#I spent a week of my life on an elaborate Shitpost-

[witch-sweets]

Snatcher loses it

(I spent a week of my life on this)

For anyone wondering the audio is from SnapCube's Shadow the Hedgehog FanDub

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Damijon Secret Santa

@woahjaybird happy holidays ris!!!!!!!!!! i admit, i was a bit confused, bc you signed up for a ship fic exchange and requested platonic bros, but whatever. i hope you like it!

To be honest, it was something Damian said a lot. 

Jon heard those words practically every time Damian opened his mouth: in the middle of a mission, when they were baking pies with Ma Kent, during a stakeout, on a rooftop eating takeout. 

They used to be annoying. God, sometimes Jon just wanted to drop his restraint and punch Damian in the face, full-force. Especially when he said those words, again and again and again. Over time, though, Jon grew used to them, and after a while, they just began to amused him.

You should be afraid of me.

Because Jon never understood those words. What was there to be scared of?

The two of them were sitting on a rooftop in Metropolis, Jon with his long legs dangling over the side of the building, Damian cross-legged next to him. Taking a long slurp of his smoothie, Jon glanced over at Damian, who was outlining their plan of attack for tomorrow-- a mission to take down an arms dealer who had been working out of Metropolis for months. With Dad stretched thin over League, international, and intergalactic affairs, criminals were becoming a little less hesitant to step foot into the city. Superboy and Robin would be taking care of that soon.

Jon was listening, he really was. The battle plans were definitely lodging themselves somewhere in Jon’s subconsciousness. But he had to admit, most of his attention was fixed firmly on Damian himself.

Jon remembered the days the prickly young boy would throw his nose up haughtily in the air, state he’d been intelligent enough to have a doctorate at seven years old, and miff at anyone who insinuated otherwise. It was a far sight from when Damian had  curled himself up on Jon’s bed, and under the guise of watching a movie, told Jon about his acceptance into the most prestigious art schools in Gotham. 

And that was the reason behind Jon’s inattention, wasn’t it? Damian was eighteen, now. Their age difference didn’t seem like much when they were ten and thirteen and going against the world with all the confidence of a couple boys playing pretend. Now, Damian had a weariness in his shoulders, but lips that quirked up into a smile far too often, skin layered in scars but hands gentler than Jon ever thought he was capable of. Jon himself was a fumbling, awkward fifteen year old with jeans that were always too short, hair that was always too messy. And Jon used to think he was over feeling inferior to his best friend.

He’d miss him. Jon would miss Damian so much. Sure, Damian would probably try and keep their visits somewhat consistent, but work would pile up, and a curator would probably see Damian’s talents and whisk him away to the world of the famous artists, and Damian would forget he ever had a friend named Jon and would go on to become a household name while Jon spent the rest of his life living in his parents’ house and updating his mediocre blog that he started because of a dare.

No, he wasn’t being dramatic, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, Damian seemed to catch onto his lack of attention and snapped his fingers underneath Jon’s nose, startling him back to focus.

Never one to sugarcoat, Damian said, “You look miserable.”

“What? No, I’m fine!” Jon didn’t know why he even tried to play it off, he’d never been able to lie to Damian.

“Right. My mistake. Someone who was fine would definitely spend the past hour drinking out of a smoothie cup that’s already empty.”

Huh. Jon hadn’t even realized he’d finished the drink. He put it to the side and shook his head. “Really, it’s not a pro-oblem.” Oh, goddamnit.

“Your voice cracks are ridiculous,” Damian informed him. Why had Jon ever thought he’d changed? That smug voice was as irritating as ever.

“Yeah, they’re hilarious, thanks.”

“I don’t understand why you’re upset.” Apparently, this matter was serious enough for Damian to put his map down. Wasn’t that comforting?

But Jon had never liked to keep things from his best friend. “That. That’s what’s bothering me.”

“Your voice cracks?” Now Damian just sounded confused.

“Yes! No, I don’t know. I just don’t like them.” Jon crossed his arms in frustration.

When he looked over at Damian, the other boy’s eyes were wide, and in that stupidly deep and non-cracking voice, he said, “This conversation has gone well past the point of understanding and I’m going to continue with the plan now.”

Jon sighed. “No, Damian, it’s not that.”

“Then?”

Searching for the right words, Jon drummed his fingers together. “You...you’re going off to that fancy art school soon. You’re all grown up. And here I am with my stupid video games and voice cracks.”

Jon wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting. Damian could never be called a master of social interaction, and his basic settings were sarcastic, condescending, or incredulous. Still, Jon expected something a bit kinder than:

“You’re such a moron, Jonathan.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Jon stared at Damian for a moment, blinking stupidly. “So I tell you about the problem that’s been eating me up for weeks, and all you say is that I’m a moron? Thank you so much for that.”

“I’m telling you you’re a moron because you’re worrying about something so inconsequential.”

“Oh please, do elaborate.”

Damian paused, then let out a tired sigh, turning to face Jon. This was going to be a serious conversation, then.

“Jonathan. I have told you time and time again. You should be scared of me-”

“Oh my god,” Jon interrupted. “This stuff, again?” He was laughing now. “I know, I know. You should be horrified, cower in terror underneath my ruthlessness, blah blah blah. You say it all the time, I get it. I should be scared of you.”

Damian stared at him. “Are you done?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m tired of you bringing up the same thing over and over, Damian.”

“And in saying that, you just proved my point.”

Jon frowned in confusion. “What?”

“I’ve always said that you should be afraid of me. But you never have been, not since the moment we met.”

“Like there’s anything to be scared of.”

“Yes, Jonathan. There is.” Damian looked Jon in the eye, his gaze sharp and serious.

Damian’s honesty was strange, something Jon wasn’t used to, so he tried to play it off with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, assassin training’s tough-”

“When I was six years old, I murdered a man in front of his daughter.”

Jon fell silent.

“I used to command an entire legion in my grandfather’s army. We completely destroyed and took down three different countries.”

“Damian, I-” 

“Once, Grandfather put me in a straightjacket and wrapped me in chains, surrounded by trained guards, with no instruction other than to escape. And I did.”

Hesitantly, Jon said, “I never knew.”

“Because I never told you. That, and so much more, is why everybody I ever know has been scared of me.”

“Even Nightwing?”

“Nightwing grew out of it eventually,” Damian admitted. “But everyone else. The rest of the bats. Father. Even Mother. There’s fear in their eyes when they look at me.”

