medium for most of his spells. By gathering various quantities of mineral, be it: crystal, rocks, pearls, aluminum, or even silvers and golds, he can channel his magic into them and break down and rearrange their atomic components into a corrosive, abrasive substance that also tends to stick to objects due to an electric charge. This dust is also dangerous to breathe in. He tends to carry around a pouch or two on his person, as trying to create some on the fly is nearly impossible given how much time and intricacy is needed to create the substance. (I mean, working with just a pile of plain old rocks would take a couple of hours to convert, let alone harder or more distilled substances.) Spells that he has mastered so far include...

Spell of Refraction: A spell in which the moondust bonds to whomever or whatever August desires (sans the harmful effects, it's enchanted in this state) and whatever is enveloped in dust turns invisible via light refraction.

Spell of Revelations: He can spread his moondust over an area and have the pieces cling to imprints of negative emotion or dark magick. A spell used for forensic work.

Spell of Retribution: An offensive spell that uses moondust to its fullest offensive powers and creates small funnels of dust to ravage the opponent. The largest funnel made could surround a fully grown man.

Golemancy:  Can create golems out of the moon dust he has formed, usually no larger than a human toddler. They tend to take form roughly resembling lego-men (he was a big fan of the Lego Expanded Universe as a child), but one can easily be fooled by their size: each golem has the strength of three men, and can combine to further power themselves up.

There are a few spells that don't require the moon dust...

-The Veil: A surface-level illusion layered directly over the skin. This allows the caster to look like whatever he wants to look like and sound however he wants, but can be broken if struck with bad intentions (like a slap from an offended woman on the street)

 -Somnus: A very old, yet practical spell. Also one that does not require moondust, this handy spell induces sleep.  Those affected by this spell will not remember being forced to sleep, but they will have active and vivid dreams for distraction. Also necessary for Dream Diving.

-Dream Diving:  A skill Augustine has yet to master, this allows the caster to astral project into one's consciousness for complete access to the afflicted parties mind, if the brain is distracted by dreams. August has gotten stuck in several public nude dreams, and it takes long hours to remove oneself from another's mind.

-Illusion Casting 

-Temporary Madness Inducement

-Script Magick: By writing down a word or phrase on any surface that can be sufficiently marked on, whatever has been written manifests somehow, just so long as it is within his power. He can't create miracles with it though.

Top 10 Roadtrip Songs

Sobriety- Sza

No Role Moldelz-J. Cole

Sacrifices -Dreamville, assorted artists

Grown Up Fairy Tails- Chance the Rapper, Taylor Bennett 

My Boy-Billie Eilish

U.N.I.T.Y.- Frank Ocean

West Coast: Lana Del Rey

Cruise Ship-Young Thug

400 Lux-Lorde

Let Em Know- Bryson Tiller

[tom-at-the-farm]

I was talking to Sarah @smurkark  and I cannot believe I forgot to write about my great experience soliciting a psychic in New Orleans.

As you might imagine, this is the tourist version of trying to find a hotdog vendor in Times Square; they’re fucking everywhere, in actual shops and in make-shift booths and in people’s backyards. And much like the meat actually used in street hotdogs, their abilities are mysterious and difficult to verify.

To be clear: I do not believe in a world beyond the material one immediately observable to us and subject to scientific laws. To also be clear, I am a stupid soft human being and as such I’m totally superstitious and more than a little afraid of ghosts.

I was raised by atheists in a country that was nominally atheist at the time. What my mother believes - and this I asked her - is that we are all here for a limited time before we die, but this is not sad, because we have all these years to live and gather experiences and love other people and hopefully be loved in return.

She’s also the same person who bought me a tiny silver cross and then had me secretly baptized in the Russian Orthodox church to combat the crazed anxiety that has plagued me since I was a toddler - my demons, as it were.

My great-grandmother, who died about 20 years ago and had early childhood memories before the 1917 Revolution, attempted a number of pagan rituals on me for the same reason. I forgot most of it, but the crux involved her pouring water over me and letting it gather into a bowl as she chanted. She dripped candle wax into the same bowl, and supposedly it solidified in the shape of my fears, which were then purged from me by the water. Looking at the hardened wax floating in the bowl one time, I told her it looked like a wolf, the Seryi Volchok that had scared me. I didn’t actually care about the wolf, but I loved her so much and she had tried so hard. I wanted her to believe in it, and in me by extent.

In the end, it’s all so fascinating to me, and not because obviously none of it worked, or because I’m Jewish and yet the idea of taking it to a rabbi at the time would have been too impossible and wild. It’s mostly because I was apparently crazy enough as a toddler that grown-ass adults who went to college for engineering and grew up in Soviet communes thought Christianity and villager paganism were worth a shot.

Everything is worth a shot when you’re scared.

This is a long and arduous way of saying that I think psychics are charlatans who at best are delusional and at worst prey on the delusional. They are also - the convincing ones - excellent readers of people’s emotions and circumstances. It’s a talent, even if it’s used for dubious reasons.

One time in NYC, I paid a woman named Madame Rosalie to read my palm, because I was feeling lonely and bored and sad and I wanted someone to touch my hands. She told me I needed a man in my life. I did not.

In New Orleans, I paid a woman named Miss Patty to tell my fortune from her tarot deck. I was extremely sleep-deprived and had trouble focusing my eyes; as a result, the wall perforated with tiny holes behind her played optical illusions on me, which made it difficult to concentrate. Maybe because of this, her physical appearance is hazy to me.

She told me many things that were true, like that I felt trapped by my life, as though in limbo, and that I had previously been weighed down by people who didn’t have my best interests in mind. I suspect this is probably true of 90% of the world’s population. All of the cards she placed before me were good omens, even the ones with lots of sharp knives in them.

The thing she told me that I can’t let go of is that a presence of a “much older female relative” is with me. Specifically, a “grandmotherly” presence. Because, you know, dead grandmothers are highly unusual for women in their 30s.

This dead woman told her that I’m being brainwashed by people in my life, and that I should be grateful that certain things I wish had happened didn’t actually happen, because they would have “consumed” me otherwise. Like, she actually looked me straight in the face and said that this was what the “presence” was telling her.

Does Miss Patty know the Russian words for “brainwash” and “consume”? Would my dead grandmother even know what “brainwash” means? Why would she be with me and not her daughter? Why would she be in America at all when she had a husband and other children and grandchildren in the country where she lived and died?

Or maybe it’s not her at all, maybe it’s my other living grandmother’s sisters who died in the Holocaust. What would they have to tell me? “So I died before you were born, and also, you kinda suck.”

And still, it doesn’t make me mad. It’s obviously false and deliberately manipulative, but what kind of person has the self-assurance to look someone in the eye and tell them “your dead grandma says your parents ruined your life”? Either a sociopath or a true believer.

And what sort of person doesn’t respond to that by spitting in their face and demanding their money back? Me, I guess. I named my “presence” Marya. It’s my grandmother’s name and what my mother wanted to name me.

Marya has yet to speak to me.

[2dtacokit-blog]

oh jeez. Coming Back and I guess, Coming Out?

Well it has been over a few years I think since I was last on here and boy has things changed, myself included. I wasn’t planning on coming back on here as it was a horrendous triggering mess, couldn’t stand the bitchiness and toddlers... But my best buddy dragged my sorry ass back. My blog was an unmitigated disaster, I cringed for the longest time and was furious with myself. Mass deleting spree. It’s a long old read, maybe the longest post in the entire universe, but I cannot put this concisely. If you make it to the end, I thank you for witnessing this.

TW for CSA, SA, R, Su, Si. Just tread carefully. Crude, explicit and uncensored. 

If you know me in real life, please please do not reveal this information.

Some things are the same, still parenting, still confused, still in therapy, still fighting the same old demons but a lot has changed. I have grown up for a start, wizened up a bit, got some of my shit together and I am now single. I gave two fingers up to the NHS mental health service after the complete closure of therapeutic services in my area and sought private medical care. I am in private analytic psychotherapy weekly, getting to know myselves. I have now been formally/clinically diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, which has been a tough nut to get my teeth around. An old me, unsure who, used to write about it on here with complete assurance that it was the case and I didn’t recognise that attitude when I came back on. I will now be a lot more cautious with what I write with relation to my mental health because it puts me at great risk. I do not want the whole perimeter for my existence to be based on my mental health anymore... Even though it still governs my existence.

So yes, we are a “system” working towards consolidation of trauma and experiences in therapy and with private specialists, but we are primarily Aly. 

Another biggie to cover, and this will be the first place other than the survivors forum I will post this on, is that I am having serious issues with gender dysphoria. Now this is gonna sound very strange, for most that have known me I have seemed someone who sexualized their female body continually, putting it on display and clinging to it. Well... It came as a shock to me as to anyone I haven’t already come out to (literally 5 people I know in real life?). I will do what I can to explain and make sense of what is an ongoing discovery with my therapist.

Trauma fucks with people in many ways. Sexual and psychological trauma is an insidious beast that disguises themselves in many forms. Now as I have already covered, I have DID. A condition caused by having to adapt to survive severe and repeated complex trauma in childhood. I still have not much of an idea what that is but other me’s do. That is neither here or there for now, that is my business, but what it does is erase chunks of my memory of things I have been unable to process/deal with. 

As a kid, I was abnormal to say the least. A large chunk of that was due to trauma, switching continually and just casually failing my way through anything other than academics. One thing I didn’t understand was how the heck I couldn’t connect to the girls around me. I didn’t understand them, couldn’t get my head around how they worked or how they looked. I was tall, scrawny, long haired boyish thing that was torn between doing what they loved (getting muddy, trashing shit, buying the most ridiculous jeans you can imagine, pummelling people in rugby, pummelling people in the playground ((not proud of it)), studying, hanging out with boys, being silly) and who I felt I should be (cute, girly, into pink, dancers, sweet, gentle). 

That conflict tore my little primary school brain apart. What used to happen at home is a mystery but school was agony. I would go in a dishevelled mess and was a freak, as all and sundry used to make clear. Girls didn’t want me as their friend because I wasn’t like them, and my attempts to emulate them came across desperate, copycat, attention seeking behaviour. But dammit I still tried. Tried the pink, tried the cute stuff, but they were my sisters stuff... Not for me. I loved them but they didn’t look right on me, made me feel worse. My younger sister was an alien to me; a proper real life girl and that highlighted my freakishness. I was being rejected by everyone. Experiencing massive emotional and physical neglect at home, bullied at school, turned away by counsellors and tutors, ofc rejected by the boys and girls I fancied. 

ENTER FROM THE LEFT MY MAGICALLY SHIT DISSOCIATIVE POWERS.

I had a few angry boy personalities about by this time, I didn’t know they were boys until like September last year. I had a mass emergence of parts, all male, that stored these memories like time capsules. Memories I had forgotten due to my dissociative amnesia. Anyway, similarly to how these parts formed and were there early, so came a female personality. One that could preform girl where the rest of us couldn’t. Not very well at this stage, she was a young girl, but she dutifully tried to copy the girls we grew up around. Camouflaging what I guess was early stage dysphoria from myself and those around me. This part felt terror at appearing anything like a boy, because looking like a boy when we should be a girl would get us bullied and rejected again. And we were alone enough. 

Around this time, I think between 9-11, I was visibly changing a lot in photos. Sometimes I would be incredibly tomboyish, othertimes... painfully... a mismatched attempt at what we felt a girl should be. Combine that with the elusive sexual abuse we aren’t clear of yet, we prioritised being sexually attractive over all else. Boys liked girls that had tits. Boys liked girls that liked their tits. My family liked girls that were girls, and tits were a thing girls had, make up were what girls wore. Girls liked girls that looked like girls, and were jealous of girls who looked sexy. Well that is who we will be, couldn’t be cute, so let’s be sexy instead. I wore miniskirts that were obscene, tank tops saying “sexy kitty” on it, and stuffed my croptop to make sure my tiny prepubescent body looked that little bit more adult. That didn’t go how we wanted it to. We looked more like a freak than ever because parts were still clinging desperately to their boyhood, and we looked like a clusterfuck to be honest. A sad one though. Desperately sad and my heart breaks to look back at that confused person in the photos.To be clear though, we were not at this point attaching any of this to gender, boyhood wasn't at this point me saying “LOOK I AM A BOY” but kinda what we really were without connecting the word boy to it. I wasn’t afforded an opinion of my own at this age, raised in the church, within a violent and abusive household in literally one of the whitest, hetero-normative, conservative towns in the UK erases ones ability to discover themselves.

