#wondering if i was a lesbian or whether this was like some kind of warped response to the way

[crushedsweets]

i was listening to twin size mattress by the front bottoms and was like. hmm this is the most toby song ever

SO i was wondering do u have any songs that remind you of specific creeps? could be from lyrics or just general vibes yk yk

- 🌙 anon (im new here hi)

HII welcome. ok ok. so i listen to music in a very boring way and never analyze lyrics/artists/albums/etc. but for you i will try to change.

also these lryics with toby oh wow.. wow. ok. wowwww. wow. ok. wow. STUFF UNDER THE CUT BUT KNOW IM DEEPLY WARPING THE ACTUAL MEANING BEHIND A LOT OF THESE SONGS LOL. i religiously listen to love songs so its hard

toby and honey by coastal club. (my fave song rn..)

whether its from his perspective or not.. it doesnt even have to be romantic either. just his friendships with everyone around him, both from people like tim and brian seeing this SEVERELY TROUBLED kid. . . 'wide eyed..dying to get outside' feels very :((( yk. he was a kid trapped in a fucking horrifying situation all his life. or him looking at his friendship with nina. "youve got a way with me... alive and so full of life, i'm mesmerized by your love" etc. maybe jack or clockwork with the "i started laughing at the words you spoke, i kinda like you and your stupid jokes"... AGAIN I KNOW ITS A LOVE SONG but i see it applying in so many different forms of love. and i love love. also a ton of like, car and driving references which is um. lyra reference sorry

nina x clockwork and "a big brown dog named bagel" by nep

ok this doesnt apply so much to my au(nobody is canon in mine but yk)... buttttttt... yeah. ugh. this is so nina @ nat. sorry guys ive been changed. one ask always diverts my attention at the speed of light. "I like the way she bites, the way she talks, the way she looks when I smile" is just SO FUCKING NINA ADORING NAT. nina just wants to be in the most fairytale coming of age movie ya novel lovestory and she says that her biggest dream in life is to get married. she wants to take care of her lover and give and give and give so fucking much and "I'll buy you a big old house on a big old hill And I'll grow old with my baby, 'til she's dead" is so very her. of course i chose clockwork cuz 'she's tall in the knees' and 'some green in her eyes' plus im a lesbian and havent fawned over sapphic relationships in months since i began my creepypasta return. LOL

eyeless jack and "downhill" by lincoln

there r few words to describe the amount of guilt, horror, and devastation that jack feels after what he's done, all he's lost, and what he has to do to survive. he has a year of his life that he was literally possessed by a demon and went around fucking tearing humans apart and eating their remains. even as he's """recovering""" and settling into a cabin, his friendships with the creeps, trying to just feel okay. he's on his last leg, he can tell that people know he's a shell of what he was but they'll never know how warm, kind, inviting he used to be. "i went downhill at such a steep inline" ... yea he did his life changed immeasurably in a single night and it's never coming back. the lyrics "'Cause I was born into the world on a silken cloud / And I got bored of the world before I hit the ground" ... while he had a ton of pressure. he loved his life, loved his family, was the type to constantly express how grateful he was for everything that got him where he was. and then he hit rock fucking bottom because he wanted to chase a little excitement with the pretty girl inviting him to join a 'club.' poor guy

liu and "i'm not angry anymore" by paramore

i dont think i need to explain this because um..... lols... liu just wants to fucking move on. he just wants to escape everything. he wants his family back, including the little brother he'd play catch with in the front yard for so many years. but he has his moments where it all comes barreling back, and he makes real fucking brash decisions - he lost his marriage because he spiraled trying to find jeff and moved to fucking alabama. so you know.

jane and "everest" by beabadoobee

again, i dont think i need to explain this. maybe this could be mary(jane's wife) singing to jane, cuz she was one of janes main supports after her parents death. jane can only act strong for so long but she is so so so fucking sad and mourning and she was always so soft and gentle and sweet and she lost everything in a single night. she spent a short period of time filled with rage, as she would be, but her story eventually evolves into her just wanting to help others with their cases, be happy with her wife, take care of sally, grow old, make her parents proud. she's climbed mountains and is probably in the best place of all the creeps. holds her. i dont touch her character too often because i just want her to settle happily lolz..

ok thats all i got guys :3.. thank youuuuu thank youuu. sorry if my music taste is bad guys. LOL.

[tinylavenderlesbian]

i think a lot of ppl get stuck in this internal conflict btwn like, 'the person i am', as a core, immutable, unchanging identity, whether thats a biological fact of themselves or a more spiritual kind of 'soul', and 'the kind of person life has made me' as shaped by their lived experiences and the way the former had been changed by their social/economic/etc upbringing and the way thats impacted their lives and like. i think its v freeing the realise the first thing, in whatever capacity it might exist, is much less important and isnt the ideal self that needs to be catered to, or circled around. 'being urself' doesnt have to mean striving for authenticity to a construct that doesn't exist in any kind of meaningful way

[sistersblack]

tomjr replied to your post

“i’m in a ‘i am going to cause problems on purpose’ mood and it is...”

Do you have a post on why you like Lucius? As someone who, admittedly, isn't a massive fan, I'd love to read why! :)

okay.. i have to admit my reasons for loving lucius aren’t really as serious as my reasons for loving snape. his character hasn’t had any profound impact on me, i mostly just think he’s fun & has a lot of unexplored potential.

as a preface, i’m team ‘fictional preferences aren’t a reliable indicator of real-world morals.’ also this is probably going to be a bit of a mess. it got much longer than intended and turned into a more meta than anything else but anyway--

i’ve always been partial to villains (my fave hp character has been snape since i picked up the first book, and back then it was because he was such a bastard) so lucius being a bad guy doesn’t bother me. a lot of the criticisms of his character are variations of “but he’s a death eater!!!” which just makes me go …and? it’s like saying you can’t like bellatrix because she’s a voldy-fanatic or that you can’t like voldemort because he’s.. voldemort. i know people actually do say those things but to me it doesn’t make sense. a character being a de or in the order has no bearing on whether i like them or not.

i’m not going to argue against lucius being a bad guy, but i do think he’s kind of terrible at it, at least compared to his cohort. i don’t think he’s sadistic like other death eaters or as fanatic, either (which i think comes to light in his dh arc). to me, he’s the ‘order people around, then stand back and watch as they do your bidding’ kind of villain. i’d even argue that this line

“Lucius, my slippery friend,’ he whispered, halting before him. ‘I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe?” (GOF, ch. 33)

is a reference to it. he doesn’t delight or participate, he leads. i do think he’s killed and tortured (he probably got some kicks out of it, too) but i’ve always interpreted him as a character whose usefulness comes from his connections (and if we want to talk headcanons, i think he’s got a good strategic eye). we know the second war differs greatly from the first; from what little information we get about the first war, it seems that death eaters were making a much more controlled and effective effort that resulted in actual changes to wizarding society. (to digress a little, i think that’s what a lot of death eaters actually signed up for, not the killing/torture and harry potter business, otherwise voldemort’s numbers in the first war don’t really make sense.) but in that context, lucius is a valuable player to have because he’s got the connections, diplomacy, and resources to infiltrate places like the ministry and encourage the right parties to support voldemort’s plans. it might not exactly make him likable, but it’s something i like to think about.

the above quote touches on some other things that make me interested in him. while definitely a blood-supremacist, i’d argue that lucius’ loyalty to his family/to himself far outweighs his loyalty to voldemort. i’ll talk about the malfoys in a bit, but on the topic of choosing to become a death eater, i think he was swayed by what voldemort was selling—a society of only purebloods, where he’s promised glory. joining voldemort is perfectly aligned with his own goals, but when that’s no longer the case, he’s got no issue dropping voldy and claiming he was coerced; he doesn’t scream his loyalty like bella and willingly ruin his life (and his family’s life) to serve his lordship. as to why that makes me like him, i kind of just always like the self-preserving prick character. it’s a big part of why i love narcissa, too. (and why i think they’re perfectly matched, but more on that here).

also, what i mean when i say he’s fun is like… okay so lucius is the kind of person where if i met him irl, i’d spend every second in his presence thinking about how much i want to punch him in the face. he’s that rich, snooty asshole who knows he’s above the consequences us mere mortals have to worry about, but it makes him fun to write. he can do whatever he wants because he knows he can get away with it and i always have a good time when i write him in fic (even when I’m torturing him).  

the other thing is that i think lucius’ character is a bit like snape’s in the sense that it’s been warped by fanon (jason’s portrayal is part of it too, though i do love it). my biggest pet peeve about the discussion around lucius is how most of it revolves around draco, and how the people who want to defend/woobify/redeem draco immediately jump to ‘lucius was an abusive father.’ i always sort of want to ask why they think that, but i know it’s not really worth the effort.

(there’s the argument that raising a child with extremist views, even with good intentions, constitutes abuse on its own. but imo that’s a different conversation & not really relevant bc people don’t tend to use that as an example of lucius being a bad father, they jump right to him being verbally/physically/emotionally abusive.) 

anyway, my point is

“My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands. […] I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow. […] Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree.” PS, ch. 5.

that book!lucius  

“My Lord,” said a voice, desperate and cracked. He turned: there was Lucius Malfoy sitting in the darkest corner, ragged and still bearing the marks of the punishment he had received after the boy’s last escape. One of his eyes remained closed and puffy. “My Lord … please … my son …” DH, ch. 32.

doesn’t really

“Wouldn’t it be … forgive me … more prudent to call off this battle, enter the castle and seek him y – yourself?”