“Oh. Uh,” Jon shrugged. “That sucks.”

“That sucks?” Damian said, dry but amused.

“I didn’t know what else to say!” Jon defended.

“See? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Jon furrowed his eyebrows. “You’ve been trying to tell me it sucks? Because I already knew it sucks.”

“Jonathan…” Damian trailed off, then grabbed Jon’s wrists with his own hands.

“Hey!” Jon protested, though only out of surprise. Because Damain’s hands were warm and his thumb was pressing down on Jon’s pulse point and Jon could honestly say he had no objection to this.

Damian’s face showed nothing but piercing intensity: brows furred and eyes locked on Jon’s own. “Jon. Look me in the eyes, and tell me you’re scared of me.”

“But I’m not?”

“I just told you things that would have grown men running away from me in terror. Tell me at least some of that scares you.”

“No,” Jon shook his head and gripped the other’s boy’s wrists back. “No. I’m not scared of you.”

Letting out a breath, Damian moved away. For a moment, Jon found himself chasing that warmth.

“You are the only person who’s ever thought that.” Damian turned, shifting to mirror Jon’s position. Staring out over the city, a billboard washed colours over Damian’s face. He looked like a work of art, and Jon had no idea how anybody could ever fear him.

“You’re my best friend, Damian.” Jon shrugged, despite the fact that Damian couldn’t see him. “I’ve seen you scream at a machine for losing at Cheese Viking. I’ve seen you befriend a little squirrel you found on Ma’s farm. So how exactly am I supposed to be afraid of you?”

Damian nodded, as if that solidified something. “If you really think that I would leave the only person that isn’t scared of me, if you think that I would stop being friends with someone who has always thought of me as a human first and a weapon second just because I’m going to a university, then you are the biggest moron to ever walk the face of the earth.”

Stunned, Jon moved to sit next to Damian. “Oh.”

Jon had always been aware of their height difference, made plenty of jokes about it, but it really struck him how much smaller Damian was when the older boy turned to look up and smile at him. “So stop worrying, okay Kent? It’s unbecoming.”

“Whatever you say,” Jon acquiesced. 

Damian wasn’t leaving for good. Damian, with his burning green eyes and molten beauty, still wanted to be friends with him. 

With a smile on his face, Jon turned to look out at the city, letting the quiet wash over him. At his side, Damian did the same. A huge thank you to @iamwhelmed for organizing the secret santa this year!!

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @elles-shitposts-personified @subtleappreciation  @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow  @iconbicon

[champhangman]

Reckless - Part 18

Part 18

Characters: AJ Styles, OFC, Baron Corbin (with special appearance by Corey Graves)

Summary: The newest woman on the roster finds herself making waves she never intended to, with men that are both off-limits to her.

Word Count: 6487 (short chapters? what are those??)

Previously: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Check out the Master List

Tag Squad:  @llowkeys | @the-geekgoddes | @horcruxhunter5972 | @zombiexbody | @imtoldimbabe | @vebner37 |  @nickysmum1909 | @taryndibiase | @justtrey19 | @alexahood21 | @lunaticqueen7 | @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues | @styl3sl0v3r | @kingslayers-angel | @womderland-fandom | @blondekel77 |  @lonewolfgirl17 | @florenceivy | @meghanannexx | @skrillexslays13 | @geekoftv | @athoughtfulmindwrites | @castielscamander​ | @deanammbrose | @not-that-kinda-gurl08 | @lunaticfringe216 | @13reasonswhyiblog | @itsclaaree | @mainlywwe-shitposts | @fluffyzombiemia @spine-buster | @idle-vanity | @ladylokid | @wwewomendaily | @xfirespritex | @secretagentfangirl | @southerndreamz | @bigpixiefoot | @kakakatey​

Baron let himself into Kim's apartment, cringing at the sound of Xander's protective growl. Greeting the dog as he came to investigate, he gently shushed him, wondering why Kim hadn't come to greet him. Her few texts that afternoon hinted she wasn't feeling well, and he hadn't heard from her since four. He dropped his keys on the table and proceeded further into the apartment, expecting to find her curled up in bed. He hoped she wasn't feeling bad. She'd been alright the past couple of days, hadn't she? If she'd spent the evening on her knees in front of the toilet, he would have to insist she finally go see the doctor. He was surprised she hadn't already made an appointment. Wasn't that one of the first things a woman was supposed to do after having a positive pregnancy test?

Pregnant. He smiled as he avoided stepping on Thumper once he got to the bedroom, though it faded when he realized the door was closed. She loved sleeping with the puppy. Had told him in no uncertain terms that Thumper would not be relegated to a crate at night. Easing the door open, he muttered a curse when the pup zoomed into the room.

The bedside lamp was on. Kim was lying on her side in bed, lower half covered with the throw she usually kept across the foot of the bed. She stirred when Thumper jumped up to join her. As Baron crossed to sit on the edge of the mattress she opened her eyes.

"Hey," she murmured, nudging Thumper away from her face. "What time is it?"

Baron glanced to the clock on the bedside table. "Just after midnight."

She groaned. "How long have you been here?"

"I just got in. Are you okay?"

"I've been asleep since about four thirty." She sat up slowly, one hand concealing a yawn and the other pushing her hair from her face. "I wonder why he didn't wake me up."

"Who? Xander? You had him and Thumper locked out." Baron frowned. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Not the dog. AJ."

"I'm lost, Kimmy…"

"AJ showed up. He made me go to the doctor because he knew—" She drew in a shaky breath. "He knew I'd been getting sick. Really, he all but dragged me."

"What did the doctor say?" he asked, ignoring the fact that AJ had taken her. That she had gone with AJ, but had brushed off his suggestion that she go. "Is it because you're pregnant? Or do you have a stomach bug?"

"I'm not pregnant," she whispered.

Baron blinked. Confused, he stared at her. She obviously thought he hadn't heard her, so she repeated the phrase, louder this time. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there's no baby."

"But all those tests…" He saw her eyes widen slightly and shrugged. Had she really expected him not to see the pregnancy tests she'd taken? Vibrant packaging aside, they were hard to miss, especially in a hotel bathroom's wastebasket. "One false positive I could understand, but not half a dozen."

"Oh, god," she whispered.