In a final act of madness to solidify that i was a normal girl we went to an all girls school. 

Mistake.

Before we even got to that dam school we watched The Matrix. For the first time we saw someone that looked like a girl but also looked like a boy. We were mystified. We bypassed Trinity, she was a she and we didn’t connect at all, but the blonde one (who died very early on) has short boyish spiky hair. So we took our smol ass to the hairdressers and insisted we got our past shoulder length hair cut completely off. That did not go the way we planned. We looked older, looked somehow more like a freak girl/boy thing, and it was horrifying. We also looked like our mum, which was another problem related to the abuse stuff. We cried for ages because we felt like a freak, didn’t understand why we did it, couldn’t change it and we were about to start at the new, All Girls Grammar school. Shit. 

The first two years at that school was hell. My mum finally kicked my dad out, but we were still having to see him weekly. I was at this point dissociating all the time. I would have three loads of school stuff with me all the time, for reasons i couldn’t understand. I didn’t understand why the other girls had one pencil case when I had 3, had to have 3! How in the heck did these girls carry their stuff not in a bag or a giant tray like I had to?! Well I was catering to the parts that were present without knowing it. Either way I was bait man, freaking bait.

Skinny, tall, covered head to toe in excoriation marks, short tufty hair, looked like a boy, but so desperate to fit in I wore my dam mums make up. I got lost all the time, was crying all the time or having fits where i would smash stuff, steal things, yell for no reason or be very sexually overt. I was torn apart. A website was set up by my old so called friends called The Aly Fan Club, where they took photos of me around school, uploaded them to the net and commented on them, with people (usually men) commenting what they wanted to do to me. I took all this in silence because when i got home, my amnesia would wipe that shit clean from my brain for ages. From one hell to another. 

Coming out as what I thought was gay at this time was another huge problem, like any emo nerd I drew all this trash and put it on dA. In no time at all, most of the school knew I liked girls and there was now something NEW to bully me for. I tried to see this as punishment for my bullying behaviour in primary school to justify it but there was no justification. So much at this point was about punishment.

Punishment for being a freak, for being a loser, for not being like anyone else in this entire dam school. Punishment for looking so gross, for wanting these awful, naughty things, for liking the wrong people, for drawing how i felt... I needed to be punished. So I let it continue. I was an awful person and i needed to be punished.

But here is a thing. Breasts. When mine came in they came in suddenly. It felt like all my prayers had been answered and my ticket to being a girl like all these other girls had been called. I was One Of Them. I hated my body so much because of the hatred I got from others and my own discomfort that when these babies came in I adored them. Not what I anticipate anyone expects to here from someone suspecting they are a trans guy? “if you were truly dysphoric you would have hated them, that would have made it worse!” well for most cases probably. What these fatty parts gave me was attention, which i had been starved from in almost all aspects of my life, family included. What’s more, this attention was positive. I had never experienced such a thing for my body before that wasn’t... locked in another trauma pocket. 

For someone who was ready to kill themselves at age 12 because they were such an unforgivable, wretched, disgusting, freak, that wasn't even a girl, that couldn't stop biting themselves till they bled... The power my newly sexualised and definitely female body gave me was sorely needed. People fancied me now. They wanted to touch me rather than just hit me, or throw things at me. They wanted to pull me not swear at me or spit at me. Survival Aly adapts, it is what we do, so we adapted. But things were still not right. Self harm was a massive problem, so were suicide attempts because we were still... not quite there yet. We ventured online a lot, where older men from across the world would ask for photos, videos and meets. I had no idea this was sexual grooming, but we were also dependant on that to survive. Somehow though, the impact of that, some bullying that was still happening, my everpresent self hatred, confusion and discomfort and increase in abuse in the home led us to attempt suicide in the school toilet when i was 14.

We tried to cut our neck open this time.

A teacher found us and dragged us to student services. My mum as usual was angry as heck and embarrassed. Apologising for my behaviour and the inconvenience. My dad was cloying like molasses creeping into my head. I remember because i bled all over the blouse of Ms Ginsberg, a tutor i fancied since forever. It wasn’t that severe, it was considered a superficial wound, but the amount we were doing and the continual attempts were serious cause for concern. Then my step mom found photos of me being sexually active at 14 and before, my mom found a load of the video files for the other men and I was hospitalised. Something miraculous occurred during this time though, another part came out. One that was confident and proudly female, one that was overtly sexualised but more cunning. She was a chav, an incredible cheemo (idk if anyone remembers this fashion disaster movement thing). She could adapt and fit in to any social situation and essentially helped us waltz out of hospital with no memory of being there for years. 

All memory of confused tomboy/greyspace/whatever the fuck i was me was gone. This me didn’t give a dam and was in it for themselves and to survive, to be adored. And sex was their weapon, they just had to be cunning about it. By this point I was 15 and didn’t really think more about what I was. We were screwing guys now, guys and girls, thought this was something to be proud of. Dismissed the old small group of friends i had for the guys that hung around at the park and girls that used to go out and get drunk. We took naked photos of ourselves and put them online, and paraded ourselves around scantily clad because it made us feel powerful and loved. 

At 16 i was raped. I was again at 17 twice, and this pattern continued beyond being hospitalised for the second time at 20 (the worst 21st birthday ever), beyond getting pregnant which was also conceived through rape. I had been sexually abused and raped a lot during this time, but my dissociative amnesia would wipe the memory. So I would know something bad was happening but was denied processing it by my inbuilt survival mechanisms that kept me alive as a kid. I was unable to get out of the loop or register any danger because the switching would be so automatic, so ingrained, it basically was not up to me to get us out of the situation because another part was there in brace position having dissociated fully. All during this time I preformed female because it was necessary. I didn't have room to question my gender because i was too busy surviving and trying to literally not die. 

Then the pregnancy. I cant relive any of this trauma stuff too much, that isn't the point of this post but during this time, my gender was more apparent than ever before. Drawings we used to do of parts that had male appendages but still looked female started to change. Become more male. The internal distress was so monumental for many reasons; rape pregnancy, the gen father not leaving us alone, fear of my dad, still loosing my mind, desperately trying to be loved my my partner at the time. But there was another distress there. 

I cant be a mum. Women become mums. I cant hold this child in me. This shouldn't be there. 

Everyone was hammering home how much of a glowing woman I was and each time they said it I wanted to die. I tortured my body, got others to torture it too. Despised it, loathed it. It wasn't right to any of my parts. Three parts got us through that pregnancy but we dont know who gave birth. I dont remember it. We destroyed almost every pregnant photo of us. What were we disgusted by aside from the feeling of being broken, used and bred? How undeniably, unquestionably female we were. 

Even so things were happening inside my head and body that made us feel insane. We started feeling like we had a penis, like felt like we could touch it, could feel stimulated by holding an appendage there (tmi i know). We tried in secret without thinking about it, moving our breasts up, down, flat, out of the way (fairly impossible by this point i was a lactating G cup *vomits*). We had glimmers of feeling male... which... felt good. First time we pegged we cried in the toilet with the door locked because it felt real, felt right though we couldn't explain it. So we were too scared to do it again, tried to force feminise ourselves again because that is WHO WE SHOULD BE. I mean look? I have a kid now, i am “mom”. Stopped drawing these mysterious genderconfused parts and forcefully only drew accurately what our body was. Which was agony.

Until September 2017. 

Ploughing through therapy, maturing, making milestones in recovery when we started to talk about childhood trauma, my dad, the first and only time i drew myself fully as a man for my friend, and BAM! Bam! is not overrated it was literally a Bam! moment, because the part emergence I mentioned earlier occurred. And with these male parts came the bloody nail bat of gender dysphoria hitting me in the head over and over till I self harmed for the first time in years. The male parts were terrified and disoriented at first, they had a lot of growing up and catching up to do, some more so than others. They remembered being 15, 13, 10. Remembered the first pegging experience, remembered... things we had no connection to. Now they are mostly my age, helping each other to mature and grow as needed due to being a parent. 

The first used to cry and scream in the mirror, punching walls because the body was wrong. Attacking our breasts like i had done subconsciously for years but this time, because they knew their breasts were wrong. They drew themselves over and over to solidify their gender identity when all else was screaming they were female. We pulled away from our partner, couldn't be touched, couldn't be interacted with because it would be a reminder of our gender. We flinched at being called a woman, a girl, female, and with that came memories of feeling like that as a kid. Fuck me, we were dysphoric as a kid. The first proper realisation.

Up until this point we had NO idea we had ever experienced gender dysphoria. But this is how DID works. It erases traumatic information and stores it in the parts that dealt with it. When the parts properly emerge, this information is leaked out over time. So great. Dysphoria.

Another part came out to implement what I am now starting to think is their cure for this, to ultimately feminise us. Because we needed to be female. Erase the dysphoria and with it that other male part. Nothing feminises me quicker than one of my most terrifying abusers. So guess what bellend got back in contact and re-traumatised the system, this one *points to self in dismay*. Long story short, shit went down, not un consensual shit as before but still shit. That part would routinely draw the male part being hurt by this guy over and over again till they freaked out. 

But wait! The hellscape is not over. From stage right we have another destructive part, hyper-masculine, angry and unempathetic. Grateful to him because his presence pulled us away from that guy (he viewed him as pathetic and beneath him), but now we are just... drinking. Getting wasted in the park, hitting things, smoking up at night again. My specialist had told me to get to know these parts as they are vital for my recovery so we drew what they needed us to draw and goddam these guys are hurt. These are protective parts. They took the shit we couldn’t. And this one, swearing at my partner, exploding all over the place, trying to run away, self harming, kicking the shit out of the wheely bin outside survives threat of physical violence. The one that went to my old abuser survives some of the more extreme sexual violence and torture and the first male part deals with psychological abuse. I can see it in their drawings, their confessions and in our therapy sessions. We have other parts but they dont want to be discussed.

All of these parts are heavily dysphoric because they are all male. Unquestionably so. Their rage at this body is because it isn’t the right one.  So where do I come into it, me being the primary/fronting part, or leader of the twisted UN committee that is my brain?  That has taken longer to figure out, and has been a more agonising journey. 

I am dysphoric too. 

I cannot erase now i have them, the memories of my childhood spent dysphoric. The memories of trying at any cost to be a girl. Which shouldn’t be hard considering genetically I am one. I have had to fight within myself my transphobia i didn't even know was present. We aren’t talking bigotry here, but the genuine terror that i could be transgender. When most of the make up of who I am, and my survival to this day has been formulated by trying to accepted, loved, normal (though i failed at that horribly), not rejected and safe from physical, sexual and psychological abuse... Coming to terms with the fact you are transgender is not a comfortable thought. Not one I welcomed, and one that terrified us. 

The fear of being transgender was so great it made us sick, sent us into crisis, started us self harming again. Trying everything we can to not be transgender because I have been through enough and survival brain is screaming as loud as it can that this will cause serious problems. But we couldn’t. Cant draw myself as a girl at all without wanting to cry or wretch. Cant wear girls clothes because i feel like i am crossdressing?! Cant wear bras, cant do feminine make up, cant do anything I used to do to be accepted anymore. Cant be a girlfriend anymore. 

We started without realising it trying to make ourselves masculine. We would zone out and be drawing on facial hair with eyebrow pencil, tried using vetwrap to bind my chest, do not do this, it bruised us for days. We bought a mans top and a guys jeans and we lived in them exclusively unless family was over. We started wearing boxers, packing (though going to the loo and watching a dam sock fall out your pants makes your dysphoria worse and left us feeling humiliated so stopped doing this). I started drawing me not my parts but me and that me was always always male unless we were trying to force ourselves to draw a female us. 