“Do not pretend, Lucius. You wish the battle to cease so that you can discover what has happened to your son.” DH, ch. 32.

support the fanon

“[…] Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy running through the crowd, not even attempting to fight, screaming for their son.” DH, ch. 36.

there’s a bunch of other little moments that give us an insight into the malfoy family dynamic (like the fact that lucius actually listens to draco’s rambling; eg. “… everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful potter with his scar and his broomstick —” / “you have told me this at least a dozen times already.” – or his reaction to buckbeak; “father’s not very happy about my injury- […] he’s complained to the school governors. and to the ministry of magic.” - or the fact that draco constantly defends him).  i don’t think it’s enough to suggest that the malfoys were a happy-go-lucky family, but everything put together paints a picture, and it’s not one of a cold, abusive household. i won’t bother pulling apart the ~lucius abused narcissa~ fanon, because i do that a bit on my narcissa post and it essentially boils down the same thing. 

basically i think lucius is unfairly lumped into the category of death eaters who are incapable of anything ‘good.’ like, yes, he’s terrible, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t or can’t love his family. to say so directly contradicts a lot of his canon material (looking @ you, cursed child).  but anyway, my interpretation of the malfoy family dynamic is a large part of why i love lucius as a whole (bad guy who loves one (1) thing is a good trope and that is a hill i will die on) and i think the way his loyalty to the cause™ battles with his loyalty to narcissa and draco creates some interesting scenarios to consider. overall i think there’s a lot of unexplored potential with him.

i’m ending it here bc i can feel my attention span starting to slip, but tl;dr 

also one last obligatory reason: he’s sexy (and i’m saying this as a lesbian)

[mollymauk-teafleak]

I will love you if I never see you again (chapter one)

Huge thank you to my amazing betas, @minky-for-short for getting me into this podcast in the first place and @spiky-lesbian for letting me pass the gift on

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment on Ao3, it means the world to me and it’s completely free! 

---

Warning: Trans pregnancy not seen but referenced, mentions of depression

Juno deeply regrets leaving Peter Nureyev in that motel room.

He told himself if was necessary. He told himself he was needed elsewhere. He told himself he was a hero.

Now, one year on, he is depressed, lonely and struggling. But Peter Nureyev is about to come back into his life, despite his own best judgement, and show him that their night together was more significant than Juno knows.

---

He wondered how much of his life he would spend taking footsteps that lead away from where he wanted to go.

Every time his heel hit the pavement, he would label himself again, burden himself with something fresh. They piled on top of each other, filling the inside of his skull until it ached.

Coward. Selfless. Idiot. Selfish. Heartless. Hero. Needed. Broken.

That more than anything else. How else to describe a person who was walking away from last night, choosing a cold and lonely dawn and a cold and empty future over everything currently fading into a sickly orange light above his head and someone to share it with. He couldn’t bear to look up and see those stars, not just because he still wasn’t used to seeing them through one eye, shifted in a way he knew they shouldn’t be, blurry and further away than he knew they really were. He was scared to turn his face to them and see the possibilities he was crushing under his boot with every step. Other planets, other worlds, other people he could be. And the two hearts he was breaking, all outlined in the stars like a needlepoint.

So he kept his eye to the pavement beneath him and continued on.

It was colder than it had any right to be, the warmth that hadn’t started as his own leeching away through his coat. It was the kind of cold that made him think he wouldn’t ever get warm again as he tried to force his mind to focus and figure out how he was going to get home.

And then back to normal. Back to who he’d been before.

The thought was the last straw needed to send the tears tumbling down his deliberately expressionless face, dripping from his chin to fall to the pavement below, as pointless and fruitless as rain on Mars.

He heard. Of course he heard.

And yet when he opened his eyes, he still hoped and he was duly punished for it, heart breaking all over again when there was no one in the bed next to him. Just rumpled sheets that had once curved around a human body and freshly emptied space.

He didn’t cry. That wasn’t how he’d been raised. Crying brought noise, attention, commotion. Crying was unprofessional. Potentially messy emotions were meant to be folded up small and filed away somewhere dark and deep for some unspecified later date, a time where he could be himself and didn’t have to be someone else. Whenever that would be.

So he didn’t cry. Instead he stared down at his own hands and told himself he was not thinking about where they had been just a few short hours ago, what they had discovered and held, what beautiful things they had moulded, along with a second pair of hands that were now just ghosts of warmth on cooling sheets. He sat and he stared, gaze hard and level until it began to blur. In that moment he lost sight of his clever, clever hands and realised how much hurt was inside him. Yawning, cavernous depths of it in his narrow chest, so easy to fall into and never be seen again.

But he couldn’t let that happen.

He told himself who he was, who he had made himself into after so much hard work. He spoke his name into the fading darkness and told himself what that meant. That was the only thing that got him out of the bed, onto his feet, back into his clothes. Back out into the world.

But under the veneer of his sharp smile and neat hair and nice clothes, he felt sick. Sick with anger, sick with a desperate need to get off this godforsaken planet and never see it’s dust and mountains and broken promises ever again, sick with grief above all else.

And he stayed sick for some time.

- A Year Later   -

Juno would say he’d had a bad day at the office. But that would imply that he’d had something that could be called a good day sometime in recent memory.

But they’d all been the same. Stumble in after very little sleep and no breakfast, beyond what had made his breath smell of stale alcohol. Give no answer to Rita’s hopeful greeting but to growl whether any new cases had come in. Look through the painfully anemic list and curl his lip at every one, muttering that they were pedestrian, boring, stale after each one. Slump listlessly in his chair and try to decide which he would take, just to get Rita off his back. Get sweaty and shivery at the thought of actually picking up the comms and speaking to a client. Realise it had gotten dark. Go home with no new cases, no progress made and a pitying look from Rita that made him want to scream.

So, yeah. A bad day. A long, long string of bad days that had no end that he could see.

And somehow the worst part of each one was walking home.

He would have stayed at the office if Rita would let him but she firmly ejected him at the end of every day, insisting she wasn’t working in the same space as someone who didn’t shower. Only the fact that she wouldn’t leave until he did actually got his feet out of the door.

It was a typical chilly Martian night, air stale and cloying as it always was under the shields. Juno always felt like he was in a terrarium, something caught by powers far above him and set down in an artificial habitat to be viewed as a source of entertainment. But, then again, it was nice not to die of radiation poisoning.

The bottled weather and stale air wasn’t the reason Juno hated walking home. It was that walking wasn’t enough of a distraction. He couldn’t figure out how to listen to things on his comms and was too proud to ask Rita, watching the people walking past was likely to get him punched in the face for looking at someone funny. Just a long, lonely walk with just his own head for company, nothing to look ahead to but a miserable night in his cramped little apartment drinking himself to sleep. A sad, lost lady alone with the shadows in the corners, thinking if he stayed still and quiet then his memories wouldn’t find him.

And he would feel that heaviness in his chest, like his lungs were turning to concrete, the heaviness that came with the words in his head.

This is what you left him for?

He’d thought Hyperion needed him, like he was some hero from a bad North Star stream. No smarter than he’d been at nine years old again with tin foil wrapped around his skinny chest, pretending to be Andromeda. In real life, heroes could shoot straight. Heros had two eyes. Heroes didn’t bellow at their secretaries for problems they’d caused themselves. Heroes weren’t afraid of anything, much less the idea of a quiet moment.

A car went past closer than it should, roaring and sudden and shaking him out of his thoughts. He didn’t know when his breathing had gotten heavy or sweat had begun dripping between his shoulder blades despite the cool night. He ran his fingers through his hair, told himself to snap out of it and pushed on, walking faster.

Juno tried desperately to occupy his mind, making lists for groceries he couldn’t afford and jobs he wouldn’t get to at the office and going over cases he solved years ago, as he walked through puddles of streetlight. But it was a flimsy shield and he knew it; just beyond the thin veneer of a busy brain sat the thick clouds of grey fog he’d glimpsed, the ones that could dull him and numb him until he drowned without ever fighting back.

He’d always managed to catch himself in time, drag himself out of the other side, get back into the office, try again even if he knew it would go the same way all the others had.

And Juno dreaded the day where he couldn’t even manage that.

He was at his apartment building now, chanting the ingredients for stew his mother would make on her good days under his breath, each step of the method taking him up one of the far too many stairs he had to climb. Step by step, no other thoughts allowed.

Juno was as far as serving the stew into two identical bowls and making sure your greedy brother didn’t get the one with extra pieces of carrot as he took out the key and slotted it into the door. It always needed a shove to get it going, the damp and general lack of attention had warped the wood. Thought it could also have been the many times it had been battered by things trying to get in or out.

So many things that Juno had long ago developed the habit of entering his apartment assuming something was going to attack him, shoulders tense, legs locked, hand on his blaster.

A habit he’d lost after becoming depressed and ever since touching the blaster he could no longer use made his chest uncomfortably tight.

So when he realised there was someone sitting on his ratty sofa, eyes trained on him and something in their hands, Juno was entirely unprepared. And very embarrassed.

“God damn-” was all he got out, hand scrabbling at his belt because if he couldn’t aim for shit anymore maybe he could at least throw it at them, before the shadow stood up and spoke in a voice he knew, a voice that had teased him and cursed him and, last he’d heard it, held him so safely and made him feel so much.

A voice he’d never thought to hear again, since he left it in a dark motel room.

“Juno Steel. I’d apologise for the theatrics but...well, it’s me.”