He was surprised to see tears welling in her eyes. Further surprised when they spilled over and trailed down her cheeks. "Kimmy—"

"The doctor said I probably wasn't pregnant a week. It happens. Chemical pregnancy." She sniffled. "It's what they call it when there's a miscarriage shortly after the embryo implants."

"You lost the baby?" he asked softly.

Kim nodded, then told him what the doctor had told her. She used cold, clinical terms, which somehow made it worse. As though she couldn't bear to think of the baby that might have been. During her speech he felt himself go numb. When she finished she reached for his hand.

He jerked it away and pushed himself to his feet. "You lost the baby."

"I didn't leave it at the park, Baron. I didn't even know I was pregnant when it happened."

"I didn't mean—" He cut off, bitterness taking over the numbness. "You didn't even want it."

"That doesn't make this hurt any less," she whispered.

Baron dragged both hands over his face. That she could have been pregnant and miscarried without knowing was impossible for him to comprehend. Even if it had seemed like a period… Frowning, he rubbed the back of his neck. "You said that it happened around the time of your last period."

"Yes."

"But the other night you said you haven't had one since you came to main roster."

When he looked to her, she was nodding. She buried her face in her hands. "Yes."

"Then…" The words, bitter, stayed on his tongue far too long for his liking. He tried to swallow away the sourness but it remained. "It wasn't even my baby, was it?"

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Sniffling again, she slowly lifted her head. "No it wasn't."

"And you were just gonna let me go on thinking it was? Were you planning on passing it off as my kid?" He crossed the room, feeling the need to put distance between them. As his paced his mind whirled with the struggle of figuring out who'd gotten her pregnant. Going by all the gossip he'd heard while they were split, she hadn't seen anyone. Which meant she'd somehow managed to keep it a secret.

"I didn't know! It never crossed my mind that it wasn't yours!"

"Whose?"

"What?"

He spun to face her, saw she'd gotten out of bed and was approaching him. "Who knocked you up?"

She flinched at the term. And said nothing.

"Do you even know?" he wondered out loud. "Or were you having too much fun being the NXT cum dump to remember them all?"

"That's disgusting," she said, her voice a low warning.

He ignored the warning and surged on. "Then tell me who. Who did you fuck, Kimmy?"

"Why does it matter? I wasn't dating you at the time."

"It matters because I thought you'd spent those months alone." He struggled to think of likely suspects. But there were none. Unless—

"Yeah, like you spent all those nights alone?" she challenged.

His anger deflated like a popped balloon. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not stupid. I saw you in her pictures on Instagram." She didn't look hurt. She looked mad. And it occurred to him he'd never seen her so mad before.

"It was just two weeks. Two weeks of not wanting to be alone at night."

"Then stop pretending you're some martyr that spent seven months living like a monk."

"She wasn't important, okay? It was a European tour, we were both lonely. It wasn't some great romance." His palms were beginning to sweat. "For all I know you hopped out of his bed and straight into mine."

"I didn't. It was just a one-time deal."

"Great," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "I'm supposed to believe you got pregnant from a one-night stand?"

"It's happened before," she pointed out. "All it takes is one time."

"How'd he manage it, though?" Baron made a sound of disgust. "You let him fuck you without a condom?"

"I let you fuck me without one," she reminded.

"Just tell me who it was."

"According to you, it was all the NXT guys." She glared up at him, arms folded over her chest. "I just bent over in the Performance Center one night and let them all have a go."

He felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. "That's not funny, Kimmy."

"I know it's not. Gangbangs are serious. Hunter probably has it on video. I'm sure he'll let you watch it. Maybe you can pinpoint which guy shot the load that impregnated me."

"You're not making this any better," he warned.

"What the fuck do you expect from me? I made a mistake. He didn't pull out in time. The condom broke. My birth control failed. You make it sound like I did it on purpose. Like I was planning to be sent to Smackdown, get back together with you, and cuckold you nine months later."

"Weren't you?"

"So all of this was just some elaborate plan? For what? To get back at you for something? I broke up with you, remember? I had no idea until the day before that I was even going to debut on Smackdown. I couldn't have known you would be so receptive to having me back in your life. God, Baron, haven't you ever made a mistake?"

"Yeah," he said, backing away from her. "The biggest one lately was letting you in that night."

"Baron—"

He felt his heart plummet when he saw the shock and hurt in her eyes. Then his mind conjured up the image of her in bed with another man. Shaking his head, he turned and left the room. He called to Xander, and was almost to the door when she called out his name again.

"Please don't do this," she said when he hesitated.

"I just can't be with you right now, Kimmy." He closed his eyes, steeled himself against the hurt in her voice. If he looked over his shoulder at her, he wouldn't have the strength to leave.

"Baron, please."

The hurt was amplified. And he realized she was hurting. She'd found out she had lost the baby. The baby she hadn't wanted, he reminded himself. While he'd done little but think of her having his child since seeing the positive result on the test, she had looked shell-shocked. As though having a baby were the worst thing in the world. Had she really not known? Or had she suspected and let him carry on thinking about possible names and whether the baby would have her eyes or his, all the while knowing it was another man's?

"I don't want to be alone tonight."

The whispered plea caused him to hesitate even more. But, squaring his shoulders, he pushed Thumper away from the door before opening it. "Then why don't you call the daddy?"

With that as his parting shot, he pushed Thumper away before the pup could follow Xander out. Then, refusing to look back at her, he left, slamming the door closed behind him.

***

"That's not the move you said you were gonna do."

"Forgive me, but Char and I decided this looked better."

"Well excuse me, but if you change your planned move you should tell someone."

Leaning against the turnbuckle, AJ lifted his eyebrows and glanced to Charlotte while Kim and Baron continued to bicker. It seemed they'd done nothing but argue all weekend. He had a sinking feeling it would culminate in something bad, but could only hope that whatever the climax was it didn't happen during their match that night.

"Do you have any idea what's up with them?" Charlotte asked in a whisper, resting her arms on the top rope while the two argued.

"Nope." He kept his gaze on the couple, kept his face impassive, knowing better than to let on that he did know something. It wasn't that Charlotte had a big mouth, but she would immediately confront Kim about the pregnancy.

"You do," she said. "Why won't you tell me?"

"It doesn't affect what we're—" AJ cut off when he heard a frustrated scream come from Kim and looked to the couple once again. Opening his mouth to calmly interject, he instead gaped as Kim pushed Baron away.

"We're not together anymore. I don't have to listen to you." She hurled the words like a knife slinger at a carnival, and AJ saw Baron wince.