We reached out eventually to my best friend Ruth, and they encouraged us to get a binder. This provoked fear again. Self harm, self medicating, the usual destructive bs. But now the distress levels were triggering depersonalisation and derealisation; both symptoms of DID survival patterns. We stopped being able to recognise ourselves in mirrors because the damn amnesia was wiping it in an instant. My hands would feel male then flick to female, my body was glitching continually and I tried to get out of buying a binder by talking about my “genuine transgender friends” saying how I couldn't be trans because of their experience, that I am so obviously taking the piss, that I cannot be trans this must all be trauma. But Ruth stuck with me, as did a few other people, and still pushed for me to get a binder just to see how it felt. 

I did and when it arrived and i tried it on the reaction was... well... overwhelming. Much like looking in the mirror seeing what is a very female face with a drawn on beard, i was looking at a body i hated being crammed into something that kinda hurt to put on, and making me look like i had a deformed ribcage. I cried. I dont know what i expected in that moment. Maybe that all the dysphoria will go away and it would be fixed and that would be that. All okay. But no. I felt sad that I was punishing my body for not being right, angry at myself for not being able to just be a dam woman. I MADE A BABY WITH MY BODY THIS SHIT SHOULD BE EASY. 

Standing in a mirror, with a binder on, boxers on and socks stuffed in them trying my best to look like a man, I felt like a freak. 

But then i put a shirt on. And holy heck i could see my feet. I was small, the first time i have ever looked at myself and seen a small body rather than something deformed that i see when i see my breasts. I looked smart, I looked beautiful in that shirt. The tears were still rolling down my dam cheeks, and i was a snotty wreck but I for the first time in 4-5 years I also didn't feel rage at being fat. Because I wasn't fat, not in the slightest. Standing there in shirt and boxers with flat chest, masc make up on, i looked like a guy... just about. And i smiled. I smiled so much. 

I urgently facetimed Ruth and was like “come see how good I look” something I hadn’t genuinely felt in a very long time unless a man thought I was sexy. But here, in my tip of a room, almost dancing on cam for my best friend, showing her how i could bend over and no udders were just dangling there, how i could type and see my hands move... I looked at myself and felt good. I didn't care if anyone else thought i looked good because I felt on top of the world 

This was my first introduction to gender euphoria, that wasn’t related to some obscure masturbatory habits and pegging. That feeling made things liveable for a while. I wanted to chase that feeling because it felt incredible. I was working out before but now I did it to not get thin, to not starve myself but to love myself. I started taking weight training seriously, and whilst the gym was a trigger for my dysphoria (room full of massive dudes who all see you and talk to you as a girl in your skimpy ass gym kit will do that to you) I pushed on. My shoulders are getting broader now, muscle definition starting and i love each of these changes. I eat more than I ever have done but I eat healthily because this male me, this real me that i seem to love I want to treasure, look after and care for. 

I am not gonna wear baggy clothes and cut my hair off to look like a passable cis guy because that feels like punishment, and I have done that enough in my life and been punished by people in ways that have left me unable to walk and bleeding. I want to see my body when i work out because i love seeing the muscle definition, I wince at my breasts but try to imagine it being different. I love my long floppy hair, and I am not gonna change that because men with long hair are stunning. People talk about “the cut”, and I get the feeling of shame that i must be making this all up because i dont want to cut my hair off, but I am not a boy, I am almost 25. I have lived through some shit, I am not a boy. I am... a man. And I like how my hair feels like a lions mane. I associate cutting my hair off with my own lack of control and desperation so i dont want to return to that ever. 

My therapist has been exceptional. He wants me to embrace this because he has seen massive improvement. Yes I am in and out of crisis a lot, there is a lot on my plate and dysphoria is a c*nt when you are already struggling, but here is the dam thing.

For the first time in my miserable fucking life I don’t want to be hurt or punished. I don’t want to be beaten, spat on, assaulted or killed. I don’t want to starve, I don’t want to be anywhere near any of my old abusers or rapists. I don’t want to submit to be liked. I don’t want to preform as a character to be accepted. I don’t want to be dependant on anyone to survive. I don’t want to sexualise myself to be loved. 

The dysphoria will challenge this, oh man it does. My depersonalisation and fear of being trans challenges this. 

Little voices going “you are not really a man. you have tits. you have a baby. you are a mom. you are doing this for attention, all this because you have to be somehow sicker than you already are. It is just trauma. You are making all of this up. You are trying to just not be the snivelling wretch that they made you into. You make a mockery of a very real cause. You are not trying hard enough, a real trans guy would cut their hair. You like your appearance sometimes which means you must not be trans. You are not a man, you are just like literally any of those cases of confused survivors of abuse that you see all over the internet, that is you. You just cant admit it because you are scum. It’s the same as everything, none of this is real, none of this is true. You are nothing like a man. You are a nothing, A NOTHING”.

Those are the voices that send me into crisis. That have me self harming, suicidal, terrified, self hating. Not when I pass as a guy, not when I draw myself as a guy or just... am a guy. The doubt and pull back to my assigned gender is what is killing me. Well alongside the actual traumas and parenting a toddler, alone, with over £2000 in debt. I never want to lie, but unpicking the truth when you are multiple people and have amnesic survival programming to prevent you from uncovering traumatic realities is very hard.

What is amazing though.... which I will cling to when my binder is crushing, when Instagram is full of BS about what is True Transgenderism, when FB is full of trans hate and I am still annoyingly in the closet with my family and most of the universe is this... When my BFF Maddy calls me an amazing, perfect boy, I blush and well up with tears and feel seen. I felt visible. When she sends me gifs of someone snuggling the death out of a tired proud lion, ruffling his mane, I feel seen again I cry with happy relief feels. When she or my friend Ruth says i look handsome, or masculine and I am blushing again forever, that is precious. When I look in the mirror after working out and see my shoulders broader and chest almost flat from the binder, hair swept back, I look strong, i look male, i look right. well almost. When i complete a drawing of how i wish i looked and i get it correct, i feel ready to punch the goddamn sun in its stupid face like LOOK! I EXIST! When I dream of being a guy and being touched by another person as if i am a guy, i feel like i am gonna take off from this planet and leave it in my dust... because not only do they see me, but they accept me and love me for who I am, who I want to be rather than who they want me to be or who i need to be... It makes me put that blade down and walk away. Make a hot chocolate or draw something.

So... I guess this is it. I am a guy. 

A closeted guy for my safety for now. But a guy.

A guy with a shit tonne of trauma. But a guy.

A guy with DID, and female personalities. But I am a guy.

A guy who has a 2 year waiting list before he can talk to a gender clinic about this but still. I am a guy. 

A guy that yes, despite all my best efforts, looks androgynous at best, and uses feminine appearance for protection because they are still too scared to present fully as male. But still a guy.

If this changes in future, well then... whilst living without dysphoria would be just the best... I dont want to loose who I am now i have finally caught a glimpse of them for the first time. It has made me a better person, a better parent, a better friend... Why would I ever give that up? It is gonna be a long old road, it may all change, I may change again, I may legitimately forget all about this. I may be too scared to ever come out to my family. The doubt, fear and dysphoria may actually win the next time I am in crisis. I may just delete this post out of shame but fuck it.

My name is Aly and I am a fucking guy. 

[latetothegreysparty]

Morning Bustle

I finally got around to writing one of the things I’ve been meaning to write for a little while: a second part to Family Dinner. While this story is intended to be the follow-up to Family Dinner, I’ve tried to write this one in such a way that it’s not totally necessary that you’ve read that one first. All the same, if you haven’t read Family Dinner and would like to, you can read it here. I’m not sure if I’m going to write more parts after this one or not; I guess we’ll just see where that one takes me.

Morning Bustle

Amelia groaned as the alarm on her phone blared, pulling her from her peaceful sleep. “There is no way it’s actually morning yet,” she thought as she opened her eyes and grabbed her phone to shut off the alarm. As Amelia’s eyes adjusted to the light streaming in through the window, she was disoriented for a moment. Why was she in one of the guest bedrooms of the home she used to share with Owen? Oh, right, she had come here last night with Maggie, Meredith, and the kids because the plumbing at Meredith’s house wasn’t working. Finally aware of her surroundings and situation, Amelia trudged out of the bed and noticed the shower running in the bathroom down the hall. That answered the question of whether she should shower or grab coffee first.

Amelia padded down the hall and smiled as she smelled the delicious aroma of coffee. As she stepped into the kitchen, she stopped in the doorway and her smile grew even wider. There at the stovetop was Owen who stood next to Zola who was standing on a chair. He was coaching her through the preparation of French toast and scrambled eggs. Zola looked intensely focused, and Owen’s eyes sparkled with contentment.

As Amelia listened to him patiently explain how they’d know when to flip the bread, she couldn’t help but feel a little wistful. Owen showed such tremendous love and care for the Shepherd children, and they weren’t even related to him. Witnessing such an obvious display of that love made Amelia wonder how much love he would’ve showered upon their children. Before too many images of Owen coaching soccer or Owen reading bedtime stories could pass through her mind, Amelia stepped through the threshold of the kitchen and walked over to the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Owen said with a smirk. “I think everyone else in the house is already up and going. Would you like a plate of Zola’s breakfast? It’s delicious.”

“Mmm, sounds incredible,” Amelia replied, offering an indulgent smile to Zola. “I’m just waiting for Maggie to be done in the shower so I can hop in there, but will you two save me a plate?” Amelia pressed a kiss to Zola’s forehead as she surveyed their work over their shoulders.

“Of course, Auntie Amy,” Zola said as she plated the French toast and eggs, smiling with pride.

As Amelia walked out of the kitchen, she noticed that the water was no longer running, so she went back to her room to grab her towel and toiletries. Once she had everything she needed for her shower, she headed to the bathroom.

“Amelia!” Maggie shrieked as Amelia strode into the bathroom. “Have you ever heard of knocking?” Maggie, who stood in front of the mirror wearing only a pair of underwear, was struggling to figure out whether she should try to cover herself, push Amelia out the door, or just continue yelling.

“Oh, calm down,” Amelia scoffed. “They’re just boobs, and you’re my sister. Besides, I’ve seen ‘em before when we all walked in on you and DeLuca on the couch that one time when you told us you were ‘calling it an early night.’”

“So not the point!” Maggie yelled as she clasped her bra. “When a person is in the bathroom, you knock before walking in. That’s just the polite thing to do.”

“Polite is overrated,” Amelia replied as she began removing her pajama bottoms. “Speaking of which, I’m about to get naked, so if you’re as much of a prude about my body as you are about your own, you might want to take a hike.” Maggie just rolled her eyes and huffed before grabbing her stuff and walking back to their shared bedroom to get dressed.

When Maggie came into the kitchen a few minutes later, Owen, Meredith, and the three kids were all sitting at the table enjoying breakfast. “Good morning, Maggie,” Meredith said with a smile. “Sit down and grab a plate! Zola made breakfast for everybody.”

Zola handed Maggie a plate of eggs and French toast. “Enjoy, Auntie Maggie!”

“Thank you, Zola,” Maggie said as she took the plate from Zola. “At least someone around here has manners.” When she was met with quizzical looks from the two adults at the table, Maggie supplied, “I was getting dressed in the bathroom after my shower, and Amelia just barged in without knocking! Can you believe her?”

Meredith laughed. “Can I believe that the woman who got into the back seat of my car stark naked would walk in on her sister in the bathroom? Um, yeah, I think I can.”

“She what?!” Owen snorted.

“Oh, we didn’t tell you about that time?” Meredith asked with a laugh. “It was a while ago. Amelia was late to carpool, and when she finally got in the car, she was naked as the day she was born. Maggie and I both tried to explain to her that a person should be clothed when getting into someone else’s vehicle, but Amelia didn’t really see the problem.”

Owen just laughed and shook his head. “What time do you two get off tonight?” he asked, trying to figure out the dinner plan for the evening.

“I get off at six,” said Maggie.