It was a long time before he could find any words at all, lost in picking out the things he recognised in the shadow, the slope of a nose, the wink of a golden chain in his ear, trying to figure out how it made him feel.

“Nureyev...what...I don’t understand…”

“I wouldn’t expect you to, Juno,” Nureyev stood, not as smoothly as Juno would have expected, like something was weighing him down, “I didn’t anticipate needing to talk to you again after...everything but things beyond my control have forced my hand. We need to talk.”

Juno still felt much like a rabbit staring down the lights of an eighteen wheel truck, flicking on the lights and coming to stand in the doorway, keeping a fair distance between him and Nureyev.

The man who had offered to show him the stars and he had refused.

He was holding something, something wrapped in blankets that he was clutching to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. That struck him as odd immediately, an odd thing in a flood of odd things, but his eye caught on it anyway.

He had seen Nureyev work a few times, he’d seen him steal keys and ancient martian masks and legendary, semi sentient getaway cars, things he wanted and things he needed. But he would never let it show when he held them, or had them under his hands. He never had this look of protectiveness, that grip in his fingers like he was going to pull a knife on anyone who tried to take it from him. Because if he showed he wanted it, then that was a vulnerability. That was a connection.

Nureyev’s voice was a practised kind of steady, like he too was surprised to find them here but wanted Juno to flinch first, “You can relax, Juno, I’m not here to kill you like some jealous spurned lover from a bad stream.”

“I never...I never thought that,” Juno said honestly, it had never crossed his mind that Nureyev was going to hurt him. Though it would be hard to argue he didn’t deserve at least a slap.

“I’m here to make a request of you, actually,” Nureyev stepped forward, so he’d tower over Juno a little more.

Though a little less than he should have. He wasn’t wearing heels. He had worn heels to rob a train that moved at a thousand miles an hour but he wasn’t wearing them now, just flat, plain shoes to stand on Juno’s peeling, cracking floor. No corset either, just black trousers and a loose black shirt that looked silky in the low streetlight coming in from outside. He was dressed so...so un-Nureyev.

“You need something from me?” Juno squared his shoulders, aware that he was staring, “What?”

Nureyev’s teeth still flashed when he spoke, in that way that had first snagged Juno nearly three years ago now, “I need you to hold something for me. Something very, very, very precious to me.”

Juno frowned, “You don’t have any other place to stash stolen goods? Don’t you have a whole network for that thing, buyers lined up before you pull a job?”

Why are you antagonising him, Steel?

Nureyev squared his thin shoulders, thinner than Juno had last seen them, “Not what I’m asking, Juno. This will go easier if you don’t jump to conclusions before I’ve even opened my mouth.”

Juno folded his arms defensively across his chest, “Look, Nureyev, whatever it is, I really don’t think I’m the one for the job. We clearly don’t...work together as well as we thought we did.”

That curled his lip, “Oh, I agree, Detective. However I don’t have a choice. You are the only person I can trust with this.”

Juno’s frown deepened, about to open his mouth and snap something back that would only turn the conversation sourer when the package of blanket in Nureyev’s arms shifted and made a noise. He started, about to demand to know if Nureyev had actually brought a cat into his apartment, when the thief turned away and spoke softly to it, moving back the soft material, voice low and soothing.

Not a cat. A child.

“Nureyev, what the hell have you done?” Juno croaked, jaw dropping.

It was clear his assumptions were wrong in a heartbeat when Nureyev rounded on him with more fury in his eyes than Juno had ever seen. More fury than he’d ever thought could be held in eyes usually so still and placid and clever. The child, blinking large dark eyes sleepily, seemed to pick up on it, face creasing unhappily and turning their face against his chest with an unhappy noise.  

“Whatever you are thinking, Detective, I suggest you stop,” he snapped, baring his teeth, “And think about what kind of man you know me to be. Whatever possessed you to leave me in that motel room, you must know I am not the kind of thief you are imagining.”

“Nureyev, easy, I...I get it,” Juno held up his hands, feeling scared of the man in front of him for the first time, “I just don’t understand…”

“Then think,” he took a step forward, “Use that brain you claim to have that I have seen so little evidence of. You can do basic mathematics, yes?”

Juno blinked, static rising loud and so distracting in his head, even as his PI’s eye looked at what little of the child he could see. Dark hair. Skin the colour of turned earth on the home most humans had never known. He couldn’t place her age exactly, all babies looked the same to him, but she was clearly brand new, barely more than a handful of months. And it had been a year since he’d last seen Peter Nureyev.

The static was deafening now and he was swaying slightly on his feet.

“Oh, god damn it…” he rasped.

“Are you there yet?” Nureyev’s voice was flat and unimpressed, “Or do you need me to draw you a diagram?”

“Nureyev, I…” Juno’s hands came up to grip his hair, a tic he’d thought he’d shaken off, “I’m so, so sorry…”

“A little late for that,” Nureyev narrows his eyes, “And unnecessary. My choice was my own. I’m not here to ask you for anything permanent, I don’t want money, I don’t want you to make an honest man of me or anything so trite. And I certainly don’t want your pity.”

Juno tried to take that in, still mostly preoccupied with the static in his head, “Then...then what…”

Nureyev’s jaw set, expression awkward for the first time, “My...my getaway from the last job I pulled wasn’t as clean as I normally manage. I allow myself some leniency for being rather...preoccupied but still. There are consequences I don’t usually have to deal with. Consequences I cannot put my daughter in the path of. I need somewhere safe for her to be while I deal with this and cut the loose ends. Somewhere safe with someone who fully understands how vital it is that no one learns of her existence. Do I make myself clear, Juno?”

Juno knew an answer was expected of him but all he could focus on was the words that had seized his heart, “A daughter?”

Nureyev looked down at the baby in his arms, something softening ever so slightly in his face, almost too small to catch, “Yes. Her name is Bianca Nureyev.”

Juno swallowed hard, still feeling ice water run through his body instead of blood, “It’s...it’s a real pretty name.”

Nureyev had an expression on his face like he was trying very hard not to care about Juno’s opinion of her name, “It is beautiful. And above all, it is precious. I trust you remember how much I value my own name? Well know that I would rather climb this very building and scream my name at the top of my lungs for all of Hyperion to hear than have my daughter be common knowledge.”

The name you trusted me with. The name you valued less than me.

Juno didn’t know what was worse, when he’d thought he’d never have Nureyev’s trust after he’d left or this, suddenly finding himself being handed it again.

“Nureyev…” Juno’s eye slid guiltily around his apartment, all the decay and mess that was so clearly visible, thrown into sharp, uncomfortable relief in the glare of the naked bulb overhead. Nureyev had been here a while, certainly long enough to see the take out containers, mostly untouched and left to rot, the case files piling up on the little used bed, the newspapers gathering dust, the empty fridge and reek of a place that hadn’t seen fresh air in too long.

His expression confirmed it for Juno, “Believe me, if there was any alternative, anyone else I could leave her with...god, if there was any way to avoid this entirely, I would take it. But she’s in danger every second she’s with me and I can’t have that. If I’m going to do this right, I need a clean break. And, ironically, the process of acquiring one is often messy.”

“I mean...I’ll try but…”

“Oh no,” his voice was a knife’s slice into darkness that hit home, “You will not try, detective. You will do this. You said you’re sorry? Then prove it. Help me make something of the ridiculous mess we got ourselves in by pulling yourself together for a month or so and making sure my daughter is safe and well until I can come back for her. It is, quite literally, the least you can do.”

Juno eyed the baby girl in Nureyev’s arms, now looking back at him with a curious awareness, like she was some kind of explosive. Long before he’d made a complete, smouldering mess of his life, the sight of young children with their parents had made him feel sickly. On the street, at the park, on the rare occasions a client would turn up with one on their hip, they gave him prickly sweats and an itchy feeling down his spine, a directionless kind of panic.

He wanted to shout at every parent he passed, everyone with a tiny hand in their own, to get in their face and yell at them do not fuck this up, do you have any idea of the damage you can do?

And the thing was he knew exactly how much damage he was capable of. After all, look what he’d managed to do without even thinking. A baby girl, looking at him with his own eyes, his own vaguely exhausted expression. Fragile as new blown glass, incomprehensible as distant stars.

But he’d wanted to be a hero, a year ago. He’d amended that recently to a smaller goal, simply wanting something other than the heavy, grey fog.

Maybe this way he could have both.

Juno held out his arms.

Whether it was relief or agony on Nureyev’s face, he couldn’t say, it was gone too quick to pin down. He simply slung a large bag from his shoulder, setting it on the floor.

“She has a week’s supply of everything in there. Clothes, diapers, her formula. You’ll need to buy more when it runs out, this was what I could gather at short notice. Also her books, clothes and toys...the cloth cat is a particular favourite, if she’s crying, she probably wants that...”

Juno nodded, “Right, yeah. No problem.” He noticed his arms were still empty.

Nureyev was hesitating, something he’d never seen him do. He was poised to pass his daughter over but had frozen halfway through, like his muscles wouldn’t move any further. There was a long pause before he sighed, pressed the gentlest of kisses to his daughter’s head and quickly eased her into Juno’s arms. Immediately, he boughed under the weight of her.

“I’ll be back, my treasure…” he was addressing her, lines of pain cracking through his mask, eyes swimming for a fraction of a second before they turned to him and turned to flint, “Keep her safe. Promise me, Juno Steel.”

“I promise,” he tried to make his voice sound sure. He failed.