"If you'd just listen—"

"To what? Your empty apologies? You wouldn't listen to me, why the fuck should I listen to you?"

"Guys, calm down." Charlotte stepped through the ropes and reached to gently grab Kim's arm. "Keep this stuff out of the ring."

"Shut up, Charlotte," Baron sneered.

"Shut up, Baron," Kim sneered back.

The man rolled his eyes and climbed down from the ring. AJ watched him stalk up the ramp, knowing he should do the manly thing and go after him to calm him down. It probably wasn't expected by anyone, but he knew he should go. And yet he lingered, listening to Charlotte try to calm Kim down. That proved fruitless, and he sighed when Kim bounced out of the ring and jumped over the barricade, ponytail swinging as she sprinted up the stadium steps.

"Can you go reason with her?" Charlotte's voice was pleading. "I'll go and try to talk Baron out of murdering someone."

"Huh?" AJ jerked around to look to his friend in surprise. "What?"

"Go talk to her. I'll talk to Corbin."

"I thought you hated him."

"I don't hate him… I just dislike him. And you get along with Kim so well. She'll listen to you before she listens to me." Charlotte gave him a gentle nudge towards the ropes, then clambered through the other side. "Besides, if nothing else I can make sure that he's left alone until he cools off."

Sighing, AJ hopped out of the ring and headed after Kim. He had no idea where she was headed, and when he reached the concourse had to ask one of the guys setting up the merch stand which way she'd gone. Following his direction, he jogged after her. He caught sight of her heading up the steps to the next level and, groaning, called out her name.

She stopped at the top of the stairs, jogging in place while he hurried to reach her. "What?"

"Where are you runnin' to?"

"It's either run or cause bodily harm," she muttered.

"You wouldn't hurt me, would you?"

"Not intentionally." Her jogging slowed, and she brushed a hand over her face. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"I know it's rough," he said gently, falling into step next to her when she began jogging away from the steps. "I guess you told him?"

She huffed with annoyance. "I didn't get a chance to. I told him about… What the doctor said. And he got mad at me. He acted like I'd done it on purpose."

The hurt in her voice caused his hear to twist. And even though it tasted sour on his tongue, he felt he needed to defend Baron just a little bit. "Everyone reacts to tragedy differently."

"This wasn't reacting, though. He pretty much accused me of trying to pass off another guy's kid as his. After he called me the NXT cum dump."

AJ cringed at the words. "He said that?"

"Among other things, yeah." She maneuvered away from him to avoid jogging into a column. Once they were side by side again, she exhaled harshly. "I tried to tell him I was hurting, but he… He didn't care. He stormed out. I was too upset to bother calling him or texting him. And the next day he didn't call to apologize, or do the surprise breakfast from my favorite place to show he was sorry."

AJ decided to remain silent. He nodded even though he doubted she could see it, wondering the whole while if this meant what he thought it did.

"We're over," she announced once they'd reached the end of the upper concourse and had to turn around.

He almost stumbled. "You are?"

"I took what few things of his were at my place to him. I…" She slowed to a brisk walk. "I can't be with someone that calls me a whore AJ."

Really, who could? he wondered, but merely nodded with understanding. "I'm sorry, Kim."

"I'm not a whore," she declared.

He stopped suddenly, catching her arm and turning her toward him. "I never thought you were."

Her eyes looked into his for a long moment. "I know," she whispered. "But we're not… Y'know."

Oh, he knew. As much as he wished they were, they definitely weren't. "Has he been botherin' you?"

"A little. Now he wants to talk." She rolled her eyes and groaned. "I keep telling him it's over. But he's like one of those old cartoon dogs. The ones that bite someone in the ass and don't let go?"

He chuckled, but his levity soon faded. "Just try to keep all that out of the ring, okay? You two are tagging together. If there's tension between the two of you, that's fine, but—"

"I'm trying my best. Besides, it's all changing tonight," she reminded.

AJ exhaled slowly. "You ready for it?"

"After weeks of you being a snarky asshole towards me in the ring? I can't wait." For the first time that afternoon, she smiled. Then worry began to creep into her expression. "What if it doesn't go over well?"

"We've been buildin' to it. The fans want it. I can't even open up Twitter without seein' people beg me to take you on."

"You're not worried about people overacting and calling you a woman beater?"

"It's just a slap," he pointed out.

"If you hold back, I'm going to be pissed," she warned.

He laughed, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. Then, realizing he'd been holding it for far too long, he reluctantly let go. "I won't hold back."

"And I won't hold back when I hit you."

Walking with her to the steps leading down, he wondered if all the fans begging for him to let her have it after so many weeks of her trash-talking him would be satisfied with the end result. He knew the company was taking a huge risk, even with just an exchange of blows during a promo but they were prepared to take an even bigger one in a couple of weeks at the next pay-per-view. If they went with the current plan, he would be facing Kim in the ring. Her character refused to let a man fight her battles for her, and his wasn't the type to step away from a challenge. Which meant they would settle their differences with each other. Not hiding behind microphones or letting their recent tag partners fight for them. Kimmy's beef was with him, not Charlotte, just as his was with her, not Baron.

He knew that Vince was nervous. Intergender matches weren't technically PG. The next weeks would involve a lot of match planning, going over every move and motion so they could show Vince and the other concerned higher ups that they could do the match without it devolving into something pornographic. Grateful though he was that Hunter, Stephanie, and others were all behind the plan, he knew that if he thought on it too much he would get nervous, too.

"AJ?" she ventured once they'd reached the main concourse and were heading into the arena.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for sticking up for me. With Papa H when I suggested this to him a couple weeks ago." She paused at the stop of the steps, looking to the ring. Once she saw who was working in it, she headed down. "If you hadn't agreed to giving it a try, he probably wouldn't have said yes."

"Hunter trusts your judgment. If he didn't, he wouldn't have asked what I thought about it." AJ followed at a slower pace, briefly envious of her trouble-free knees that allowed her to skip down with no problem. Though bitter at the small reminder of their age difference, he kept his expression casual as they approached the barrier. And, once they'd made their way backstage, he tossed his arm around her in a brief hug. "You'll do great, sweetie."

"You really think so?"

"I know so." He took a step back and gave her two thumbs up. "Trust me."

"Alright, Malibu Al," she teased. "See you later."