“I should be off at six as well, provided none of my surgeries have any complications,” Meredith said. As Meredith described the surgeries she had scheduled for the day, everyone finished eating their breakfast and rinsed their dishes in the sink. Meredith glanced down at her watch once the dishwasher was loaded. Seeing the time, she headed down the hallway to check Amelia’s progress. The water was no longer running, so Amelia was done with her shower, but she seemed to still be in the bathroom. Meredith knocked on the bathroom door. “Amelia, get moving. We need to leave soon, otherwise we’re going to be late. You have five minutes to be in the car or we’re leaving without you.”

A half-dressed Amelia rolled her eyes from the other side of the door. “Settle down, Mer, I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Five minutes, Amelia. I’m not kidding,” came the reply.

As Meredith stepped away from the door and came back down the hallway, she found Maggie standing there with raised eyebrows, holding Bailey’s hand. “Are we actually going to leave her here?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, we are. She needs to learn how to get herself moving on time in the mornings. If a toddler can be pried out of bed in the mornings, then a grown woman can be as well. Besides, weren’t you the one who was complaining ten minutes ago about how she walked in on you in the bathroom? This is like karma or something.”

“I’ll go get the kids in the car,” Maggie said before turning to lead Bailey out the front door.

Amelia finished lotioning her legs, threw on the rest of her clothes, and then put her still-damp hair up. It wasn’t fancy, but it would have to do. She had to fumble around the counter a bit to find her deodorant and body spray. She finished by dabbing a bit of make up on her face and then jogged down the hall to her bedroom to find her lab coat and handbag. As she returned to the kitchen, she was surprised to find Owen standing alone in it. “Is everybody already in the car?” she asked as she turned to put her shoes on.

“Actually, they already left,” Owen replied. “Meredith said to tell you that five minutes means five minutes and that she’s tired of waiting for you.”

As Amelia’s eyes narrowed, Owen began to slightly regret his decision to repeat exactly what Meredith had told him to tell Amelia. He had been on the receiving end of Amelia’s ire enough times to know that a pissed off Amelia Shepherd was not a fun person to deal with. Well, unless they were having angry sex. Angry sex with Amelia was actually one of the hottest things he’d ever experienced. Oh shoot, he needed to stop thinking about that right now or she would notice how aroused he was getting and then she’d be even more angry and that wouldn’t be good. Owen was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Amelia’s voice.

“For all of this talk about being sisters and taking care of each other and all of that bullshit, she really is quick to hang me out to dry. No, don’t worry about me, Meredith. It’s not like my car is back at your house or anything. It’s not like I have no way of getting to work and now the chief of neurosurgery is going to be an hour late to the hospital because she had to get an Uber because her own sisters can’t be bothered to wait three extra minutes to give her a ride.”

Owen decided to cut her off before she really built up steam. “Amelia, you don’t need to call an Uber, I’ll just drive you in.”

“Really, are you sure it’s not too much trouble?” she asked, instantly switching from angry ranting to a much gentler tone.

“Of course not,” Owen replied warmly. “I’m about to head out anyway, so it’s no extra trouble to put an extra body in the truck with me. And besides,” Owen said with a smirk, “I really don’t want to deal with the wrath of Bailey when her chief of neurosurgery shows up an hour late and she finds out that I could’ve had her here on time, but refused to carpool. This is self-preservation.”

“Ass,” Amelia said with a smirk, punching Owen lightly on the arm. The two headed out to the garage and climbed into the truck and then headed off on their way to the hospital.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Owen finally spoke. “It’s nice to have a bit of time to catch up with you again. I feel like we haven’t talked in quite a while. How have you been?”

“I’ve been good,” Amelia replied with a soft smile, turning her head a bit to face him. “It’s been kind of nice to get to live with the kids again. They make me laugh every day, and they bring so much energy to the house. I really do love those three. Oh, and I guess Meredith and Maggie aren’t half bad either when they aren’t busy leaving for work without me.”

Owen chuckled. “So have you been seeing anyone?” Owen asked, deciding to just bite the bullet and ask the question that had been on his mind.

“No, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. I haven’t really wanted to. I do get a bit lonely being in that house all alone, though. I’m glad you guys are out here with me this week. It’s really nice to have more people in the house and to have people to talk to. I miss that.” As Owen finished talking, he let out a breath. He hadn’t necessarily meant to get that candid. The words all just kind of tumbled out. He was hoping he hadn’t gone too far and made Amelia uncomfortable.

To his relief, she smiled. “I just hope we haven’t been too much trouble for you. We can really be a handful sometimes. I don’t want us to give your home more liveliness than you intended when you offered to let us stay there.”

“What? Amelia Shepherd? A handful? No, that can’t be!” Owen said with mock surprise, placing the hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel to his chest. He was rewarded with a slap to the chest as Amelia giggled.

“I was trying to be considerate, but then you had to go and be snarky,” she whined. Owen and Amelia both smiled good-naturedly, laughing a bit before settling into silence as they headed down the streets of Seattle.

After another several minutes of silence, Amelia glanced up and noticed that they weren’t far from the hospital. She took a deep breath and glanced out the window before she began speaking. “You know, after the plumbing is fixed and we head back to Mer’s house, you can call me if you’re lonely. We could hang out. As friends, I mean. We could hang out as friends. You know, just two friends who might sometimes get a little lonely and just want to spend some time with somebody else, having dinner and chatting or whatever. If you want. We could do that if you want. But if that would be weird then forget I said anything. Because I know that it might be kind of weird to hang out with your ex-wife like that. I totally understand. Completely.”

Owen was half-tempted to let Amelia continue to ramble because it was cute and he missed it, but he decided to be merciful and cut her off. “I’d really like that,” he said, turning to look at her as he smiled softly.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, pulling into the parking lot of Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital.

“I think I would like that too,” Amelia said quietly.

Owen pulled the truck into the parking space, and he and Amelia turned to glance at each other as he shut off the engine. Their eyes lingered for just a moment before they both climbed out of the truck and headed into the hospital. As they walked into the physicians’ lounge side by side, they ran into Meredith and Maggie in the doorway. Meredith leveled Amelia with a reproachful glance while Maggie just stared at the two wide-eyed. “Amelia, I’ve told you a hundred times: you need to get yourself going in the morning and be on time for carpool. We can’t just wait for you all the time. We have places to be, and the world doesn’t stop for you.”

Meredith continued out the door without waiting for Amelia’s reply. As the door dropped shut behind Meredith and Maggie, Amelia glanced at Owen and let out a small giggle. While she knew that perhaps she should’ve felt bad about being late for carpool yet again, she couldn’t help but be glad they had left without her.

[yakumtsaki]

Welcome, dear readers, to the much anticipated Union Season 1 finale, featuring the diverse cast of well-developed characters we’ve all come to love, such as cheating whore #1, cheating whore #2, and my personal favorite, cheating whore #3. Also starring purple Hannibal Lecter, Melody Tinker’s sunglasses, and Leon Trotsky. Last update saw the erotic tension between resident porn-king Gunther and his brother’s intended, Regina George Brittany Upsnott finally boil over, leading to this harrowing image:

GOOD TIMES. Let’s pick up right where we left off..

.. namely precious Gunther immediately jumping into bed with Melody not two minutes after his close encounter of the Brit kind. Guns has been suspiciously loyal and un-gross ever since we moved out of the dorms, but apparently his goal for senior year is to out-worst everyone else in the house. What a comeback!

Meanwhile Brit is depressingly bowling her frustrations away under the unforgiving desert sky. Whaddup Brit, you must be dealing with some pretty complicated emotions right now.

-What?? No way, I’m totally, totally fine!

I mean sure, why wouldn’t you be, it’s not like you’ve fucked literally everything up. After spending half of college dealing with fucking HaremGate all I wanted was an uneventful senior year I could speed through, but that would be too easy now, WOULDN’T IT.

-The pins are you well-laid out plans for the future!

UGH Brit seriously, this isn’t happening. As in we’re gonna pretend it literally never happened, you’re gonna marry Daniel, Gunther is gonna marry Mel, everyone will live happily ever after and that’s the last I’m gonna hear of this bullshit.

BRIT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY

-I’m just heartfarting, GAWD

Yea you’re also about to fucking serenade him in front of Mel, have you legit lost your mind??? Is this how the rest of this year will go, me chasing you around cancelling your dumbass actions?

-Probably! lolol!

-Aww Brit, if there was an award for best couple, we would definitely win it <3

-Oh please, Gunther and I have you totally beat!

-Yea right Mel, bet you §10 me and Brit are gonna move in together before you and Gunther do!

-…So how you liking that pizza, Gunther?

-…Oh it’s good, Brit, thanks for asking.

Meanwhile it looks like my restless Jojo/Wyatt reconciliation efforts have finally borne fruit! Good job, Wyatt!

-It’s no job, I’m just following mon coeur!

Nice, follow it all the way to redemption!

YASSSS. I can’t stress enough how many times Wyatt had to apologize to get us to this point, I’m talking half their awake time for 3 days. God. The whole thing has been an extremely repetitive nightmare but finally we can put it to rest. Much like we put Frances! BURN IN HELL

Finally, the universe has responded to my desperate pleas. I will even forgive the creepy ass llama because for once the cheering is completely appropriate. Reunited and it feels so good! Especially for me because if I had to press the apologize button one more time istg.

Well.. The universe giveth and the universe taketh away. Literally can’t leave these dicks unsupervised for more than a minute before they start slutting it up. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO

-Oh oh oh oh oh OH, caught in a bad romance <3

STOP SINGING INTO EACH OTHER’S MOUTHS. It’s time for drastic measures. Gunther is obviously unfamiliar with the concept of decency but maybe there’s still hope for Brittany..

..especially after Daniel gives her a high-class romantic evening! Looking great, Dan. Please stop picking your teeth.

-I’m so uncomfortable, my hair hasn’t seen the light of day since I was a toddler! I’m putting my cap back on.

DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. Also suppress your gag reflex + every instinct in your body because it’s time-

-to hit Londoste! OOH LA LA

-Brit, I feel like we’re.. ridiculously overdressed.

-No such thing, darling!

-I’ll be having the filet mignon and a glass of the Veronaville ‘64, thank you.

-And I’ll be having chicken nuggets and a detailed report of the working conditions in this bourgie hellhole.

-DANIEL YOU PROMISED

-Let’s raise a glass to us and our magical evening together-

-Yes, and this delicious food, stained with the tears of the working farmhand-

-Daniel, please.

-My beloved ice queen, even though the diamond engagement ring “tradition” is another completely made up, SHAMELESS CAPITALIST SCAM, I just couldn’t bear the thought of wounding your gigantic, aggressively materialistic ego.. Marry me, my darling, be my Nadezhda!

-OH baby of course I’ll marry you! Everything before this moment doesn’t count, right?

-I mean.. sure?

-Great!

Yes, what a wonderful, subtle night.

-Oh Brit, you make me the happiest worker alive, which of course is a completely paradoxical state under capitalism!

AWW MEANT TO BE <3 Finally we can put that gross, freckled chapter behind us.

THAT’S RIGHT YOU BETTER RUN

-WOOO congrats for not cheating for an entire day, Gunther!

Our greek house is currently at a pathetic level 3 and it’s not hard to see why. As if the graves of Jojo’s former flames weren’t enough to put people off, imagine walking by and seeing this.

This shit is still going on and has reached the hate-boner point where these two have permanent wants to see each other’s ghost. So much for nice points!

Also going on: this bizzare, inexplicable feud that appeared literally out of nowhere.

-SHUT UP WYATT MAGIC ISN’T REAL

-IT SO IS MAGIQUE IS ALL AROUND US

Finals are upon us! Only one semester of this fuckery left. There are of course two kinds of people, the kind pictured above..

..and my peeps.

Gunther, who hasn’t done anything college related since we were back in the dorms and Blue Meatballs et al were writing his papers, somehow still has a 4.0 gpa. Wow Gunther, what’s your secret??

-It’s no secret, I banged the half-alien professor.

Oh right lmao. You’re looking pretty down boo, what’s wrong?

-Man idk, I’m struggling with what might be like.. legit feelings for Brit.

WHAT. WELL PUT THEM BACK WHERE THEY CAME FROM GUNTHER AND DRINK YOUR SORROWS AWAY LIKE AN ADULT. GOD

YOU TOO BRITTANY. ISTFG YOU ASSHOLES ARE NOT FUCKING THIS UP ANY FURTHER.