Nureyev looked like he would snatch her back for a second before straightening, “Well, that will have to do.”

Like it was breaking his heart to stay any longer, he turned on his heel and went for the door without a glance back. It shut behind him with a click and Juno heard him taking the stairs, upwards rather than down, to do god knew what.

And he was left holding a baby he hadn’t known existed until a minute ago, with a brain full of static.

Like an actor who’d forgotten his lines, he rocked on his heels and shuffled awkwardly for a few moments before turning to look at Bianca, sitting uncertainty in his arms.  

“So, um...hello?” he tried, “I’m Juno.”

Bianca looked up at him with her creased little face and big, wide eyes and decided that he was definitely not Nureyev.

So she opened her little rosebud pink mouth and began to scream for all she was worth.

Juno slumped down onto his sofa.

“Yeah. Me too, kiddo.”

[incarnateirony]

The way I see it is this: the threshold for het couple canon and queer couple canon should be the same. Wanting more than a handhold or whatever is *fine*, but whatever standard het romance is held to (the bare minimum to "count") should be the same for queer couples. We say all the time, "if one of them was a girl it would already be canon." Not bc of *potential* kissing, but bc it would be seen that way bc of what's already there. But you've said most of this already, so basically I agree lol!

Yup! That’s just it. If Detty or any other non-kissing couples can be taken as canon, so can queer ones, if the text is thoroughly framing it in every method equally. That’s how it works, actually! Applying a different standard *is* homophobic. And a few years ago, Destiel fandom actually knew this and pointed it out but somehow in this weird version of political extremization that we have around here, the pendulum has flipped around and knocked the octavarium on the ass from the other side.

Because people think that means you’re telling them to settle– of course it isn’t! Or making them “feel bad” for wanting more– nope! Now, will we make you feel bad if you make up a goal post where nothing counts until [your explicit marker]? Yeah, probably, cuz yeah, that’s problematic. Does it make them feel small? Tough shit tbh. For the last year or so I’ve dealt with people taking warped and extremized viewpoints to try to bulldoze over me and when I finally said “ENOUGH” and slapped back with a brick wall of history and perspective, they all cried it’s mEaN. No, you guys just don’t know what to do when your placebo activism turns out to not have substance versus the actual issues at hand, and yeah, you feel small and yeah, you feel bad. 

Especially when you realize misdirected and empty gay rage got you nowhere except a hand full of very old very directed old gay rage in counter, and you really can’t cry victim after stomping on the work of activists ahead of you. If you spent years stomping on people and they finally stomp back, and you try to cry to someone as the victim, that’s literally playschool bully behavior. Grow up. When the nerd you’ve been trying to pick on for getting you to reconsider your ways turns out to have been schooled in 6 forms of martial arts and launches your ass to the nurse’s office when you come for round 14 of trying to give him a black eye, all your complaining is about being embarrassed that the nerd kicked your ass after trying to patiently deal with you this whole time. Again, playschool bullshit. Again, grow up.

This isn’t you (not Nonnie-you, just the Royal You, that know who You are) arguing with homophobes or antis anymore. Antis have even cracked in waves. Shipping-fandom-cosplaying-as-activism has completely lost the plot on what their activism lines mean but, a trained routine in thinking it was unvanquishable, have turned it against the wrong things, in the wrong way, and their own people and content. There’s now a few YEARS of “activists” flaying people for, while not 100% happy with the level of content, supporting the queer authors and content and lifting it up – warping it into lines of “settling” to attack them, to diminish them, to make THEM feel small and their own podium – now warped beyond recognition from its original position like a goddamn tea party – big and righteous; and when finally someone clobbers them with a big fat dose of reality of how far they’ve mutilated the dialogue in the name of ship warring, they complain about feeling small. And I’m sorry, fucking no. Not a soul is here to make you feel bad for wanting more. They’re here to make you feel bad for queerphobic deletion and goalpost jockeying. 

As I’ve had to say like a repeating song chorus: You can do both: want and hope and push for more, while *not* deleting the queer text and efforts at hand. Complex thought processes are less appealing to many people than linear pile driving, but it’s generally how the universe functions. And when it comes down to realizing they’re setting unlevel goalposts for the levels they *want* to push it to, suddenly yeah, there’s a rug pull, and they have a choice to pull left or right. If they double down, that’s their choice. But I don’t have to humor that choice or give it platform.

But one thing I hold 0% patience for is people saying they’re here for the rep fight while simultaneously pretending there isn’t a rep fight and trying to villainize core elements like incrementalization or struggling queer authors, many of which beg for public understanding.

We could be having nuanced conversation about the values of different forms of representation; we could be having nuanced conversation about how to effectively organize to help these queer authors into better situations. We could be talking about the show’s evolutionary path, or even culture’s social evolution path and how this show will age with public perception over the years. We could be comparing it to stages of LGBT history.

But we’re not. We’re having conversations where people, abandoning their former angle of discussion, are now screaming “pics or it didn’t happen”, are now tossing up goalposts they themselves used to call homophobic only a few years ago, are now rewiring the dictionary or entire AV medium study (sometimes while claiming themselves an authority while literal cinema literacy sources and decades of studies or even just flat-ass LGBT history say they’re wrong) because they want to feel righteous for demanding more without any actual organized effort or support. They want so desperately for the remaining upset to pass as activism. So badly to flatten even other LGBT community members for trying to hold up the queer canon, because it wasn’t the canon they wanted. And once they realize someone cast Reflectga and their own bullshit methods mow them down, this time with amplified substance of the actual world beyond, they cry foul, that *they*, not the people they’ve been trying to mow over, are being cruelly bullied, just because someone said – no, enough, you’re acting like clowns, I’m fucking over biting the bullet to listen to you on it, you are well past the pale folks.

Miss me with it, fandom. If I have to explain any further than this why one of these is activism and one of these is not, then you’re already beyond hope in the field anyway. I’m not here for your petty ship war nonsense. The representation clearly isn’t for you little fucking tumblr goblins so willing to shred it for not performing to and for you how and when you want regardless of circumstance, much less if you’re even in the damn demographic being represented to goddamn begin with. No, a cis lesbian doesn’t get to tell a trans person how their rep should look. A trans man actually can’t tell a cis gay man how his should look either because their paths are fucking different. 

No, a bunch of women should not be bulldozing over and deleting shit and say it’s For The Gay Men while the vast majority of LGBT men in this fandom hide away in recesses because they’re tired of being bulldozed over if they don’t comply with the shitty fandom dialogue. Or the few that do that warp into it and abandon their original points just from sheer peer pressure – often younger ones, often outside of the demographic. They certainly shouldn’t be trying to flame a middle aged male queer & all other liberal and socially conscious rights rights media representation-commenting activist for writing within his limits about middle aged queer male content. That isn’t how this. Mother. Fucking. Works. I shouldn’t HAVE to have little cluster hoards of LGBT men I adopt that hide in DM or outside of fandom space entirely and poke their nose out with peeps of cautious gratitude and fish around to see how supportive I *really* am – it *shouldn’t* have surprised one of my newly made best friends that I understood the problematic nature of penetration culture and heteronormative ideas of MLM in this fandom. Or to cautiously click my recs because they’re worried about getting fucking ass stomped for daring to speak up on their own representation. It shouldn’t BE like that.

You wanna support queer creators? Y’all missed that boat because you were too busy being headass to organize and actually petition the network. No, screaming at execs until they delete social media and put a black mark on the idea, @’ing accounts with spam until you’re put on a mute list and negatively impact marketing algorithms, that’s not petitioning. Building portfolios and presentations delivered sensibly are. A few did. Good for those people. Fuck everyone else. Virtue signaling nonsense. No wonder they’re so enamored with shitty mass marketing as a goal.

“WELL IT SHOULDN’T BE THAT WAY!”

Yeah well welcome to being a grown up. It is, whether you like it or not. It’s hard out here. America shouldn’t have a giant orange cheeto racist for its president either and yet here we fucking are. Life isn’t fair. So figure out how to actually put feet on the ground and change it instead of yodeling online like a bunch of idiots at the people trying to help you. Bobo sure as fuck did a long fucking time ago and never stopped. Maybe you should catch up. Cuz even at “slow and steady wins the race” he’s gone miles ahead of you while you’ve been distracted anally grooming like a cat or some shit.

Imagine how (not) far queer rights would get if every incremental step we took, even if it wasn’t far enough – TV or real life – we just let everyone scream and take away entirely because it wasn’t the kind you wanted. It’s regressive garbage. It doesn’t actually do you any benefit. It doesn’t do the community any benefit. It doesn’t do queer creators any benefit. It doesn’t do queer cinema history any benefit. Nobody but homophobes and other agenda’ed asshats benefit. Which is why they trained you to think like this to begin with. Stop.

[lavendulaconminatio]

Years ago I ran a blog on ace discourse: @asleepingwindow As a lesbian raised in the Catholic Church, where you can be gay just don’t act on it, I knew asexual activism had nothing to do with being gay. I know an asexual gay person is the church’s fucking wet dream. I always insisted I don’t care whether people identify that way but stop trying to say you suffer as I do as a lesbian. Stop fucking invading lgbt spaces too and making them unsafe for us! But that was a losing battle. I wonder how this time period will be seen 20-30 years from an lgbt history perspective.