Grinning, he watched her head towards the women's locker room, content with the knowledge he'd helped her soothe her anger, however meager his contribution might have been. And, cheerful that he had taken her mind off Baron for the time being, he proceeded to Catering, feeling the sudden urge to whistle a happy tune.

***

"One hour 'til live!"

Kim tossed the hoodie she held over one shoulder and ducked around the production assistant that shouted the warning, heaving a sigh of relief when she glanced back to see that Charlotte had been diverted by one of the makeup artists. Her friend's badgering was postponed. Grateful for that, and making a mental note to send the makeup team a thank-you gift, she sidestepped a stack of crates and followed the twists and turns of the backstage area until she found the relatively quiet dead end she'd stumbled upon earlier. She was in her ring gear. The briefcase was waiting for her in Gorilla. Her hair and makeup were done, save the usual touchup before she went out. She had a good half hour before anyone would need her.

Hopping up to sit on one of the equipment crates pushed against the wall, she closed her eyes for a moment and focused on calm thoughts. Almost immediately her phone began to vibrate in her hand and she regretted bringing it with her. With a groan she opened her eyes and looked at the screen.

Where are you? We need to talk.

"Nope," she muttered, swiping to clear the notification of Baron's text. She had no intention of talking to him. Not after the things he'd said.

Haven't you ever made a mistake?

Yeah. The biggest one lately was letting you in that night.

And that hadn't even been the worst of it.

She gave up calm thoughts, mind returning as it had ever since that argument to their heated exchange. She wondered again what she could have done or said differently. Maybe if she had kept calm he wouldn't have flipped so quickly to anger. Maybe if he hadn't been so angry she could have explained things to him. Maybe he could have found it possible to give her the comfort she'd craved and required.

Then again, probably not. She doubted that her telling him of her one night with Corey would have been met with understanding words and gentle nods.

"You okay?"

Fuck. Speak of the devil, she thought, lifting her head and seeing Corey right in front of her. "Shit," she mumbled. "What do you want?"

"We should talk."

She almost whined. "Did Baron send you to find me?"

"I haven't seen him in a couple hours. Why would he send me?"

"He hasn't told you?"

"Told me what?"

"Jesus Christ, do you have to throw my questions right back at me?"

His lips twitched. "Maybe stop being ambiguous?"

"Has he told you that we broke up?" she asked carefully.

Corey's eyebrows lifted nearly to his hairline. "He didn't mention that."

"Figures." Her phone vibrated again. She glanced at it then set it aside, reaching for the hoodie over her shoulder. Slipping her arms into the sleeves, she exhaled slowly. It was thick and soft and warmed her bare arms. She reached to zip it up and stuffed her hands into the pockets.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"He inferred that I'm a whore, said letting me back in was a mistake, and left me when I was at my lowest. There, I talked about it." She knew she was being petulant but couldn't help it. After all, Corey was a major part of the problem. She knew she couldn't blame him completely. He didn't even know that she had been pregnant for a minute or two. But if he hadn't shown up that night… If he hadn't been open to her advances… So many ifs, she thought with a frown.

"He called you a whore?" Corey asked in a whisper.

"Not exactly. He asked if I'd been having too much fun being the NXT cum dump."

"Wait, wait, you need to back up. What brought that on?"

She moistened her lips. He looked…concerned. Hands in the pockets of his slacks, he went quiet, waiting for her to explain. Wriggling deeper into the new hoodie she'd gotten from the merch guy, with Naomi's slogan in bright neon colors, she leaned her head against the wall behind her. The words fell from her mouth in a rush. "I took a pregnancy test. It was positive."

"Shit." His shoulders slumped. "Have you seen a doctor?"

She nodded. "A friend took me."

"When are you due?"

"I'm not." Before he could question her, she hurried to tell him the rest. The half dozen positive tests she'd had. The examination. The blood test. The results. The bitter disappointment when she'd learned she wasn't going to have a baby after all. She felt the hollowness start up in her chest again, causing her to stumble over the doctor's orders of getting more rest and watching her diet.

"Oh, princess…"

She lifted her head and was surprised by the compassion in his eyes. Of all people, she would have pegged him as being someone relieved that she wasn't pregnant. And, even though she had sworn she wouldn't, had promised herself that he would never know, she whispered, "It was yours."

Suddenly, everything was so silent she could hear his watch ticking. He stared at her, unblinking. She held his gaze until her eyes began to burn. Just as she closed them, she heard him exhale in surprise.

"Mine?" he whispered.

She nodded. She thought of making a crack about how he hadn't pulled out in time to relieve the tension, but found she didn't want to. Opening her eyes, she saw his mouth moving silently. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. She waited for accusations. For the insistent refusals. For him to argue that she was wrong, that there was no way. None of those came, though, and her breath hitched when she saw the muscles of his throat working as he swallowed repeatedly. "Corey—"

"You're sure?" he breathed.

"I'm sure." She had done the math over and over again, each time hoping that by some miracle she would be wrong. And each time, he was the only one.

"Jesus," he hissed. Breath shaky, he placed a hand on her arm.

She allowed him to pull her into his arms. The new hoodie was warm but he was warmer. Squeezing her eyes shut as his arms tightened around her, she returned the embrace, belatedly realizing that it was his loss, too. Apologies fell like rain from her lips, each one causing him to pull her closer, and she felt the first tear escape when he lifted a hand to smooth her hair.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured an instant before his lips pressed to the top of her head. "I'm so fucking sorry, princess."

He repeated the phrase like a mantra while she let the tears fall. "I didn't know," she choked out once her tears stopped. She had said that already but it needed repeating. "If I had—"

"Shh," he soothed, kissing her head again. "There's nothing you could have done."

"I know." That certainty had finally nestled itself in her brain that night, after she'd spent hours reaching forum posts and articles and blogs until her head had felt it would explode. What had happened wasn't uncommon. That knowledge didn't make it hurt less but it made it just a little bit easier to come to terms with.

"It's going to be okay, princess."

Princess. She still hated the nickname he'd given her, but coming from him it was almost tolerable. Nodding, she began to pull back. Wiping at her face with her hands, she sniffled when he plucked the pocket square from his breast pocket and handed it to her. It was thin, silky, the same shade of soft blue as his dress shirt. She blotted away her tears, wondering why the man who'd tormented her for so long possessed the compassion to comfort her. And why the man she had thought she might, possibly, be in love with didn't.