CAUSE HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LAST PERSON WHO WENT OFF SCRIPT. Looking good, Fran!

…………………………poor Brittany obviously suffered a stroke at some unspecified point in time. As if she didn’t have enough problems.

SO. CLOSE. We just have to get through this one semester without the entire charade imploding, is that too much to ask????

APPARENTLY YES. GODDAMMIT GUNTHER

-The heart wants what it wants.

What DOES it want tho, Selena, cause last time I checked you were in love with Mel you GIANT ASS

-Yea, hell if I know! Huhu!

IF I HEAR YOU PEOPLE HUHU ONE MORE TIME

In equally distressing news Mickey Dosser was passing by and I invited him in just to see if he would go straight for the bubbles, which he of course did..

..a move so irresistible that Wyatt had to stop and swoon over him literally in the middle of his millionth Jojo apology. I’ve honestly never had a sim court death as persistently as Wyatt, dude straight up WANTS TO DIE.

-HOW DARE YOU WALTZ IN HERE AND TRY TO SEDUCE MY BOYFRIEND RIGHT BEFORE MY VERY EYES YOU VILE DISGUSTING SLOB

-Wut

-GET. OUT. BEFORE I STUFF YOU AND PUT YOU ON MY PORCH FOR HALLOWEEN

-Wyatt.. I sensed it was you.

-Of course, Jojό <3 I got your message, why did you send a raven, I’m just upstairs-

-SILENCE. I invited you here, to my favorite place on this entire wretched planet, the center around which revolves my very existence..

-..to ask you a very important question that I want you to CAREFULLY consider, taking into account that you’re standing next to the graves of the last people to betray me..

-Wyatt Monif, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. Almost from the earliest moments of our acquaintance, I have come to feel for you a passionate admiration and regard, which despite all my struggles and your whoring around, has overcome every rational objection, and I beg you most fervently to relieve my suffering and consent to be my husband. Also to please ignore my brother woohooing in the hot tub behind us and ruining the moment.

-MON DIEU JOJÓ, OUI, OUI A THOUSAND TIMES OUI!! <3

-Wyatt.

-Oui? <3

-Please don’t make me murder you, ok? Promise?

-Never, Jojό!

AW, what a beautiful engagement you guys, I’m tearing up.

AND FINALLY, IT’S OVER. Gunther seriously graduated summa cum laude, how in the fucking world I legit dk but whatever!

The last supper.. The Union bros have all graduated and I’m gonna speed-play the rest through their last year. Also Daniel and Melody are bffs now, I didn’t even know they were talking but nice.

Time to go back where we came from! Ah, all grown up. It seems like yesterday they were toddlers surviving on cat food.

Brit is the youngest of the bunch and has the whole house to herself after Mel and Wyatt graduate, a situation she takes advantage of by ALMOST CHEATING WITH THE FUCKING LLAMA. BRIT ISTG

Finally, it’s time for Brit to leave our gross, incestuous cocoon. We’re gonna need a placeholder for the next generation tho, so as much as it pains me to say..

..it’s Frances time. Bitch literally scares Brit as she’s trying to resurrect him, way to make me doubt my merciful decision Fran!

Ugh great. Welcome back, Frances. I really did prefer you dead.

Yea, can’t make any promises there. I don’t know what kind of wave of kindness overcame me, but I felt bad for Fran being all alone so…

-I’M BACK BITCHES

Can’t believe we wasted 20k on these assholes but whatever. Time to grow up, Brit!

Oh yea, looking good! Taking the ‘on Wednesdays we wear pink’ rule to extreme lengths.

And we’re out of here, leaving the place in the capable hands of Fran and Ti-Ning, who immediately reconnect for a hot tub celebration of life.

So normally you’d think that would be the end of it and we’d get to the heir vote, right? RIGHT?

WRONG. Please bear with me through this incredible bullshit. So I’m taking the heir vote portraits, specifically Jojo’s, and everyone else is hanging around on the edges of this empty photoshoot lot, when suddenly the fight cloud appears. At first I think it’s Wyatt/Daniel aka business as usual but then I make the horrifying discovery that it’s.. DANIEL/BRIT.

As expected, the MINUTE I looked away, Gunther/Brit went for it in plain sight, leading to the eruption of a massive shitshow. I’m like ok w/e we’re basically in pre-heir vote limbo so it doesn’t count, I’ll just quit without saving. But THEN I take a look at Daniel’s panel.. AND SEE THIS:

I’ve literally no idea WTF HAPPENED, HOW IT HAPPENED, WHY, WHO MADE THE FIRST MOVE but the fact is that right after catching Gunther/Brit cheating, Melody and Daniel somehow got together even though they have never given any indication of being into each other and have one sole pathetic bolt. My best guess is 4-nice-points Melody went for it as a revenge but seriously WHAT THE FUCK

GOOD TIMES. At this point I’m obviously even more like ‘I’M GONNA QUIT WITHOUT SAVING’ so I’m just taking these pics for shits and giggles, but THEN I look at Gunther’s panel… and see probably the most disturbing want I’ve ever come across:

OK THEN. Reminder that Gunther’s secondary is PLEASURE so there’s literally no explanation for this shit except for legit. true love. As much planning as I did for these couples I’m like who am I to refuse A ROMANCE SIM’S engagement want???? I mean I also planned for Jojo to marry Frances and we all saw how that went. So I decide to save the game, even though it’s kinda unorthodox since it didn’t happen during actual gameplay but w/e, you just can’t ignore shit like that!!

So I revisit the lot the next day and am faced with a shitshow of cosmic proportions. The whole thing is like a bizzaro parallel universe, I mean you have Brit and Dan legit looking like they crossed over from the set of NLL..

..Gunther and Mel heartfarting over each other while also wanting to beat each other up..

..this torrid affair out in the open..

..AND WHATEVER THE FUCK THIS IS. I changed their turn-ons and now they have 3 bolts cause it felt like they really got the short end of the stick but I still can’t get over this bullshit happening in the first place. At least Jojo and Wyatt are having a good time! I guess at this point there’s only one thing left to do..

..simultaneous break ups! The couple that dumps their fiances together stays together.

Moving on to simultaneous crying/sighs of relief. If it seems like I’m halfassing this by not writing any dialogue it’s because I am, but I legit can’t, the whole situation is just too absurd to dramatize.

And now to complete the wife-swap..

Incredible. Now, hold on to your seats, everyone.. because the red ring memory..

IS NOT GUNTHER’S. WHAT IN THE NAME OF HELL. BRIT GOT A RED RING FROM HER ROMANCE SECONDARY BUT SOMEHOW GUNTHER DIDN’T??? Honestly I’m hardly a romantic but. TRUE LOVE. Or a glitch. Let’s go with true love.

And there you have it. The end of generation 1, which will live in the annals of history as the one where literally no one ended up with the person I had in mind for them and I might as well haven’t been there for all the control I had over these assholes.

NOW. TIME TO VOTE.

WHO WILL IT BE????

Head over to my lj for a handy guide to voting + the link to the poll. Thank you all for reading! <3

[mindthewolves]

differential diagnosis of common problems in fic*

*not just fanfic, but you don’t see that much original fic from people just starting out because Gatekeepers

disclaimer – this is not a “god this is terrible writing how could you do that ever” but a “we all have blind spots and maybe would benefit from getting a beta reader” and yes, ofc that includes me too. also these are general Story Things as separate from Issues of Representation Things.

other writers, hello and feel free to chime in!

content:

characters that exist solely for another character’s development. write people as people, not objects.

relationships in which A Modicum of communication would save you 20 chapters of angst

infodumping, extensive and conspicuous exposition, the like

on the other end of the spectrum, not grounding the scene (can’t visualize what’s going on)

extreme violence without reason or as a shoddy excuse for character development, particularly as highly gendered tropes

perfection (I see this with kara a lot in supergirl fic. she’s invulnerable, with super strength, super nice, drop-dead gorgeous, and secretly a scientific whiz kid AND ALSO can paint you something to sell at Sotheby’s. this has gone too far.)

songfic with the entire song written out in the middle of the story while the plot slips through your fingers or random lyrics interspersed throughout. ditto poetry. ditto quotes by people who are supposed to lend Weight and Gravitas to the fic

medicine/science that is indistinguishable from magic. R&D takes a long time. you do not defibrillate for asystole. (hello, flash. i’m looking at you.)

the telepathic narrator: in which the POV jumps back and forth between characters (most commonly love interests) with every other sentence

see related cheat code: “character A knew that character B was feeling/thinking X, Y, and Z” just no

precocious toddlers Wise Beyond Their Years or grown-ass adults with the intellect and emotional maturity of children (again, unless done for effect)

extensive author notes that prescribe exactly what you should take away from the fic and what things were Supposed To Mean. stories do not work like that; they’re open to interpretation, AND they should stand on their own without explanation

formatting:

why is there extra white space on ao3 you guys

block text of more than ~5 lines per paragraph, i cannot read it

italics where they shouldn’t be; it’s like listening to an oddly accented musical line

weird formatting of glosses for non-English words

each character’s reaction/description should go with their dialogue

if character A is speaking:

incorrect: “What movie do you want to watch?” character B shrugged.

correct: “What movie do you want to watch?”

character B shrugged.

changing verb tense in the middle of a story

spelling and word choice:

the epithets, cease and desist. it’s distracting and it reduces your character to a single aspect (usually of their appearance) that is (usually) not relevant to the scene at all. particularly egregious: epithets based on race/ethnicity

unclear pronouns, esp with f/f or m/m ships

its =/= it’s, pls google. the first is possessive and the second is “it is”

their/they’re/there and your/you’re, remember google is your friend

lets =/= let’s and all other verbs in this pattern: the first is the verb conjugation (-s) for he/she/it in present tense. the second is “let us”

reign =/= rein. you reign over a kingdom but you “rein in” an impulse. like a horse.

taut =/= taught

weary =/= wary

bawling =/= balling

adverse =/= averse, you are “averse to” pickles but go out in “adverse” weather

it’s “another think coming” rather than “another thing”

there seems to be some confusion over the words lay and lie. you lie down on a bed, past tense lay, present participle lying, past participle lain. you lay an object down on a table, past tense laid, present participle laying. these are not the same word, despite the spelling overlap.

misspelling your character names. really?

that word does not mean what you think it means

see also: i looked this up in the dictionary no one will know it but ppl will think i am Smart

for the reader/audience side of things:

how to comment (an example, not an absolute)

thank the writer. fics are not tangible but they are still gifts

what did you like about the fic and why?

other things you’d like to see, meta about the characters, lines that stuck with you, what worked and what didn’t

if you want to offer suggestions and they are not constructive, stop right there. hard stop.

if you have constructive criticism, drop an ask and see if that’s something the writer is even interested in. you don’t walk up to someone who’s wearing a pair of gloves they just knitted and say, “that row of stitches, it’s going the wrong way.” keep in mind that ao3 or tumblr may not be the place for unsolicited critique, especially from strangers online with no established credentials. concrit is like dark magic and not to be tampered with lightly. people who actually know how to give it are probably not the people who roll up in your comments with Demands

should I even comment?

if you read The Thing, leave a comment. support your writers. it’s not just paying it back or being a good fandom citizen. language is about connection – we write to be read. the fic is the ask; the comment is the answer

fic is not a one-way street or it doesn’t have to be

& I promise that even a well thought-out comment will take a fraction of the time it took to write the actual fic

also if you are a reader who wants to write, or a reader who wants to read better, commenting (i.e. thinking about what makes fic work and putting that into words) will help up your game too

for betas and critique partners:

the diplomatic critiquer

more references

read fic that you admire, take it apart, see how it works

be clear about what the writer is looking for w a beta read AND what the beta reader is willing or able to do. for me this comes in three tiers: 

1. content editing, story problems, representation problems

2. sentence and paragraph-level problems: internal echoes, issues w writing voice, things that don’t make sense, etc. 