Anyway, besides knowing asexual gay people are the kind of gay people straight people want, I also hated this idea that seemed to be gaining popularity about people being more oppressed simply because they weren’t seen as valid. Validity didn’t mean laws meant to protect their population, or having police see your body as human and worthy of life; they merely meant existing in popular media so people see them. There was never anything deeper than that to so called asexual oppression, which I will never think is a thing. I mean asexuality is a thing but people don’t actively hate you for not having sex, that’s a fact of fucking life. My people died by the thousands in the 80s, sometimes with only lesbians to give a shit, and some straight person says their totes oppressed because they don’t want to fuck? Yeah ok. Or if there was a basis in oppression, it was often just blatant sexism and homophobia. All men say you’re a prude for not having sex, this is nothing special, Jan.

Now years later after arguing my heart out, making a master post and closing up shop, I find myself with another side blog to combat an issue that I once again feel harms lesbians and women. Instead of being more concerned about the men that berate, beat, and kill trans women, activists are literally attacking women, especially lesbians, for not validating trans people. The level of vitriol leveled at a woman for talking about her vagina is so above and beyond any hatred for the men who have murdered trans women.

Then in some perveted irony, those same deaths are propped up as reasons to shut down women talking about sexism. Meanwhile, more women than anyone can count die every day because they are female. We don’t get the luxury of our deaths being marked a hate crime. Instead it’s domestic violence, or maybe FGM gone wrong amoung the countless other things that needlessly and horrifically kill women. And I haven’t even talked about rape.

I knew the ridiculous activism of the asexual movement would have lasting consequences but I honestly never thought the concept of validity would be taken and warped so far to try and pretend biological sex doesn’t exist and that women aren’t female just to make trans women feel better about their dysphoria. I feel immense compassion for anyone with dysphoria, I have it and struggled for a long time to figure out if I was trans or a butch lesbian. There is such an immense disconnect here about the importance of validity and what real oppression looks like. Especially when you refuse to even discuss detrans people for fear it will make you seem less valid. So their struggles don’t exist to make you feel better. Once again, all about erasing females to stroke the egos of males.

This is not the biggest issue on my plate, but it’s a recent small example of tangible consequences to prejudice. The other day I was trying to refill an opioid I have a legal prescription for but the pharmacist refused because they couldn’t find it. Despite having going through this before this woman refused to look where I suggested, and I suffered in pain for 3 days before my doctor’s office was able to tell them they had it for sure. I mean this isn’t about sexism and more about ableism (though women’s pain is often discounted more, black pain even more) In that moment, I didn’t want to be validated. I didn’t want the pharmacist to know who I am, my identity, my disabilities, I wanted her to stop judging pain patients as a whole and give me my fucking legal prescription. Every single legislation and guideline that limits opioid prescriptions are born of a prejudice against addicts and a indifference to people in pain. That pharmacist didn’t give a shit about my pain, to bother even looking, because the rules made her right and I was probably an addict anyway. That is a real tangible feeling of oppression, and like I said it’s nothing compared to other examples I just didn’t want to dig up anything more upsetting.

That is how I feel about oppression. Validity matters, representation matters, but it is not the nitty gritty of what oppression is. It’s screaming at the walls, throwing your phone, because someone with the power to judge and fuck up your life, did exactly that. And worse they feel righteous for what they did because to them you’re just a “insert slur here”. And that’s just a small nonviolent and nonlethal example.

Now unlike asexuality, I know to be trans is to be oppressed and to suffer. But you cannot lift yourself up by putting others down, you will be on a tower of dominos that can fall the moment some other group does it to you. I always said trans people obviously belonged with LGB groups because obviously bigots didn’t care if a couple was two gay men or a man and non-passing trans woman. To me it spoke to a shared history and understanding. But maybe I was wrong, maybe that doesn’t exist. I think at least the one major difference now that I can definitely see is it’s ridiculous to infer female privilege by calling us cis. One thing is for sure, LGB and trans history are not as simple as I had ignorantly assumed in the past.

I don’t want to dictate what trans life is like, I don’t want deny any adult the right to transition, I don’t have any interest in misgendering, I believe there is a difference between sex and gender. But by fucking god I will not let anyone trample on my rights, call me bitch, cunt, terf, cum dumpster, deny my oppression as a female, deny my suffering, deny my reality as a female, just so You can feel better about your body. I will not sacrifice my body at the alter of your perceptions of your body.

Society loves to say otherwise, but women don’t exist to make you feel better. We don’t exist to make men feel more like a man or for trans women to feel more like a woman. We exist for our fucking selves, leave us alone! I’m not sorry if it makes you feel less of a woman because you need to address the misogyny you have been socialized into as a male. You all reek of sexism and think being trans means you magically cannot be affected by male socialization. That is some first class Bullshit. I’m a poor disabled lesbian, and none of that erases the racial bias I was taught and raised in as a white person. I always need to be willing to confront that, and it’s no different with males. Trans or cis, all of you were raised to hate women. Own it so we can fucking get past it.

Furthermore, our society only does better when we foster discourse. Disagreeing can be enraging but it’s how you learn if your own beliefs are worth keeping or discarding. It’s how you grow. Only insecure bullies feel the need to demand loyalty, stamp out dissent, and mock their opponents than actually argue. Don’t give into this intellectual dishonesty that might be easy, feel good, gain you a moment of praise, but ultimately throws women’s liberation and equality under the bus and into a raging inferno. How dare you think your right to feel valid is more important than my right to live freely and without shame as a female.

I’m very much open to good faith discourse on this topic, but do not mistake me. I have suffered for being born with a vagina, and no male will ever get to shut me up. So the next time you want to say choke on a dick, choke on your own.

[serenagaywaterford]

#5 - normally not a big fanfic reader, and never thought of Serena joy as a lesbian. But I am really enjoying your work. You are such an excellent writer, capturing Serena so beautifully, I can totally picture her say and do all those things. And sure, full fledged lesbian, why not? I can dig it... And that gifset, absolutely work of art! Amazing stuff. Keep it up! It’s much appreciated.

Hi Five!

Well, firstly and most importantly, THANK YOU for taking a chance! I know taht fanfic can be weird or uninteresting to some people, and it’s especially a leap when you don’t subscribe to the “shipping preferences”/character interpretation of the author/the story. So thank you for giving it a shot! That is very cool!!

And thank you so very much for your kind words about my writing!!! As @amusedrhyme can surely attest, I was quite iffy about posting it and how it would be received. I wasn’t sure it was up to snuff and she was very integral to me getting the balls to post it. If you can picture it and I’ve captured Serena to a sufficient degree, that is literally all I ask for! :D It means so much to hear.

Also, yeah, Serena being a big ole gay wasn’t exactly something I thought of in S1 at all. There were niggles but it wasn’t until S2 that I started to seriously play around with the idea in my head, especially because of its SUPREME ANGST potential and I fucking adore angst and conflict in my pairings. I will say however that I have zero illusions about it becoming canon. Neither Serena coming out of a closet she doesn’t even know she’s in, and especially not any June/Serena fantasy. The show will NEVER go there. I think partly because the LGBT community blowback would be too much (it’s a bad gay trope), partly because setting up even the hint of romance between abuser/abuse victim is so unbearably unpalatable (even if it does happen IRL sometimes. Eek.) and viewers would RIOT (and if you did even attempt to try it, it would be SO amazingly difficult to do for a mass audience), partly cos like 85% of viewers loathe Serena and would not abide her being paired with the main character they love, partly cos neither woman has been written as anything but super-straight and any hint of anything else is just the actresses’ chemistry/acting choices, partly because there is NO WAY IN HELL they’ll kill off Nick (unfortunately lol) and N*ck/June is like… their rabid fangirl catnip and there is no chance for June to even entertain anybody else whilst he (and Luke) is alive, and partly cos I don’t think they’ll actually redeem Serena to the degree I feel would even be necessary to remotely approach that idea. I think they’ll go that direction with her but how far? I’m not sure. I want to say ALL THE WAY!!! But I’m not sure THT will dare. I have a bad feeling they’ll kill her off in a season or two. (It always happens to my favs lol). So, it’s not gonna happen, lol. Too bad for me and like 20 other people. ;)

So, yeah when I watch the show, I don’t really ship it or see her as Big Gay Serena, if that makes sense? Like, I totally do on rewatches haha but initially on first watch I try to push it out of my head and just try to enjoy/watch (cos it’s not exactly enjoyable TV lol) as it is.

I just like to make her gay for my own entertainment. (Lesbian!Serena is my emotional support character/fandom coping mechanism muahaha.) I’m very aware in canon it’s 100% impossible and I get why people don’t feel it or the pairing. June is in a dumb love triangle with Nick and Luke (Don’t even get me started on making a show like THT play up a love triangle… ugh…) but ultimately I don’t think they’ll have her connected to any man. Well, I hope anyway.* Serena is going to die alone. I honestly don’t see them giving her anything else. She will not get a happy ending…

I did debate about whether to have her bi, or like full-on lesbian. I went with the latter. I left June as bi, which I feel is reasonable enough. I feel like it would be way too much of a reach to change June that much but Serena is more complex and less is known about her, and her emotional/romantic/(arguably, sexual) connection to her husband is 100x weaker than June’s (to either man, really). Not to mention her relationship with Fred, even in flashbacks has a lot of other layers and motives that I can ~warp lol. 

I’m just so happy there are people like you that take chances and keep an open mind! It’s so rare in fandom these days and so refreshing and wonderful. And like you say, “Why not?” It’s just fandom fun anyway. ;) Thank you so much again!!! Xx :D

.

.