"I have to get ready," he sighed. His hands gently cupped her head, one thumb swiping her cheek to catch a tear she'd missed. It stayed there until she finally met his penetrating gaze. "Will you be okay for the show?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"We'll talk more later. You fly out in the morning, right?"

Kim nodded. "Are you—"

"I'll switch flights or something. But we'll talk at the hotel after the show. Okay?" he whispered, lips meeting her forehead softly once she'd nodded.

"Okay."

He kissed her forehead again, lingering a half-second longer, then turned to walk away. Her eyes followed him, heart inexplicably wrenching in her chest when he stopped halfway down the corridor and lowered his head. His fingers drummed silently against the wall, and she saw his shoulders rise and fall with a deep sigh before he lifted his head and continued on his way.

Kim took a few moments to compose herself, then made her way back to makeup. She mumbled something about getting something in her eyes but in the chaos that was a TV night the women didn't seem to be bothered. Her makeup was repaired, one of the girls gave her a bottle of eye drops to reduce redness, and her hair was redone. Grateful that everyone was too busy to notice what had to be melancholy on her face, she pushed the sad thoughts away and joined in the laughter over Nattie's Instagram obsession. She squeezed into a group selfie, surprised to find she was enjoying the casual comradery, even going so far as to pull out her phone to goof around with Naomi and Instagram.

The next thing she knew, she was at the curtain waiting for her entrance music to start. She felt Baron's hand on her shoulder and steeled herself when he gently squeezed. Sending him a warning glance, she was glad when he pulled away and his pleading expression disappeared behind a mask of indifference. Her walk to the ring was interrupted by his music and although she grit her teeth, she gave him a flirtatiously pleased look when he joined her ringside.

The promo was, in her opinion, one of her best. She found that channeling her frustrations with Baron into her character's dislike of AJ gave her words a gritty, realistic feel.

"You know what I'm sick of?" AJ asked after she'd suggested he was sick of not being the top guy on Smackdown. She gave him a look of impatience, and felt the excitement of the crowd when he took a step in her direction. One hand lifted, a gloved finger pointing straight at her. "Whiny ass little bitches like you."

Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped in shock. He'd gone slightly off script. Behind her she felt Baron go stiff, and beyond AJ she saw Charlotte's eyes widen almost comically. She recovered while the crowd exploded, glaring at AJ. Her briefcase fell with a thud, and she put more force than necessary behind the slap to his cheek. His eyes flared, she saw him mouth a few curse words as he worked his jaw. He took another step towards her.

She didn't cower, though his expression was murderous enough to give her more than a little fear. While he rubbed the side of his face she saw a red mark appear.

"Listen to them," Baron whispered in her ear, and she finally heard the words the audience was chanting.

Hit her back.

"I dare you," she told AJ, holding her microphone so it would just catch the words. When he continued to just glare at her, she let her lips curve into a smirk. "Just as I thought. That's the difference between you and me, Styles. I may be a whiny little bitch, but I don't back down from a fight. Whereas you…"

She paused, looked him up and down, and scoffed.

"You're all talk and very little action. You've been talking crap to me and letting Charlotte fight your battle. Why is that, Styles? Afraid a whiny little woman could take you down? Or are you just a sissy that hides behind his big, strong woman?"

As they'd discussed, he didn't hesitate. His gloved hand made contact with her cheek, more forcefully than she'd thought it would, and she stumbled backward. Her microphone fell to the mat while she covered her face. Hiding her pleased smile as the audience went berserk, she waited until Baron began to pull her away from AJ before launching herself at the man. Baron managed to pull her off him while Charlotte held AJ back, and Kim got in a few well-aimed kicks before she was too far away to do any damage.

Shouting out that she'd take him on any time, she let Baron guide her out of the ring.

Once through the curtain and able to breathe, she allowed herself to smile.

***

"Then Vince called to tell me it was superb. Beautifully done were his exact words." Kim accepted the drink Corey held out and smiled faintly. Still riding high from her segment on Smackdown, she doubted she would calm down enough to get much sleep that night. She took a sip of the scotch and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "Hunter told me that the match is a go."

"It should be. You've all but begged for it, haven't you? You want it. Styles wants it. The fans want it." He clicked his tongue at Thumper, who was investigating the door that hadn't been closed fully.

"What's your opinion on the whole intergender thing?"

"It's a touchy subject," he said, swirling the drink in his glass. "But you and all the other women have been trying so hard for so long to just be recognized at equal to the men."

"Yeah." The whole revolution thing had annoyed her because, in her opinion, it wasn't about a rebellion. It was just wanting the same opportunities. The same time in the ring. To be thought of as equals, yes, but also to show they could do what the men did.

"It's got to be done delicately, though. If it's a one-sided beatdown and he wins, he'll be an abusive misogynist. If it's a beatdown and you win, well, management only let you win because you're a woman."

He was right. They were toeing a very fine line. But she sensed that he didn't want to discuss her upcoming match, or the nuances behind it. Taking a longer sip of her drink, she watched him over the rim of the glass. To her knowledge he wasn't usually a fidgety person, although admittedly she hadn't paid that much attention to him outside of their interactions. He was fidgeting now, though. Swirling the drink in his glass. Drumming his fingers against his thigh. Adjusting the leather band of his watch. Plucking at a random string clinging to the hem of his t-shirt.

"Corey," she said as softly as possible, setting her drink down. About to go to him, she stayed where she was when he bent to pick up Thumper, who'd been headbutting his ankles. Watching him cuddle the dog close, she bit her lip. And when he moved to settle on the bed she shifted to watch, touched by the tenderness he always showed the spoiled puppy. Even when Thumper chewed too roughly at his fingers or dug his unclipped claws into his skin, Corey merely smiled and rubbed his head.

"It's hard to believe," he said once Thumper calmed down and snuggled close to him. His fingers smoothed over the pup's fur. Gaze lowered, he sighed. "At first I didn't want to believe I could have gotten you pregnant. But we were hardly safe that night, were we?"

"No," she murmured, leaning against the headboard. "We weren't."

"It's not your getting pregnant that's hard to comprehend," he told her. Finally lifting his head, he met her gaze. Expression earnest, he reached to brush her fingers with his. They'd barely touched and he was already pulling back, hand returning to Thumper's fur. "I know you wouldn't lie about something like that, princess. It's just…I don't fucking know. I wouldn't have wanted a kid."

"I didn't want one either."

"You're not ready for one. I'm not. And it's not like we…" His voice faded to a sigh, the unsaid words hanging between them.