3. copyediting: spelling and grammar only

motion to add an opt-in “yes, looking for concrit” box on ao3

sites for critting original fic: critique circle, critters

[dudence-blog]

Dear Dudence for 30 November 2017

It’s the penultimate day of the week.  Friday Eve.  Time to start warming up for the weekend.  With a glass of wine in hand and a series of questions needing answers it’s on to the fun!

My 5-year-old daughter is the joy of my life. She is smart, funny, kind, and adorable—but she is a terrible singer! I mean, dogs will howl when she sings. But for some reason, she thinks she is a great singer and insists on doing it often and at the top of her lungs, which annoys me to no end.

Dear Breaking a 5-year old’ heart, this is my face as I read your letter:  :-I  I’m hoping you’re rereading this yourself and realizing you’re the villain in a children’s movie.  All that being said, of course your five year old is a terrible singer.  She’s 5.  They’re terrible at everything.  Have you ever seen them run?  Ride a bike?  Cook?  Throw a football?  Drive a car?  They’re awful at all of them.  You know why?  Because they’re five.  Do not, I repeat DO NOT stop your child from singing just because you think she’s a terrible singer.  Teach her time and place for quiet time, and if she’s just too precocious maybe look into a children’s choir (your local church almost certainly has one).

My significant other and I have been together for a couple of years. When we met, I knew that he was in the poly scene, but he said that was not a necessity for him. I was curious about opening up the relationship but wanted us to build our relationship first. At this point, I feel like we have a strong foundation and am curious about opening things up. I have not had great experiences with nonexclusive relationships before and know that I have a strong jealous streak. However, I am also turned on by the idea of my partner being with someone else, although I wouldn’t want us to have full-blown relationships with other people.

Dear Happily considering an open relationship, I’m going to guess that “strong jealous streak” and “open relationship” are not quite mixing nitro and glycerin, but it’s a close enough approximation.  That being said if it’s something you’re interested in, bring it up with your partner.  Talk, talk some more, then talk some more, and if you’re both still down for it go and start banging other people to your heart’s, or wherever else’s, content.  But, let’s go ahead and back up a bit.  You mention that you’re turned on by the fantasy of your partner being with someone else.  One, not every fantasy is meant to be experienced, nor will they live up to the hype.  Two, “I get wet/hard in my nethers thinking about him with someone else” doesn’t necessarily need to be satisfied by both of you needing to seek out half-blown relationships with other people.  Maybe just a threesome with a professional satisfies that particular itch?  Remember, shop local this holiday season.

My stepmom has always had an odd habit of trying to co-opt my parents’ shared history to minimize my mother’s role. For example, someone will tell a story that happened in the ’80s, when my brother and I were toddlers, and my stepmom will remark on how she remembers or was present at that event, even though this was years before my parents broke up.

Dear Mom who, not to be that guy but how sure are you that something which happened before your parents broke up means it’s impossible your stepmom wasn’t around then?  Nevermind.  Not to defend an evil stepmother here, but “I don’t want my husband’s ex at family functions involving me, his current wife,” is not the most unreasonable request in the world.  It would be great if we lived in a world where, even after divorce, all parties behaved respectfully towards each other.  Also, if you were a toddler in the 80s you’re a grown-ass (wo)man now.  You might just need to accept that your dad and his wife are just not going to be able to play nice with your mom, and stop trying to make it happen.  You might not be being petty, but you’re certainly refusing to acknowledge the actual state of the relationship between your parents and their current spouses.

After my brother’s divorce, he doesn’t speak to his daughters (ages 16, 19, and 23). I have maintained a great relationship with my nieces. I feel that that their relationship with their father has nothing to do with me. I am supportive of all mature behavior, by anyone.

Dear Auntie in the Middle, I’d say keep on keeping on by being someone on their father’s side of the family the can reach out to.  If you want to take some extra effort to keep the grandparents and grandchildren connected then arrange a time when the girls will call that the grandparents knoew to expect the call.  “Hey mom, Daughter 2 would really just like to speak with you.  She’s going to call you Sunday afternoon, please make sure your phone is on.”  Also, there is no rule which says people can’t write.  “Hey dad, you and Daughter 1 keep missing each other’s calls, could you shoot her an email? She’d really like to hear from y’all.”

My boyfriend’s family is all very abusive to each other, and in turn, it’s all he knows. He is a very sweet and loving person, but if even mildly agitated, he’ll call me names and scream at me that I’m crazy. Today he told me that he was breaking up with me and to get the fuck off his property or he would call the police, after pushing me out and slamming my arm in the door. Turns out, it was his mom’s birthday and I wasn’t invited, and he forgot when he invited me over and said we were going out tonight. He then texted me, acting very sweetly again, saying he just wanted me to leave and didn’t know how to make me leave, that he’s sorry, all that.

Dear Boyfriend’s Abusive Family, you know my expression from the mom who hates her child’s singing voice?  Yeah, I’m giving you that face hoping you’ll hear what you’re saying.  Your boyfriend is a monster and he’s going to seriously injure you.  I get it, he’s from a terrible family and he’s acting the only way he knows how.  He’s also going to put you in the hospital one day.  The reason he’s a wonderful, caring person when he’s not a rage demon is because if he was such a creature all the time he wouldn’t get you to want to stay with him.  Leave.  Leave now.  

I have been in a relationship with the same person my entire adult life (10 years). We’re all but engaged, and he wants very much to buy a house and settle down into a blissful future. It’s a beautiful dream, but I feel discontent, and there’s a big part of me that desperately wants to run away, drop 70 pounds, and sleep with other people. I want to sleep around and date and do all the things I missed out on, but I can’t bear to lose him.

Dear FOMO or something more serious, you could discover you’re half Amish and want to give rumsphringe a go.  Much like Newdie I cannot predict the future.  Unlike Newdie though I can give you one of two options how it’s going to go.  1, you’re going to break up with your long term boyfriend who satisfies you in all those dull, mundane ways which long-term partners satisfy each other and you’re going to find out that banging bunches of people you don’t know well and who don’t care that much about you isn’t all you thought it would be, that travel is actually kind of dull; sure it has its moments, but at the end of it you spent a lot of money to go someplace that wasn’t all it looked to be in the movies, and kind of smelled like pee (Hello Paris!), and at the end of it all you’re going to find your ex used the opportunity as well and enjoyed it.  2, you’re going to find that, now freed from your anchor of a boyfriend you shed that weight and it turns out you love banging hot guys and gals in hidden nooks and blind corners in all the places to which you travel.  I know which outcome I’m going to bet on.

I have a co-worker who is very polite, fun to be around, and treats me with respect. The problem? My intuition is telling me that her kindness is fake and that I should be careful to trust her. I just have this feeling that I can’t trust her and that she will use our friendship against me. I have no evidence to back this mindset up, but it’s always in the back of my mind when I’m around her. How do I get past this?

Dear Deviance in my head, you don’t get past it.  It’s work, not play group.  You don’t trust them.  Be professional, but they’re not your friend and you don’t need them to be to do your fucking job.

I am a middle-aged woman. The past year has been stressful: My husband retired due to disability. I gave up a part-time job to travel with him, but we ended up staying home. Our 20-year-old daughter had a mental health crisis, left college, and moved back home. We are in very good financial shape. We get along OK, although I find myself mediating arguments between the two of them.

Dear Rehab, several aspects of your life were unexpectedly turned on their head, and not for the better.  Honestly, I felt like refreshing my drink just reading it.  Being aware that you’re upping your alcohol intake and that you’re likely doing it in response to some stresses in your life is a good start.  Instead of running off to find a program to control your suspected alcoholism, maybe you should first just try not drinking as much.  Have your beer with dinner, and then stop.  If that doesn’t work you might want to look into getting some help, but I’m having a hard time thinking you’re an alcoholic when you haven’t actually shown you’re not in control of your relationship with alcohol.

One of my good friends from high school recently came out to me as gay. We were part of a tight friend group—all cis men who graduated from high school about 10 years ago. He and I have remained friends, and since he came out to me, he has mentioned having boyfriends and dating men since at least early college, meaning he was in the closet (or at least not out to me) for a while now.

Dear Did I keep my friend in the closet, I have an acquaintance who files letters like your under the header “Dear World, how can I show the world how woke I am?”.  You are being selfish, overthinking this, and are definitely trying to insert yourself into your friend’s relationship with his own sexualtiy.  Also, it’s likely you and your other friends talking about masturbation and discussing porn with him made him gay because that is totally how that works.  You should tell him that.

I love my boyfriend, “Stan,” and I see a future together. My only problem is how enmeshed his life is with his ex, “Sara.” Sara is gay and came out after she divorced Stan. They have a son together. Sara and her partner have three kids together. Stan got remarried but lost his wife to cancer. His stepdaughter is still in her final year of high school so she lives with him. Stan and his family go over to Sara’s all the time for dinner. Stan is the Little League coach for one of their kids and takes the other two camping and hiking. His son is in college, but Stan refers to Sara’s kids as his all the time! His stepdaughter calls them her “aunts” and “cousins.”

Dear Separate Lives, your boyfriend didn’t lose his wife to cancer, she died from it.  Back to the letter.  It’s good you feel like an ogre for resenting the positive and fulfilling relationship your boyfriend has with his son, his son’s half-siblings, and the daughter of his dead wife, because “ogrish” is one of the words I thought of while when I saw how this letter was going to go.  The way you start this conversation would be to discuss how you view your future together.  Maybe, just maybe, Stan doesn’t see the same future you do.  The dude does have bad luck with wives afterall.  Maybe he is looking forward to downsizing and letting the kids live their own lives when they’re older.  You won’t know unless you ask.  There’s nothing in your discussion with Stan that is guaranteed to start a fight.  I mean, unless you go into it demanding he boot out his stepdaughter (she’s not his real daughter away) and get those disgusting lesbos away from y’all.  If you do that then, yeah, it’s going to be a fight.

[brokebuckkmountain]

Some more gems from your favorite grumpy barista

Sometimes I need to vent and post while sitting in the break room, but I’ve overall decided to keep my work-related stories in long posts under the cut. Since this isn’t a barista blog and I’m sure most of you don’t care. But anyways, people have been trying me these past two weeks.

me: Hi, how are y-

customer: Iced green tea!

me: What size would you like?

customer: Venti.

me: Can I get you anything els-

customer: I want soy.

me: ...In your iced green tea?

customer: (looking at me like I was dropped as a child) Ugh, no I want a green tea latte! God!

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This one customer let his two toddlers run through my store, screaming and grabbing things- it was so obnoxious that several customers commented on it. As I’m in the middle of helping a wonderful older lady, he walks up to my register from the wrong side of the line and interrupts us to say “How much is this?”. If it was anything else I would have told him to wait, but he was holding up a banana and I know off the top of my head those are $1, so I answered. After I was done with my customer, he walks up to me, throws a dollar at me, and walks off, sneering at me when I said “have a nice day”.

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This one girl wanted a refill on her iced green tea (and she even changed what she originally got, so I rewrote her cup for her) and was shocked when I said it was 50 cents. Apparently she saw somewhere they were free, and argued with me that I shouldn’t charge her. She even had me get a more experienced barista to back me up. When we both confirmed that refills were 50 cents, she went “Nevermind, I don’t even want it anymore. Give me my cup back!” All this, over two freakin quarters. And better yet, in the time it took me to deal with her, my line got long, so my manager came out and chided me for letting it get so long.

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I’ve had whole massive groups of people not know what size they want, and whenever I ask them, they all go “uh....” and think about it for awhile. Because apparently seeing their four friends before them get asked didn’t clue them in to the fact that they’d need too know. Worse yet, I’ve had singular people order 5+ drinks and struggle to come up with a size for each one.

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Today a women tried to pay me with her Starbucks card, and rather than the old “oh no I’m paying!”-”no no I’ve got it!” shtick older women like to do, her friend literally shoved her away from my register to pay me herself; they jockeyed back and forth against each other like that for awhile while I tried to inform them that whoever was paying, I swiped the card on my side.