*OKAY I WILL GET STARTED PLEASE FORGIVE ME. Now, I do get why they’ve put in a little bit of the Luke/June/Nick love triangle stuff because it really is a significant conflict that can realistically be expected. And it does have meaning to the larger story and especially June. I’m not trying to denigrate the impact Nick has had on June and her story. I just fear that in coming seasons they’re gonna keep the N/J thing going on and on and oooonnnnnn and it’s just so……. boring to me now lol. I feel like it’s served it’s purpose. I don’t particularly believe June will be able to reconnect with Luke on the same level they were prior to Gilead either. And I don’t want her just shoved with either man for the sake of a “happy ending” which Miller insists THT will have. I’d much rather her happy, with her daughters, and Luke can be in the picture, but not necessarily romantically any longer. (I do think Nick needs to die because I really, really, really don’t want an actual love triangle. I don’t want June to have to choose. (And I also don’t want a poly thing cos I…no. Not touching that and what it would say in the universe of THT.) And I wouldn’t be opposed to him dying while trying to save June, or another handmaid cos I’m tired of his only concern being June and not ALL the women that he’s complicit in oppressing. So, yes, I’m totally biased cos I don’t care for Nick. He bores me even if I understand why he exists (or I did. Now, I’m no longer convinced he should be around**), I don’t like him, in all honesty and I don’t want him to survive the season, let alone the entire series.)**When he magically reappeared after 2x11, sans any explanation or consequence!!!, I rolled my eyes so hard into the back of my skull I went permanently blind. It was so fucking stupid and completely nonsensical.

[catsknow]

I’m revisiting this because I can feel things becoming a bit muddy again. It’s been a while, and that’s probably a good thing, really. I starting streaming again, and I am not sure I like it? I’m definitely meeting more people and being more social but again... I’m not sure if I like it? They’re all great people, but my mind is feeling very chaotic and some of my old methods of coping are setting in, being suspicious/judgemental, having arguments with people I barely know in my head because... I don’t know them and I just expect resistance in certain cases.

My partner has been working 7 days a week, I’ve barely spent any time with him and when we do, it’s usually watching TV. We don’t play video games together at the moment, I think because they’re not all that fulfilling for either of us right now. I really miss him, and I understand that this is what him studying is going to be like. I will do my best to be a good partner, and it isn’t the worst, we’re spending time on ourselves right now and that’s okay. It feels a little strange though, there’s definitely a slight disconnect, but I know when we can be present, we will be. 

In saying this, he’s still being pretty darn wonderful 100% of the time. I came to him with the idea of taking a pill that’s similar to testosterone that might help with my endometriosis and he was instantly supportive, didn’t miss a beat. The pill isn’t going to work out unfortunately as it can cause permanent changes to your voice and I like singing so it isn’t a risk I’m willing to take. I think I’ve been so terrified that if I dare present in more masculine ways he’d reject me or find me disgusting, and it’s a relief to know he wouldn’t. I feel like I am getting more of a chance to be myself, even though I know a lot of people in my life are still very attached to the picture they have in their heads of me. 

I’ve been thinking a bit about two of my old friends that I cut off contact with. For once it’s actually been helpful to think about because I’m beginning to feel calmer and less like I did anything wrong. They had a very idealised version of me in their heads. The one thought of me as this gentle, sweet, whimsical girl, I have half a mind to think he was picturing Luna Lovegood whenever he thought of me. Any time I went against that he would reject it, what’s worse is he had an even more extreme way of idealising our mutual friend. She could mistreat him in whatever way she wanted and he’d go “That’s just her” or blame himself for it. At first I felt bad that I’d pushed him to the point he cut off contact, but really I just showed him that I’m not perfect, and he didn’t like that I didn’t strive to be his version of it. I thought they were the two people that knew me the best in the world, and that their rejection meant I was a terrible person, but now I think that knowing a person isn’t as important as letting them change and grow. They knew me once upon a time, sort of, and that was all they knew and they were very attached and disappointed when I grew up. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about my gender, whether it’s even all that important. The only people I know that are nonbinary are either not in the same state as me or are kind of aggressive about it? I understand why, it just seems exhausting. I don’t love that being nonbinary basically means you’re basically invisible or people think you’re a joke etc etc but being pissed off doesn’t change anything. I have my friends that understand it, but I also have friends that don’t, and I don’t hold that against them - it’s different, they’re afraid of getting yelled at or taken the wrong way etc, they don’t understand why. I’ve been considering using they/them pronouns but trying to enforce them is unlikely. I honestly don’t mind she/her pronouns, I’m just very aware that for as long as I use them everyone is going to see me and be like “Girl” unless I make a conscious effort to appear more masculine and I kinda can’t be bothered because the more likely thing is that everyone decides I’m a butch lesbian and still think “Girl” when they see me. 

In saying all this, I told a friend I know through my partner that I’m gender fluid and she was super wonderful and said “Thank you for sharing with me :)” and my heart got so God damn warm and fuzzy I cannot. I think people don’t understand that when you come out to them, you are stepping out of the closet, you’re telling them who you are, and risking rejection. You’re trusting them so when they shrug it off or are just kinda meh about it they do not get the mind journey you have gone on before telling them. I agonise over it, I still haven’t told my family and I know my sisters would be great about it but just on the off chance, I don’t. Because once I do I can’t take it back. 

I need to go to a therapist about this, and I’ve made the calls but I think everyone in the city is in need of a therapist so there’s a wait. I’m becoming much more comfortable in who and where I am, but I think I’m still a bit sad and lonely. I’m not finding as many like-minded people as I’d hoped. I’m finding some good ones, but I’m still wary. I really want to connect with more people, I’m just so tired and building new friendships is incredibly tiring to sustain for me. I feel like so many people can spend five seconds in presence of others and be instantly loved and I feel like I walk in and am easily forgotten? Or just, too many sharp edges? I’m not sure what it is, maybe they can sense that I’m not entirely comfortable. I think I should step back from streaming, maybe do two streams a week instead of three. I like that it’s holding me accountable and I’m getting things done, but it’s not giving me connection with people, and I almost feel guilty for asking people to watch me do fuck all. 

We’ve covered a lot of ground in this post, and I’m glad I’ve started to unpack some of it. None of this is simple, it’s a raging mess tbh and my feelings about it still have some warping and changing to do. I think I need to spend some time either alone or with people I can talk candidly with. I’ve been spending a lot of time around people I’m trying to make a good impression on and it’s really tiring. I just wanna BREATHE!

I think I’m going to make an effort to limit my social time, and maybe give myself a chance to reflect on whether streaming is right for me. Maybe it’s just what I’m streaming? Perhaps I need to stick to cosplay/art, listening to 80s music and working on foam felt pretty good honestly, and I’m finding video gaming is more of a private activity for me? I like to explore things on my own and just... Relax. I don’t want to entertain anyone. I think I’m going to assess this a little more and try figure out what feels best to me. 

Okay, goodnight tumblr! 

[rpf-bat]

I Want You To Know What I Can’t Show The Outside

Pairing: none

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Request fic for @badwolfofcamelot. “Could you maybe do a drummer!reader (preferably female) where she come out as pansexual? Maybe like she just says something about it in a conversation with the boys and she isn't ashamed or anything and everyone is fluffy and cute?”

A/N: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO FINISH BADWOLF, IK YOU’VE BEEN MESSAGING ME ABOUT IT.

You paced your band's dressing room, feeling nervous. 

"Don't worry, Y/N," Gerard said, glancing at you in the mirror as he applied his eyeliner. "Your drumming was great during practice, I'm sure you'll do great during our set tonight." 

"That's not what I'm anxious about," you shook your head. Maybe you should be. My Chemical Romance was about to perform on TLR - a live, nationally broadcasted television show. But, instead of going over in your head what notes you were going to have to play with your sticks, you were worrying about a secret you'd been keeping for a long time. 

"Well, what are you anxious about, then?" Frank wondered, setting down his hair straightener to turn and look at you. 

"It's nothing," you mumbled. "Finish fixing your emo bangs." 

"Y/N, come on," said Ray with a concerned look, pausing in the middle of putting on his bulletproof vest. "If something's bothering you, please tell us. We're your friends." 

"Nothing's bothering me," you denied. 

"Y/N, we shared a tour bus with you for months," Mikey reminded. "I think we know you better than that by now."

He's right, you thought. I can't hide my real emotions from the guys. But, if you made a bombshell confession right before such an important performance, your bandmates might be distracted, and fuck up the show.....

"Y/N," Gerard said seriously, sitting beside you and snapping you out of your negative thoughts. "Talk to us. What's up?"

"There's something about me, that I haven't told you guys," you confessed. "And it doesn't feel right that you don't know the real me." 

"What don't we know?" Frank wondered, raising an eyebrow. 

This is random as hell, you thought, frowning. Why am I even thinking about this now? No. You remembered what had started you on this train of thought. Before you and your bandmates had come into this room to get ready for the show, you'd spent some time talking with TLR's host. The host had started talking about other musicians who'd performed on TLR recently. He mentioned Mariah Carey.

"She was kind of hard to interview normally, because, oh my god, she's so pretty, you know?!" the host gushed. 

"Yeah, she's gorgeous," Gerard admitted. "I probably would've been nervous to talk to her, too." 

"Didn't she look hot in the video for 'We Belong Together'?" Frank asked. 

"Guys, Y/N is standing right here," Ray blushed.

"Oh, right, you probably don't want to hear us talk about this kind of stuff," Mikey apologized. "Since you're a girl and all, you wouldn't get it." 