"God, could you imagine us parenting a child together?"

"Could you imagine us agreeing on anything when it came to a baby?" he returned, a smile appearing for a nanosecond. "I would have probably asked you to get an abortion."

"Really? Because that was in the back of my mind the whole time," she admitted. It didn't seem nearly so horrible now to voice that thought. She was pro-choice, had been so for as long as she'd been old enough to have that opinion, but had never fathomed she would have to make that choice. As it turned out she hadn't had to make the decision.

"Maybe we could have agreed after all." Corey sighed. "But the part that's hardest to believe is…" He waved a hand, groaning as he dropped his head to the pillow. "How…"

"How can you miss something you didn't know you had and wouldn't have wanted?" she offered, pulling her knees to her chest.

"That's it. Exactly it. And all these questions keep popping up" He draped one arm over his face. "Would it have been a boy or a girl? Would it have had my eyes? Your nose?"

Kim sat quietly while the questions continued flowing. All questions she had thought. All questions that could never be answered. Again the raw, empty feeling started in her chest, clawing its way to her stomach and throat, until her eyes burned. She felt the mattress shift, then his hand holding hers.

"Why's it so easy to say this shit to you?" he whispered.

"Because you know I'm thinking the same things."

"True." He was silent, the hand not holding hers gently stroking Thumper's back. "Can… May I hold you?"

She nodded, unbending her knees and allowing him to pull her into his arms. The mood was somber. She grunted as Thumper snuggled between them, making sure to push his head just beneath hers. Again she marveled at the dog's affection for Corey, when nearly every other man he was around was met with indifference. She held her breath as the three of them shifted into a more comfortable position, and let it out slowly when she felt Corey begin to relax.

The quiet was shattered by the clatter of the door opening. Corey groaned, muttered something about forgetting to shut it tight, and sat up just as Baron stepped into view.

"Hey man, you really need to close the door, otherwise…" Baron's voice fell, and Kim saw the rage spark in his eyes as she scrambled to sit up.

"Baron," Corey began, easing Thumper into Kim's lap.

"You fucking whore."

[ark-of-eden]

R is drunk and raving (not in the party way).

(R:) Additionally, I’m procrastinating like a fucking champion at working on fic construction, so you know the best use of my time is going off about random social media crap on the internet.

tl;dr: Putting all commentary in tags on Tumblr makes R cry and shit thousands of words into the Internet.

Every social media site inevitably develops sets of unwritten social conventions. Some of them actually make sense as being derived from meatspace etiquette and therefore you don’t really have to stress about remembering them as long as you play nice like a decent creature.

And some of them just don’t make any fucking sense that I can see. Folks on Twitter using a deliberately space-limited form of media to write a page’s worth or more in a string of 30+ rapidfire tweets? This is just how it’s done over there? (Tweetlonger exists but for some reason these massive chain-tweeters never seem to use it. Same with posting the whole thing in a long-form site like LJ/DW/Tumblr and just linking it to a tweet.)

And Tumblr has things that I literally had to put effort into learning after I migrated here, and after I learned about them I frankly decided to ignore them because I couldn’t see the point in them. Tumblr has this bizarre allergy to commentary and, likely derived from that, the practice of instead commenting by putting it all in awkward tags that render the tagging system not especially useful and are harder to get to if you’re actually interested in an individual’s thoughts about a thing and not just the twelfth instance of the same post crossing your dash in a day or two. It’s not like you can’t engage with people, because asks and messaging and such exist, but like...there’s this strong sense that it’s Terribly Ill-Mannered to weigh in with your own impressions right there, in the body of the post, typing your own words in that seductive, wide-open text box that appears all on its own when you go to reblog something. The properly-socialized Tumblrite eschews that tempting text field and instead posts weird sentence fragments in tag form (interspersed with actual tags that might serve to usefully categorize the post’s content), to the extent that some people can add on a good couple paragraphs of material down among the hashtags where others need to go looking for it on purpose if they want it. (I, at least, haven’t been able to find a plugin or something that automatically expands full tags on all posts so that I don’t have to fuck around with extra interface elements to get to them. I admit that I haven’t looked super hard, though.)

Preserving the original form of the OP’s post is a noble practice that I heartily support, but how is adding commentary a problem if you’re only adding a separate thing, not taking away or altering anything in the original...? This was already a practice/convention/code of social interaction on Tumblr when I got here, so I was never in the front row to witness this element taking shape. I suppose it must have made good sense at the time, but every time I see ten people reblogging the same post with no additions and a paragraph of tags appended to it, it’s like a splinter in my brain that has been digging into me for years now.

And I’m not hating on people who do that! I get that that’s The Way It’s Done Here and I am the deviant weirdo for continually adding comments directly onto things that I reblog. Tags are where individuality lives here, unless you’re producing your own original posts, which I guess other people are then supposed to reblog without commentary so that you have to go hunting after all the reblogs individually if you want to get an actual sense of what these people were all thinking when they reblogged your thing. It all just seems...so...WORK INTENSIVE, refusing to use site functions as they were intended??

Look, I absolutely know that my commentary is not the work of incisive genius that unfailingly adds value to every post I find worthy of my attention. We’re pretty much solid shitposting on this blog. Because I’m a little loaded at the moment and that gives me a handy excuse to run my fingers like an idiot (plus I put that readmore up there, so if your eyes are actually consuming these words, you have only yourself to blame for being here), let me run down relevant history of how we got here.

LJ was home for a good long while. Then shit got seriously messed up and Dreamwidth was created as a better LJ, so we migrated all our stuff over there. And journaling sites along those lines still feel like a native environment. I, in particular, am the most long-winded piece of shit we know and I am honestly incapable of talking about anything of worth in short form. It’s a sickness and I just sort of have to own it. :/ But that’s why journaling sites are a good place for me to live, because that’s where people go when they have the inclination to read meandering scrawls about the depths of other people’s lives or whatever.

We went to Twitter for a good while because all the cool people we knew from LJ were going there for some unfathomable reason. These people wrote things that were complex and fascinating to read, so all of them jumping ship to a place that limited them to 140-character chunks made no damn sense, but we loved those people and wanted to trust that they knew what the hell they were doing. And they probably did, and a couple of us were actually okay with Twitter, but I, being the long-winded shitpiece, spent a lot of time frustrated and kind of overstimulated.