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customer: (after letting her four children all order for themselves, so a mass of frappuccinos I had to pull teeth to get) And can I get two vanilla creams? Grande?

me: Do you mean the vanilla cream frappucinos? (please understand that half of the time someone orders a frappuccino from me, they just say “(flavor) cream”, so that’s what I’m used to assuming)

customer: Uh, no. I want it hot.

me: You want... hot vanilla cream? Like just the cream? Do you mean vanilla flavored steamed milk?

customer: God, just ask one of the people who actually make the drinks. They’ll know better than you.

(because apparently this woman has never step foot into a Starbucks before and doesn’t realize we all have the same job, and just switch positions)

So I explained the situation to my coworker on bar, who proceeds to explain in unnecessary detail that I need to find “steamed milk” on the register and add vanilla flavor. Ya know, rather than saying “Yes Sarah it is exactly what you guessed it was”. So I looked like an idiot, confirming everything the bitchy customer already thought.

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This one girl ordered a Trenta Very Berry Hibiscus with “extra extra ice”, watched me make the entire drink, and as I was pouring it into her cup, she goes “Um, actually, I changed my mind. Can you do it light ice instead? Like less than the normal amount?”

To which I said “sure”, smiled, and dumped out the entire drink I had just made because it was already all shaken together.

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I had a woman continually badgering my coworkers and me about her scone during a rush, despite the long line of warmings before hers. And the fact that we were on bar and had never spoken to her before, nor were we heating the food. My coworker and I were in the middle of solving an actual problem with coffee grounds, and she kept interrupting us every 10 seconds about if we knew if her goddamn scone was coming. She would also watch everytime the girl doing warmings would call out a food item (warm bagel, panini, etc, for Bill or some shit) and interrupt us to go “Umm I think that’s mine? Can you check?”

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customer: Which of your frappuccinos can someone with diabetes have?

me: Literally none of them.

(this person also apparently didn’t know the dietary restrictions that come with having diabetes because she went through every item on the menu and asked if she could have it)

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On a similar note, yesterday I had a woman order a chicken panini from me, had me warm it up, then came back 30 seconds later to complain to my manager that she was vegetarian and couldn’t eat it.

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I don’t know why this keeps happening, but I keep having these couples come to my register, and while the girlfriend is ordering, the boyfriend has his arms around her waist and is kissing on her neck and whispering in her ear. Like please take that PDA shit elsewhere, you can have your foreplay after you order your frappuccinos. Ya nasties.

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I’ve given a few customers drip coffees, only for them decide they didn’t want the sleeve and wordlessly throw it back at me.

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“Can I get a grande drip in a venti cup, no room?” No, because if there was no room it’d be a venti drip, how stupid do you all think I am?

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customer: (seeing that I am completely out of straws on the bar and also in the middle of making a thousand drinks) Um, I need my straw.

me: I’m actually out of those right now, but if you look right behind you on the condiment bar there are a bunch.

(walking that five feet and getting his own was a real inconvenience, apparently)

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customer: (orders a $2 coffee and tries to pay me with a $100 bill)

me: I’m sorry, I actually don’t have enough change in my till for that.

customer: Can’t you just do it anyway?

me: Not if you want all of your change back.

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(during rushes, sometimes another barista will write the cups of the people in line for me and I’ll just ring when they get to me)

me: Hi, what’ll it be for you today?

customer: (pointing to coworker writing cups) She knows.

(sometimes they just wordlessly point)

me: Okay, I still need to know what you ordered so I can ring you up though.

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me: Can I get your name please?

customer: (stares at me for a long time) Just put the letter K.

(variations of this one happen all the time. what do you think I’m going to do with your name, bro?)

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me: Can I get your name please?

customer: It’s (whisper-mumbles something I can’t make out)

me: I’m sorry, what was that?

customer: (angrily) D-A-V-E!

(listen if your name is some shit like Dave or Kim or John and you’ve gotten it spelled wrong, someone did it to mess with you because you’re a dick. we all know how to spell your name.)

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(during a rush)

coworker: Remember to ask how they like it spelled. Especially Sarah’s. They all really like it when you ask how their name is spelled, it’s super important.

me: You realize Sarah is my name, right??

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customer: Can I get a grande nonfat mocha?

me: Sure!

customer: Make sure it’s nonfat.

me: Oh yeah, I got that.

customer: And make it 14 pumps of mocha.

me: ....

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(grown ass adult) customer: Can I get an octopus cookie? I want a purple one though, not an orange one! You have purple left, right? I want purple!

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woman I have literally never seen before in my life: I’ll have my regular.

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customer: I’ll have a coffee.

me: Just a regular drip coffee? What size?

customer: No, no, I want your ground coffee.

me: Are you talking about a hot drink, or a-

customer: (yelling) Ground coffee! Ground! Ground!

me: I-

customer: It’s all ground up!

me: Oh, do you mean the icy ground up drinks? The frappuccinos?

customer: Yeah, that one.

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I also had a woman (who only ordered a water) tell me the government had stolen 6 thousand dollars form her, that schools teach young women to prostitute themselves, and that she was convinced her daughter was into prostituting as well because she came home in such high heels and short skirts. I eventually was able to politely mover her along, as I had a growing line.

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(the customer was incredibly cheerful and nice this entire interaction, btw)

me: Can I get your name please?

customer: Sure, it’s Jared. What’s your name? (reads name tag) Oh, Sarah! That’s my sister’s name.

me: Oh nice, is she an H or no H?

customer: I don’t really know, she changes it all the time... I haven’t seen that bitch in years though, so who cares? Have a nice day!

[letitrainletitsnowbutdontletmego]

Finally - Chapter 4: The Voights

aka: 9 times Jay tries to win Voight over (intentionally and not so intentionally) and the 1 time he doesn't need to.

Also on ff.net and AO3.

Many, many thanks to @justkillingtimewhileiwait for all of her help, listening to me bounce ideas off her, ramble on about what I wanted to write and mostly, the beta-ing. You are awesome! :) 

Erin smiled as Olive excused herself for a brief nap, stating she couldn't remember the last time she had had so many people around to keep Danny entertained for long enough for her to have a break. The two of them were in town for a brief visit so the little boy was able to reconnect with his family; something Erin was glad for. Danny was their last link to Justin, and even though she understood Olive's reason to leave Chicago, she couldn't help the relief she had felt when she had heard they were coming back for a visit.

The two of them had been in the kitchen, sharing small talk over a cup of coffee whilst Danny was being entertained by Jay and Voight in the front room. Or rather the other way around, from the sounds of it. The one-and-a-half-year-old was so full of life and energy that it was amazing they had managed to keep him in one place. Erin had barely had enough time for a cuddle before he began wriggling to get down. Luckily, Voight had been prepared, having stocked up on some toys for the toddler. And that was before Erin and Jay had added the presents they had brought for the little boy.

Footsteps approaching the kitchen broke Erin out of her thoughts, standing to refill her cup with some more coffee just as Voight entered the room. Coffee at the Voights always tasted better, linked to her memories of a teenager finally finding herself a family who cared about her. She still drank it from the same mug as she had used since she was 16, living permanently in the cupboard there with its scratches, chips and faded colouring.

"Your boyfriend is hogging my grandson," he growled in frustration, making her laugh silently.

"Give him a break, Hank. Danny loves him," she replied with a shake of her head and pouring him a cup without asking. Taking both to the table, she slid back into her chair and pushed the other mug towards the seat next to her at the head of the table where Voight usually sat. "Aren't you happy that he has more and more people in his life to look out for him and guide him? A family?"

"Just because he's family at work doesn't mean he needs to be at home," he retorted even as he took the seat and the cup of coffee.

Erin rolled her eyes good-naturedly, hiding her smile behind her cup as she sipped it as she tried to bring up a topic she had meaning to do so for a little while now. It wasn't that she was scared to, but rather that she didn't want either of the men involved to feel like she was undermining them. Though she figured she knew them both well enough to know when she could put Voight in his place and when Jay's stubbornness might cause more harm than good.

"Actually, as we're on the subject, can I talk to you about something?" she began, bringing her mug down and leaning back in her chair as she watched Voight eye her. A muscle ticked in his jaw which was telling enough for her to know that he was already wound up, though she truly had no idea why.

"Don't tell me Halstead knocked you up 'cause I can forgo the gun for him," he informed her, voice rough and low, yet still catching her off guard.

"Wow, okay, no. Very much not pregnant, thanks," Erin quickly corrected him, making sure her words were sharp enough to indicate that would be the end of that conversation until she mentioned it herself one day. "Also, never bring that up ever again. In case you've missed the past 15 odd years, I'm an adult now. You don't need to threaten my boyfriends anymore," she said, repeating what she had told him a few years previously when she and Jay had just started working together.

"You think I wouldn't hurt him if he hurt you?" he asked incredulous, almost as if her believing anything but that would be absolutely insane.

"I think I'd get there first," she answered, raising a brow challengingly. Voight smirked at her remark and nodded concededly. "Yeah, don't look so proud. But as I was saying; can you please lay off Jay a bit? I know you're still getting used to it but he's trying to actually be a part of this family, my family, like his have accepted me. But you're not really making it easy."

Voight shrugged carelessly, causing Erin to grit her teeth in annoyance at his lack of response. "What does it matter what I do? Clearly, what I think doesn't matter much to either one of you," he muttered, staring her down.

Sighing, she forced herself to relax and to keep her voice low, lest it carried down to the front room and alerted Jay. The sounds of a babbling toddler were punctuated by Jay's quiet murmurings, so she knew his attention was mostly with Danny, and the last thing she wanted to do was to ruin their day off, relaxing as a family, dysfunctional as it was.

"That's low, Hank," she finally said, quiet but meaningful. "In his defence, he wanted to tell you. It was me that didn't. He never wanted to sneak around your back. Would rather take what you dished out than to risk losing your respect."

"Had a funny way of showing it," Voight retorted dryly over the rim of his coffee cup.

"You're not exactly the warm and fuzzy type," she shot back before softly adding, "He's trying to earn your respect and friendship here. But if you keep knocking him down, you're gonna lose a lot more than just face. Because I know that's the only reason why you haven't given in and accepted him yet."

Voight scoffed but didn't refute her words and Erin took it as a win. That she was right in her observations and, for once, she had gotten through to him about her and Jay, and how he would eventually drive her away if he kept it up. "He's not as charming as he thinks he is,"

"Yeah, he is. And you know it," she laughed, curling her hands around the coffee mug, thumb swiping gently against the middle where her name was proudly displayed before having a drink.

The cup had been a present from Camille, not that the woman would allow it to be called as such, and the first brand new thing Erin remembered ever owning that was solely hers. Camille had seen it in the mall one day, not long after Erin had moved in with them, and bought it as it reminded her of their new foster daughter. Erin had been shocked by the gesture, accepting it with a snarky remark about not needed a mug to remind her of her name.

Voight had reprimanded her immediately, telling her to either apologise and thank Camille, or to never expect another gift again. Erin had stared him down for a moment until Camille had said it wasn't a present, just a necessity considering her love of coffee. Her earnest remark had made her feel guilty for her attitude and she had apologised and thanked her for the mug, making it a point to use it almost every day.

"Camille would kick your ass if she was here, you know that?" she stated, glancing up at Voight with a sorrowful smile.

"I have no doubts about that," he agreed immediately.

They fell into a small beat of silence, the sound of Danny's giggling and squealing interrupting the quiet every few seconds, joined by Jay's hushed words and a chuckle here and there. It was an odd thought, sitting in the house she had grown up with her father figure whilst her partner and boyfriend played with her nephew in the front room. It definitely wasn't an image she had ever thought would become a reality, especially not when she had first stepped into the house; 15, a junkie and a lot more worse for wear. That was before Voight and Camille's help, before she understood how families really worked and what love really looked like.

"She'd love him, right? Jay?" Erin asked suddenly and hesitantly, leaning forward onto the table and fiddling with the cup as she kept her eyes tracked on it, ensuring none of its contents spilt over the top. "I keep thinking about all those boys in high school, and the couple from the academy, and how she always use to tell me I could do better when we broke up. That I shouldn't worry about them, just be happy and things will fall into place when I least expected them to. That the perfect person was out there, and I would find them at some point. All that typical, cheesy, mom stuff." Smiling at the memory, she looked back up at Voight to see a somewhat similar look on his features too. "But with Jay, I dunno. She'd love him, I reckon. I just wish she could have met him. He would have won her over in a heartbeat. Probably love him more than the two of us."