You knew Mikey hadn't meant anything by his comment. It wasn't his fault that he thought you were straight. You'd never given him any reason to think otherwise. In fact, you'd gone out of your way to hide your sexuality.

Why do I do that? you wondered, frowning. What am I so scared of? 

Your band had stopped talking about it like an hour ago, but what Mikey said was still on your mind. You kept trying to decide whether to correct him, and let him know that you did understand why they were attracted to Mariah Carey, because, holy hell, so were you. 

"Y/N," Frank said softly, bringing you back to reality. "What's the matter?" 

"What are you so scared to tell us?" Ray asked, worried. "Whatever it is, Y/N, we're not going to judge you." 

"You said you've been hiding something for a long time. What is it?" Mikey asked, looking panicked. "A drug addiction? A mental illness? Because we've had like three of those in this band already...."

"God, no, it's nothing like that," you assured your bassist. You felt bad for worrying your friends. "I just...." 

"You just what?" Frank coaxed. "C'mon, spit it out. It's ok. No matter what secret you spill, we're still going to be your brothers." 

"I just......I like girls!" you blurted. You couldn't believe you'd finally said it. 

"Oh," Gerard replied. "You're a lesbian?"

"But, weren't you dating a guy when we first met you?" Ray recalled, confused.

"I like guys and girls," you explained. "And all the genders in between. I identify as pansexual." 

"Oh, is that all?" Frank asked.

"What do you mean, 'is that all'?!" you sputtered. "I've been stressing about how I was going to come out to you guys for months!"

"Y/N," Gerard grinned, "you've watched me make out with Frank onstage how many times now, exactly?"

"And you watched me wear that 'Homophobia is Gay' shirt until it stunk so bad it could've walked itself to the laundromat," Frank chuckled. "Why would you think we'd be anything but supportive of you?" 

"We don't care who you want to date," Ray assured you. "Regardless of if you're pan, bi, gay, straight, whatever, you're still our friend."

"And our drummer," Mikey added. "We couldn't be My Chemical Romance without you."

"That's not true," you murmured. "You had a different drummer before me, and you were fine." 

"Before you joined the band, we were fine," Frank repeated. "But, after you joined the band, we were incredible."

"Your drumming skills took our concerts to a whole other level," Gerard agreed. "You're so talented."

"And once we started travelling the country with you, playing Warped Tour, and all of that, you became like our sister," Ray said, pulling you into a hug.

"And anyone who is rude to my sister gets beat up," Frank grinned, hugging you, too. "When - if - you decide to come out to the fans, if anyone gives you shit for your sexuality, we'll kick 'em right out of the show, you hear me?" 

"You don't have to do that," you protested.

"Yeah, we do," Mikey disagreed. "We love you, and we're not going to let anyone be homophobic - or is panphobic the word? - to you." 

"Thank you," you said sincerely, wanting to cry. Your bandmates were such amazing friends. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to tell the whole world I'm pan yet, though." Since you were a celebrity, you knew that the minute you came out to one interviewer, the headlines would be all over the Internet in a matter of hours. 

"That's ok," Gerard assured you. "We won't out you before you're ready."

"Just know that the way we feel about you hasn't changed at all," Frank said seriously. "You don't have to be afraid to be out and proud when it's just us." 

"Thank you," you said, hugging him. "Thank all of you." Their support meant so much to you. "Group hug?"

"Hell yeah," Gerard grinned, and he and Mikey joined the hug pile. 

"Now that that's out in the open," you smiled, "who's ready to rock the live studio audience's socks off?"

[ecotone99]

[HM] There Goes My Nipples Again

The woman wearing very little strutted across the parking lot, and the stupid man walked into a closed door.

The door belonged to a charmingly inconvenient boutique located in a rather busy corner of a fictional town I’ve made up just now, the sort of place with people to eat, things to regret, and, I suppose, whatever else one might think to bother with in an otherwise unimportant backdrop. The man, meanwhile, belonged to - and was wanted by - nobody in particular, which, coincidentally, was the reason he was here in the first place.

“Sir?” a voice asked.

The stupid man looked up to find a strikingly acceptable young lady standing there in the doorway, looking at him in that way that seductively whispered, I wonder if he’ll spend any money here. “Women,” he concussed, attempting to remember at least one or two other words, and then forgetting to bother at all.

“Sir,” the young lady replied, “Far be it from me to question any man’s right to drink himself stupid in the middle of the day, but if you’re going to do that sort of thing, I suggest you do so somewhere more appropriate, like a public library or a city council meeting.”

“I was told,” the man eventually spat out, “that I could find a woman here.”

“I suppose you’re technically correct,” she replied. “But I’m not sure why you felt the need to bring my door into this.”

After thinking really hard about it, something dislodged itself and the man started over. “Is this ‘Bottom of the Barrel, We Get Paid, So You Get Laid?’”

“You’ve seen our ad.”

“A friend of mine referred me. He suggested I come here to help with my…” he said, trailing off in that way one does when one desperately wishes to have the other character finish the first character’s sentence.

“With your…?” she replied, bravely refusing to follow convention.

“Romance problem,” he euphemism’d.

“Well, I’m not sure what you were told, but I’m afraid my door simply isn’t interested.”

The man huffed, hurting his tender wittle headums in the process. “This is ridiculous.”

“I agree,” she said, holding the door open. “Would you like to come inside and perhaps spend some money, then?”

And after an uncomfortable, protracted self-assurance that he would not, in fact, bash his skull against the shop door, the man stepped inside.

“Tell me a bit about yourself, Mr…” the young lady started, guiding him over to her desk and trailing off in that way one does when needing to know someone’s name.

“Customer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Customer. My name is Customer.”

“Bit odd, isn’t it?”

“It’s the best I could come up with.”

She nodded. “I’m sure it was, Mr. Customer. Now, let me know how I can do so, and I’ll be absolutely frothy to rid you of some, most, or all of your money.”

“I want a woman.”

“I think you simpleton’d something about that, yes. But what sort of woman are interested in?"

"Oh, you know the sort. Kind, loving--"

"Smart and beautiful?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all. Quite a common request. Any particular aesthetic, make, or model?"

"No, no. I'll take whatever I can get. Just someone who loves me, is all."

"But also smart, kind--"

"And beautiful, yes."

"Of course. Anything else?"

"It’d be nice if she enjoyed the things I do, maybe understood me better."

"I think I understand."

“Well, do you have one?”

“One what?”

“A woman. I came here for a woman.”

“Mr. Customer, what we offer at ‘Bottom of the Barrel, We Get Paid, So You Get Laid’ is completely customizable companion design and printing of made-to-order, honey-glazed, hand-crafted artisanal friends, lovers, and assorted sexual playthings."

“You mean, you don’t have any just laying around.”

“Sir, again, if that’s the sort of thing you’re looking for, then I suggest you get into politics.”

“No, no. I mean, you don’t have any off-the-shelf, over-the-counter women in stock?”

“Custom orders only, I’m afraid”

“Shame.”

“Yes, but I assure you our services are second to none.”

“Well if you have no women in stock, what could you possibly offer?”

“Options, Sir. Options.” She rose with a click of her heels and a wave of her hand, and the walls flickered and came to life with images of women of all shapes, sizes, looks, and attires. “You see, we’ve long discovered that while men such as yourself claim they’re looking for a smart, beautiful, funny, beautifully smart, and funnily beautiful romantic partner, what you’re actually looking for is a fictional surrogate to fill some contrived role in an utterly warped narrative of a poorly written love story that only exists in your head. Whether it’s the strong, independent femme fatale, the diminutive and submissive doll, or perhaps even a flirtatious lesbian whom only you can somehow magically convert into a heterosexual lifemate and plaything. Whatever outlandish concept of a woman you can fathom, we can fabricate.”

“This is insane.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Customer. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“No, no. I’m not offended - that was an impressively accurate guess.”

“We aim to please.”

“This all sounds a little too good to be true. How can you possibly have such a roster of willing women simply waiting to tend to the imaginative whims of a lonely man?”

“I’m afraid I’m failing you, Mr. Customer. Perhaps a demonstration.”

“Is there a charge?” “Not at all. This is a free sample guaranteed to wash out with little more than soap and water.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Well then, please do,” she said, directing him over to a large glass and metal pod. In the pod was nothing but a comfortable chair with a towel on it. “In just a few moments, you’ll perfectly understand what I mean.”

Not sure where this was going, but eager for it to end, Mr. Customer once again did as he was instructed and sat himself down in the comfortable chair. “What’s the towel for?”

“It helps us minimize the cleanup,” she said.

“Cleanup?”

She waved her other hand in a different way and the pod door closed. Two-and-a-half minutes on high and one adorable little ding of a bell later, and the door opened again.

“Well, what do you think?” the young lady asked. "We call this one the 'Manic-Pixie Dream Girl.' It's very popular."

Mr. Customer stepped out of the pod in a cloud of gas known to the state of California to possibly cause some kind of cancer, maybe, and seized on what he saw in the mirror. Meanwhile, a frighteningly accurate play-by-play of what he was seeing played over some nearby speakers, along with a pleasant little tune.

"She was a breastuous bit of leggy sex dipped in the sticky, erotic honey of a needy man's dream," a man's voice started.

"What the hell?" the bit of leggy sex croaked.

The voice continued. "She played with her luxuriously unkempt hair, hastily tied up in a ponytail, and squeezed at the massive udders bolted to her chest, which were seemingly hoisted up by a series of cables and pulleys until they burst forth from her modest, low-cut, crease and crevice-hugging dress. All skewed slightly because of a pair of glasses now in her face."