Then things started going to hell more and more consistently for me personally (and us generally by extension, but that’s unnecessary detail). Bunkering down specifically to protect people that you care about from the fallout of your crazy is a fairly common thing for mentally-ill people to do, I think. So I’d shut up online until I felt stable enough to talk to people again. Those periods lasted a few days, then a week or more, then a month, then eventually I stopped talking entirely. I missed the LJ/DW format, but in the past I’d written about life events and things I was thinking about and such, so...at the time, all I really had to write about was the bad stuff. So LJ/DW was basically unusable as well.

I literally came here to be as shallow as I could possibly manage. Tumblr had a rapid, chaotic flow similar to Twitter, but could hold longer content like LJ/DW. We’ve never really used the site’s full functionality at any point, though. For at least a year, all we were following was the most lightweight, zero-calorie entertainment that we could find. (We actually came here for Flight Rising content, so there was a lot of that.) Being engaged with fandom in any consistent respect is an extremely recent thing.

And I’m not saying that fandom hasn’t got depth and complexity because it absolutely does and that’s one of the beautiful things about shared fan experiences. I kind of got into that sort of fandom by accident after getting here and rediscovering Transformers. But the unvoiced policy that I’ve always had here is to avoid the Too Real and dodge serious topics whenever possible. Thus, no gender theory, no neurodivergence or multiplicity, no nonhumanity, no religion or UPG, nothing with real substance behind it that bared real vulnerabilities. (Apparently this was a good move anyway because the nonhuman and multiplicity situation here on Tumblr is a bit of a clusterfuck? I honestly wouldn’t know, as I haven’t made a lot of effort to link up with those folks.) That’s still the policy. That might remain the policy forever until I reach some vaguely-defined threshold of sanity that makes me worthy of talking about those things in places and formats that other people can interact with.

And I’m sorry for all this talk about mental illness, but it’s simpler just to explain things clearly. I likely won’t go into any more detail about it on Tumblr. Or anywhere else, because I care about people even if I’ve never met them or talked to them at all and I still want to keep it all in the bunker to protect good people from the crazy. Sometimes, all you can do is just prevent the damage from spilling out into other people’s lives, and that’s the place that I usually operate from.

I’m still pretty drunk, so I’m allowed to ramble from too much truth serum, but all of that explanation was to get around to saying that the format of online communication that is most intuitive to me is the long, oversharing gut-spill of random people talking about things that are really meaningful to them - not in the sense of elaborate philosophy or artsy epistles to the cosmos, but just people being super real about things that are meaningful to them and going into lots of detail about them because gushing about things you love is great. And it’s possible to get that sort of discussion and gushing in Tumblr fandom, and I love it because it reminds me of better times, and the fact that I love it is WHY IT MAKES ME SO GODDAMN FRUSTRATED that Tumblr culture is basically stifling discussion and feedback and RESPONSE to things that people find interesting!!

Like, here’s how I see it. Unlike on LJ/DW, where you were limited to hyperlinking to a cool post in one of your own posts if you wanted your readers to go check it out, on Tumblr, if you find a super cool thing, you can pull it directly into your space and let other people experience it directly, exactly as you experienced it. But the thing is, I also subscribe to the My Blog My House concept. If I pull a thing into my “home,” I do it because there’s something homelike about it; it belongs in my home for some specific reason. I don’t take “ownership” of an item in the sense that I’m claiming it in place of its creator, but I’m taking ownership of it in the sense that it’s part of my Stuff now and it’ll get my fingerprints all over it and be blended into the general morass of Stuff that I recognize as my home. I don’t just pull random crap into my home for no reason at all.

And I just figure that other people are similar in the sense that they reblog things for distinct, unique reasons, not in the sense that they have some master plan for their blog content (some do, but it’s not necessary), but just that they have compelling reasons why they pick certain bits of content out of the larger river of their dashboard and put it in their own space for people to experience with them. I follow people based on the interesting things that they find interesting. I’m interested in why they’re interested in those things. They seem like interesting people to me because they’re interested in what they’re interested in.

But the WHY is a really important part of the equation for me. Did this person reblog that photo because they’ve been to that place themselves, because they like that kind of tree, because they reblog photos with that color scheme every Thursday? Did that person reblog that piece of art because they love that character, because they’re studying that art medium, because it reminded them of something funny they saw somewhere else? People attach their own context to things that they latch onto. It’s so freaking weird to me that people have to hide their interpretations or impressions in tags here on Tumblr, making them unimportant and optional in the process of sharing things they like with others. (Okay, people also share a lot of things they hate, but reasons for outrage are still part of the context that one adds to content.)

I WANT TO KNOW WHY YOU CARE ABOUT WHAT YOU’RE SHOWING ME. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT MAKES IT IMPORTANT TO YOU. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT MAKES YOU THINK AND FEEL. Even if it’s a blurb about how giant robots fuck or a cute kitten video, I NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS.

Not in excruciating detail or with insightful analysis or even a lot of text at all. Mostly, the things that people put in tags are things that, to me, are a really crucial part of the experience of being able to go into someone’s “home” and see the Stuff that they chose to put in it. Reducing oneself to a glorified signal repeater is...okay, I guess, though it turns a Tumblr blog into a kind of faceless stream of other people’s material a lot of the time. The personal touch is what makes it all interesting. And I’m just unutterably frustrated that, somewhere along the line, it was decided that personalizing an experience by sharing one’s own impressions of it became rude enough that polite society decided that it had to be hidden away in tags. I want all of it, so I do go looking for it, but omg it requires MORE EFFORT and BURNING CALORIES and BODILY MOVEMENT and WAAAAH, you know what I mean. :P

And possibly Tumblr society is right and it’s done for a good, decent purpose and I’m being pigheaded and uncool by insisting on doing things my way without bothering to try and understand the local customs. I’m not usually that much of an asshole, but I am about this, for some reason. And I admit that my craving for those personal touches could very well spring from how utterly isolated and lonely I am, so maybe normal people really don’t need all the extra info and actually do just want mostly-impersonal streams of content. And that’s fine, since I know I’m kind of a weirdo even on my best days.

I’m pretty sure that that was all that I really wanted to say. I’m probably overreacting about the whole comments-in-tags thing. Like I said, it’s kind of an irrational irritation. Also, I need to stop before I write myself sober and no longer have an excuse for all of this. If you actually read all of that, you are an awesome, generous person and I’m pretty damn certain that I love you even though I have no idea who you are.