"She'd love him if you did. All she ever wanted was for you to be happy," he replied earnestly, reaching out to lay a hand on her arm for a brief moment in a show of their solidarity in the grief that still lingered with every memory of Camille.

"I am. He's… everything. Everything she said he would be," she mused, a slow smile curving at her lips as she thought about everything Camille had promised she would find one day and how Jay was slowly ticking each and every one of those boxes. A grimace passed over Voight's features, quick and fleeting that she could have made it up if the way he purposely kept his mouth shut wasn't indication enough. "What?"

"I didn't say anything," he told her innocently.

"Ugh, how did she even put up with you? You're hopeless, you know that? Two years and you still can't even handle me talking about our relationship," Erin grumbled slightly petulantly, downing the rest of her coffee and pushing her chair back to get to her feet. "I'm going to go hang out with Jay and Danny. I'll probably get a more stimulating conversation out of them than you."

Voight's laugh followed her out of the room, replacing her annoyance with carefree fondness at the sound of it. Approaching the living room, Erin paused in the doorway for a moment, watching as Jay held Danny steadily on his lap with one arm whilst the other handed him the soft building blocks they were playing with. Coloured blocks littered the floor around them, and she could see Danny trying to stand each time Jay handed him a new one. But his light grip on him kept him sitting and she reckoned he had a reason for it.

The kid had attached himself to Jay almost as soon as they had arrived earlier that day. Voight had handed him over to Erin when she had asked for him, though that had only lasted a minute before Danny had turned his attention to the gifts they had bought. The fact that Jay was carrying them probably helped him get into the toddler's good books, who had barely let him go ever since. For almost three hours now.

Not that she was complaining, because seeing Jay playing with her nephew was rather adorable. She just sort of felt left out, and, if she admitted it to herself, a bit jealous.

Shaking her head, she pushed those thoughts away and entered the room. "What's going on here?" she asked, running her fingers through the hair at Jay's nape as she passed him and took a seat on the floor adjacent to him after clearing away the blocks with her feet.

"We are building a tower, aren't we, buddy?" Jay replied, handing Danny another block to add to the stack they were building. The boy took it happily, sticking it on top of the middle tower. Jay looked over at Erin with an easy smile and shrugged. "Or a rocket. I don't really know."

"Well, it looks great either way," she replied, tickling Danny when he looked over at her. He laughed adorably, holding his hands out towards her as she picked up a block. "Here you go, how about this one?"

"Over here," Jay directed once Danny took the toy, holding it for a moment as he stared at the piles in front of him. At Jay's prompting, he placed it right where he was told with ease even as he craned his head up to glance at him for affirmation. "Good boy. Looking awesome."

"You're good with kids," Erin stated after the same thing happened a couple more times, watching how Danny waited for Jay's encouragement and praise whenever he acted after being prompted. It might have been one of the most cutest things she had ever seen, and if she had her head on right, she might have videoed it. Instead, she just basked in the moment.

"I think it's the kid that's good with me," Jay laughed, hoisting Danny up to his feet, and in one smooth move, turning him to face him. "Hey, you want to go to Aunty Erin? There you go. Now you can jump on her all you like," he said cheekily, swinging the giggling boy over to Erin, and it was only thanks to her quick reflexes that she caught him in time.

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" she asked in amusement, watching as Danny began bouncing on her the second his feet landed on her thighs. It suddenly made sense why Jay had him sitting him and held there. The kid was small but he had a lot of energy, which all translated into a lot of forceful jumping.

Jay immediately stretched out his legs, loosening up his muscles from being sat in the same position for far too long. Leaning back on his hands, he tilted his head towards her and asked in forced casualness, "So, your dad looked like he was ready to go get the shotgun when he left the room. Should I be worried?"

"Nah, I managed to talk him down to a Glock," Erin taunted, glancing up at him from under her lashes as she played with Danny on her lap, holding onto his hands as he leaned back away from and she kept jerking him back to her chest, leading to him giggling endlessly each and every time.

"Erin…" he warned, unimpressed by her teasing and huffing when she merely smiled back.

"Aw, look at your Uncle Jay. He looks so worried, as if your Grandad would ever hurt him around his precious baby," she cooed softly, laughing as Danny laughed too, though they both knew he couldn't understand a word she had told him.

"Just to be clear; is the 'precious baby' Danny, or you?" Jay asked, pulling back and sitting up when she threw a block at his head. "Ow! Don't teach the kid violence, Erin! His genes have that taken care of."

"I can hear you, you know, Halstead," Voight's voice suddenly came from the kitchen, catching them both off guard. Whereas Erin laughed, Jay looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Nodding, he lowered his voice so he was certain Voight couldn't hear him as he told her his new plan to keep the other man from potentially shooting him. "Right, so this kid is coming with us. Maybe even staying with us indefinitely. I'm sure we could make space for Olive, too."

[smokeybrand]

Eye of the Beholder

My lady and I have been together for thirteen years. She has been a part of my world for about half of my brother’s lives. In my time with her, I have grown as a man, a person, and adult. She gave me a completely different perspective on life and a reason to be more than what I was when i met her. She’s been with me through the good, the bad, and the ugly and I love her dearly for it. There is a void in me left from all of the trauma I suffered as a child. I’ve had nightmares every day of my life since the age of 4 because of it. I’ve had insomnia from it since the age of 12 because of it. When I’m with her, I sleep. Honest to god, sleep. She soothes my broken and weary soul. She is the sun, the moon, and the stars in my galaxy and I thank her every day for it. For supporting me. For loving me. She is the most important person in my life, ahead of my brothers, my mother, and my sister. It took close to a decade for that to happen. I had to be sure she was the one. She had to be sure I was the one. I think our bond is stronger for it.

My brother has dated this girl for about four months and all of his relationships appear to be in shambles. She came to us through our cousin. She dated him for about half a year before that relationship ended badly. There was some trouble in her home so I took her in with the intention of supporting her as she figured herself out. Chick is only 19 so I figured a little understanding could go a long way. Wrong. After the break up with my cousin, she went about two weeks on her own. In that time, she became an independent, confidant, vibrant young woman, well on her way toward maturity. Then she started dating my brother and threw all of that out the window. Within a month, she had lost her job and went through several emotional meltdowns because, according to her “my brother is no good to her.” Again, 19. Literally a year and a half removed from high school. Immaturity ensued because this chick doesn’t know who she is , which makes her insecure and defensive toward my brother, which ends with some petty nonsense happening to me. She punched a hole in my wall over some goddamn breadsticks. From dominoes. I threw her out over the weekend but, curiously, my brother has decided to leave with her. Why?

In the handful of months they’ve dated, I’ve watched this chick destroy my brother’s closest friendships. She outright disrespected a kid that goes back to high school with him. Like, she was a toddler when they met but she’s convinced him that dude’s a user and a bad friend. She didn’t like how ol’ boy spoke to my brother so she convinced him to stop being the guy’s friend. That’s a decade long friendship, gone. My 23 year old  little-little sister, whom I’ve known since she was 14, whom my brother has known since she was 13, hasn’t been around in months. She was supposed to move in with us. Chick stayed A night. Haven’t seen her since. My ma thinks that my brother’s girlfriend was threatened by their closeness and my little-little had to go. My brother and a friend were supposed to move out and start a business together. Dude is an electrician and had the start-up loot. All my brother had to do was manage the day to day and they were good. In creeps the girlfriend. All of a sudden, no more move. No more partnership. No more friend. Haven’t seen that cat in months either. My brother had a friend who commutes from the bay to work out here. He was trying to save scratch to move back here and crashed at our house when he came because we live own the street from the bus station. Chick starts to date my brother, cat’s been a ghost. That’s not to mention our cousin has been devastated through all of this. He was terrible to ol’ girl so he kind of deserves it bur still. You changed this kid’s diapers, let him stay with us rent free for a year but now that you’re eating his leftovers, he’s the worst? Really?

Anyone with a semblance of maturity or sense avoids this chick like the plague because she’s the worst. Her youth makes her dumb and, as adults, we all have a very low tolerance for that nonsense. We all love and care for my brother so we tend to put up with his child bride but none of us really want her around. Except for my older sister. Who is a moron. Who is just like my brother’s chick. But she’s 40. And has two kids. With two different men. And dates a woman now. Who is also terrible. My older sister is a ratchet mess; a failure as an adult and mother. She is an inspired chef but has squandered any opportunity with her craft through ego and pettiness. She literally beat three senior chefs on one of those reality cooking competitions to earn a head chef position in a chain restaurant at 30. Do you know how long it takes to become a head chef anywhere? She was about a decade ahead of schedule! But, she quit because she didn’t have enough menu control. At a chain restaurant. Now, she wallows in section 8 housing lamenting how terrible her life is because of other people “betraying her” or “poisoning her with negative energy” or “not being loyal” or some other such nonsense instead of accepting anything even remotely resembling responsibility. Like her father, it’s everyone else who is against her. It’s everyone else who is the problem, never her. A sentiment she and my brother’s child-bride share. Of my four, blood related siblings ( I say blood related because I have a brother and two sisters who I’ve known forever who aren’t related to me but I love them as much as if they were) she’s the worst. Actually, scratch that. Of all seven of my siblings, she’s the worst. Of all my siblings, she’s the only one that actually LIKES my brother’s girlfriend, not just tolerates her. She hates my girlfriend though. Never met her, mostly because I don’t think she’s worthy of my chick’s shine, but nevertheless, wildly negative opinion of her. So, obviously, my older sister is a terrible judge of character. The fact that she likes his chick so much should be cause for concern, no? I mean, my sister is literally the type of person to put her spouse ahead of her child, like, we had a long ass debate about this, on facebook, TO WHICH MY BROTHER’S GIRLFRIEND SIDED WITH MY DUMBASS SISTSER! How are there no alarms going off all over the place in his head about his chick??

Ultimately, I understand the heart wants what it wants. My brother could very well want this chick for some reason. I don’t understand it myself. Sure, she is smarter than most her age, intellectually. Like, chick is very well read. She is relatively sharp as well. She has a ton of potential and carries herself much better than other early twenty somethings I’ve met. But, goddamn, she has all of the emotional depth of a goddamn puddle and that’s the problem. Her immaturity is rampant and toxic, destroying her life as she just lets it run wild. She’s lost friends, great jobs, and two places to stay behind it, one of which was her f*cking parent’s house. All of this and she still acts the way she does. All of this and she still isn’t trying to be better or get help. She doesn’t want to because it’s too hard. She said that to me. It’s too hard to work on herself. Of course it is! That’s why it’s called work. The fact that she would rather fill the void in her soul with whatever dick on hand should, again, be setting off all sorts of alarms in my brother’s head. Seriously, she was saying the exact same sweet nothings to out cousin, three weeks before she started saying them to my brother! She was on her own for two weeks and then was “in love” with my brother! Two weeks, man! A f*cking fortnight! She doesn’t even love herself, man! How can she be capable of loving someone else??

I’m not writing this to bash my brother’s chick. She’s a child that needs help. I tried to help her but she doesn’t WANT help. She doesn’t WANT to put in the work to be BETTER and that’s my concern. Her mediocrity is infecting my brother. He’s lowering himself to her level so they can be together.. My brother’s chick has alienated him from decade long friend ships, destroys other people’s property when she’s upset or doesn’t get her way, and whines about literally everything. Chick literally would throw tantrums, literal kicking and screaming, because no one wanted to drive her to work. And he tolerates that sh*t. My brother isn’t stupid. We think a lot alike. We observe a lot alike. We generally come to the same concussions. I know he knows everything I just said. I know he knows she’s awful. So why stay? My chick uplifts me. She makes me want to be more tomorrow than I was yesterday. Being with her makes me better. My brother’s chick makes him worse and it’s slowly ruining his life. If I can see it, then he has to know that.  So hat does she give him that makes his slow murder of self, worth? What the f*ck is it he sees in her?