“What the Hell have you done to me?” Mr. Customer jiggled and bounced.

“Do you know how a caterpillar becomes a butterfly?”

“What? No. Not at all.”

“Well. It’s a lot like that, but not.”

“I meant why have you made me a woman? I came here for a woman, not to be turned into one.”

“Did you, Sir?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you sure that’s what you came here for?”

“Concussion aside, I’m fairly certain that’s what I eventually said, yes.”

"If you were referred to us, then I'm sorry to say that your ideal woman likely doesn't exist. But that doesn't mean you can't make one who does."

The freshly baked bit of scrumptious tart screamed, but in the sense that he didn't.

The young lady sighed. "Women are more than a collection of traits to be picked and plucked and thrown together like some macabre masturbatory stew, Mr. Customer. Some might even consider them people, with internal lives of their own and everything. "

"Isn't that last bit true?" Mr. Customer groped and pawed.

"How should I know? I started this business so I didn't have to bother with all that nonsense."

"What, you don't mean--"

"That I devised a way to take myself and any other man, put them into a metal pod, convert their physical body into an amorphous blob of malleable genetic material, and then reconstitute such a blob back into an ideal female physical specimen to suit their explicit, implicit, and exhibitionist desires, and all while keeping their male brains and identity full intact? Yes, that's more or less the gist of it."

"Huh."

"I'll admit, it does seem like a long walk just to avoid having to compromise my unrealistic expectations for the sake of emotionally bonding with another living soul."

"Any complaints?"

"Not really, no. The men seem perfectly content with their new toys. And the women are happy to be rid of all the creepy little gremlins lurking about their ankles, waiting to catch a glimpse of something she never intended to show them in the first place."

"Well as much as I do love playing with these fantastic breasts, I can't help but feel this might be a little wrong."

"Of course it's wrong, Mr. Customer. There are those who spend their entire lives struggling to better themselves for the sake of finding love, or to become the woman they always knew they were on the inside. But here you and I are, men who have crafted a facade - a sexual fiction and image that exists solely to placate our uncouth, uninhibited animal urges at the expense of any tattered shred of respect for women."

"Sounds like that might upset a lot of women."

"Quite a few actually. But if any of my clients had the first clue about women, or what they thought about or felt, they wouldn't come to me, now would they?"

"Well, when you put it that way…"

"I did."

"Right. Well. I guess a test drive couldn't hurt."

"Wonderful! Would you like to wear this one out, then?"

"Actually. Do you have anything in a ‘bisexual-open-to-a-threesome?’"

*****

To Fight the Dawn! with more original short-form comedy and one-shot fiction, checkout my profile.

submitted by /u/pulpbusters [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2Y9bqGH

[undyinghappinessblog]

Oh Hi!

Oh hey. Haha fuck I sound like my 6 year old self...”Oh hey diary! How are you? Sorry I havent written in a while..” But....yeah. I haven’t. So I think I have quite a few things to catch myself up on. 

I am not really sure if the reason I have’nt been writing. It think its a combination of being really busy (I moved, my cousin got married, my grandma Betty passed away, Ive been working two jobs pretty consistently, I’m still in acting classes, I’m trying to find a new agent) mixed with the fact that I am seeing a therapist once a week, so I guess a lot of the things that I would find myself writing about on here are being worked out with a professional in the real world. 

The trouble with being so busy, is everything kind of tends to feel like its coming at you at a warped hyper speed, you know? Like I feel like a lot of the time I dont have the luxury or the time to really process anything or be in the present moment because I’m too busy worrying about what needs to be done, or I am working....Its something that I have been trying to work on in therapy. I am also meditating before I go to sleep at night-trying to be present and also boost my self confidence. And when I finally DO have a minute to process things, I find myself being really tired and needing to lie down and close my eyes. Its really hard to find that time for me, and I am learning more and more that that time is something that I really need to find a way to prioritize. Finding time to just be with myself and not be distracted by thoughts of what I ‘should’ be doing or what I need to do in the next couple of days, you know? 

I also find myself getting a little sad and scared that I am too busy worrying and stressing and working myself so hard that I am missing out on moments that are more important...Like genuine time with myself or my friends. Really enjoying time in the moment with little things like the sun, blue skies, leaves blowing in the wind, reading a book, painting, writing, etc. 

Anyway..I guess that was just a really long winded way of me saying ‘I have been really busy’. 

So...I’ll just give a quick recap of the past couple of months. 

Okay, so I thiiiiiink I wrote about working on ‘Sacred Lies’ on my last post? But just in case, I will give a quick little refresher. So I got cast as an SOC principle character on a TV show about a cult...and my roommate Daniel actually got cast too, so it was really nice to have a carpool buddy and someone that I could talk to on set. But it turned out that I was actually okay on my own too. The cast was really nice and I ended up making some pretty cool friends with a couple of them. 

Its been prettttyyyy much dead for me since then though. So in terms of acting, I have been unemployed since April. And I knooowwww that I should feel liucky for the opportunity-AND I DO!!!. Its just, I am starting to feel a little antsy...and wanting to get back on something...anything!! I’ve said it many times before, but its really hard for a woman to navigate through this industry. And I’m not even a fuckin minority- I know I have white privelage, and I feel shitty saying this, but....Its been really tough for me as a woman in this industry in the past few months, man. 

Like. I am just going to rant here for a sec. Since Sacred Lies, Daniel has booked 3 more shows and has gone down to LA twice to see casting directors and shit. And I have had....maaayybe 3 auditions? I wanna say 2 of them were one liners. What reaaallllyyyy bothers me is that I can guarantee that these booking have NOTHING to do with his talent, or his resume (think I have spoken about his weird act-y voice and his horrible, narcissistic attitude). It all has to do with the fact that he is a tall, young looking white guy. THATS IT. 

The thing I dont understand about hollywood is this. They FINALLY make these HUGE blockbuster films starring women and people of colour like ‘Wonder Woman’ and ‘Black Panther’ and ‘Crazy Rich Asians’ and they all make MAAAADDD bank. They are so well received that they break box office records. Which absolutely makes sense because there are people who are FINALLY feeling represented and like they ACTUALLY see themselves in the characters on screen. But they still make so many films that have a 1. pro-dominantly white cast and 2. Most of the main characters are played by WHITE MEN. Like...How many Hollywood Rom-Coms have cast someone who identifies as First Nations as a lead? Someone who identifies as Middle Eastern? Muslim? Asian? Lesbian? Trans? Non-Binary? Truthfully, there are maaannny things about the injustices in this industry that I am not even aware of, and I could be overstepping my boundaries by saying all of this, but man. If I am feeling unrepresented and angry as a white woman, I cannot even IMAGINE how angry many of the minorities feel. Fuck it makes me so angry man.  Honestly, I could talk about this for hours until my head blows up or I throw my fucking computer across the room, so I am just going to stop there by saying this. More people of colour need to be cast (especially First Nations actors!!), more women need to be given larger roles and more women need to write, direct, produce, AD, edit, sound design-every single role in film needs more women. Period. 

Okay moving on. My cousin Alex got married this summer! Fuck that was emotional. The whole experience was just so lovely and happy and so much fun. She was married on the lake that we grew up spending our summers on. There was a lot of smoke from forest fires, but it was still so beautiful. Our family was there and it was amazing. I was Maid of Honour (My sister was supposed to be there as Co-maid of honour with me, but she was at school already, down in the states, so she couldn't be there.) and I was also the MC. I was really stressed about it at first, but once I had a few drinks in me, I felt better and had alot of fun (I think the guests had fun too...unless they were all just pretending to laugh at all of my jokes...). I gotta say though, I am not a huge fan of her husband. He’s not friendly, very needy and relies on her too much and their relationship reminded me a lot of what my parent’s looked like when I was growing up. Plus his family is fuckin trash (His bother and his brother’s girlfriend ended up getting in a huuggeee fight the night before the wedding and the cops were called, so Alex’s husband ended up calling her and asking her to come get her...) Anyway. Their relationship isn't any of my business...and as hard as it is to see someone I love be married to someone I dont particularly like or respect, I gotta let it be and hope for the best for her. 

My grandma Betty also recently passed. Which was very sad. I’ve experienced death and loss before, but it was when I was younger. This was the first time that I experienced death as an adult. When I think about how my sister and I got through what we did when we were kids, I just...I dont know how in the hell we did it. Becuase my grandma had dementia, and was very unwell and not herself, when I got the call, I was almost relieved. Obviously I was very sad. But I also felt strangely grateful for the time that I had with her and I also felt very lucky to have someone like her watching out over me. Like I FINALLY had someone in my corner. I still cant believe that she's gone. Saying that she ‘passed away’ is still so strange to say. 

Anyway...thats pretty much it. Lots of life happened in the past couple of months. Lots of crying, anxiety, laughs, reminiscing, hoping, meditating, painting, more crying, more anxiety...just lots of life man. 

I gotta say though, instead of ending this on a note of desperately hoping for ‘something good to happen’ by masking it with “manifesting”, I think I’m going to end it by saying this instead. 

I am going to take better care of myself. And be kinder to myself. I think that something good will come out of that regardless. Whether it be through acting or just my relationship with myself. For once in my life, I am going to take care of myself. Everything else comes secondary (at least for now) and will happen as its supposed to, according to the universe. 

And by saying that, by putting myself first, I think everything I have ever wanted for myself will come when its ready and in a healthier and more welcomed way. 

Okay. Thanks.