#i hate certain things and ill hate people for it no matter how insignificant they are

[iftitah]

i feel like a joke

[bmodiwrites]

Stay Cool, It's Just A Kiss

Howdy sailors! I'm busting out of my normal Steddie mold to dabble with TomGreg. This flew out of me like I was possessed. Here's hoping it at least makes sense! Read all of it down below or click over to AO3 to check it out there. It is rated E, so minors, don't do the thing... Let me know what you think - I could be persuaded to play with these two more in the future!!

Stomping, because he’s already feeling a little heated, Tom loudly makes his way into the ludicrously nice place Logan Roy is housing this all too glorious get together. He’s in the sort of mood that makes the glitz and glamor of richness around him not nearly as shiny as usual. Like always, Tom is floundering around water he doesn’t really belong in, just trying to stay alive.

He tells himself that’s why he unashamedly propositioned Shiv’s infant cousin. Playing it off as a joke is easy because this Greg doesn’t know him all that well. He’s not aware of Tom’s need to fill in the empty spaces with sarcasm and genuine assholishness. For all Cousin Greg knows, Tom is exactly how he described himself – a total fucking prick.

Yet, there’s a part of Tom that recalls the way Greg’s face looked in that awkward moment they experienced together. Usually, Tom is met with immediate disgust but Greg is more confused than anything. His eyebrows squint together heavily, as if scrunching up that gorgeous little face will give him the answer to the mystery that is Tom and his big fat mouth. Greg, who is a stranger to both Tom and the rest of the Roy’s, doesn’t really blink an eye. He simply stares at Tom – there’s no punch thrown or immediate denial. In fact, Tom is over the moon to remember the blush that prettily flitted across Greg’s face.

The infuriating repetition of that sight is the whole reason Tom had to excuse himself from the game in the first place. Between Roman being an asshole and the half-hard monster dick in his pants, Tom can’t focus. He needs to get away from the people who will have a field day if they ever learn about Tom’s instantaneous crush. Shiv knows him well enough to spot the truth in Tom’s proposition if Greg ever decides to buck up and share that little interaction. There’s no hiding from a truth that is only brushed to the side now because Greg doesn’t know any better. How can he – he hasn’t been playing ball with this crazy family they’re surrounded by – not like Tom. Tom understands the unspoken rules of existing amongst the Roy’s.

Never show weakness.

Always keep yourself in mind first.

Play your own game, no matter who you hurt.

With a tidbit of information like this, Tom is certain his entire department could be swept out from under him in the matter of days. It’s best to hold humiliating secrets tight to the chest as a means of protection.

Never mind the fact that Tom isn’t all that ecstatic about sharing the sight of his ill-timed boner with the rest of Shiv’s marvelous family. They already hate him – Tom is scared to think about the kind of fuel his inappropriate state at the moment could add to the rip-roaring bonfire already burning insignificant things down to the ground in its wake. Where the lunatics he’s hoping to marry into are concerned, Tom is better off being the joke than some ruddy pervert.

Upon entering a spare bedroom that no one else looked to be rooming in, Tom immediately let out a huge breath. His palm shifted to the front of his pants where his erection strains for attention. It’s too much to deal with at the moment, playing the never ending board of chess and navigating a midlife crisis where wanting to fuck a near child is actually a good idea. Never mind the fact that Greg, the man-child in question, is Shiv’s cousin. That in and of itself is a lot to unpack and Tom is already feeling a little desperate. Trying to make sense of any of it just isn’t in the cards right now.

Instead, Tom forces his hand back down to his side and away from the pounding need desperately trying to escape. Closing his eyes, Tom tries to think about something, anything at all, that gets his mind away from long legs and blinking doe eyes. He tries to pull up his first bout of embarrassment in seventh grade or the time his mom almost walked in on him jerking off – yet nothing works. There’s no escaping this blooming obsession.  

Tom, without the visual cues of the world around him, is better able to focus on the puzzled expression on Greg’s face and the way his first words aren’t no. He allows himself to picture Greg’s pupils blowing wide with arousal. The skin on the back of his neck prickles as that fantasy morphs into something a lot less wholesome than nature’s reaction to pleasant stimulus.

His mind shifts to those eyes looking up at him as Greg kneels between his legs, that same wrinkle to his brow there, too. Only now, it exists because Greg is focusing on the task at hand – deep throating Tom’s enormous cock and loving it. The vision of it is so vivid that Tom is genuinely disappointed when he blinks back to the here and now without any of his imagination following along.

He wants to curse at the person incessantly knocking at the door, disturbing his unsavory musings, but he’s seconds away from getting caught with his hands down his pants. In a lot of ways, the interruption is a blessing in disguise despite the feeling of hollowness opening up a little in Tom’s chest. Whatever’s waiting for him out there has to be better than a dirty round of masturbation in Logan Roy’s spare room.

----

All kinds of confused and a little turned on, Greg decides to follow Tom back into the house. It’s not like anyone is going to miss him – most of his ‘cousins’ are still calling him Craig, even. There’s no one looking at him as he drops his mitt to the ground and strides away. The lack of attention should make Greg’s skin crawl but his mind is otherwise occupied by sharp words and a question made into a joke that Greg is certain really isn’t.

At least, he’s positive enough to open the door after Tom goes through it and test his chances.

Where he’s at in his life, what does Greg really have to lose? Somewhere in that garbage talk Tom threw his way, Greg knows is a real truth. There’s something in his gut that says Tom, someone who’s important enough to be here today, will take care of him if given the chance. At the moment, Greg’s entire body is thrumming with the thought of his current needs being met. Despite risking a beatdown from some jackass, Greg’s steps are sure. His mind is made up.

Greg forces himself to wait to knock after Tom enters the room. He hastily counts to 100, skipping a few numbers here and there in his excitement. For the first time since reuniting with his ‘family’ Greg is feeling some modicum of exhilaration. His entire life isn’t a dumpster fire, not with the prospect of something interesting happening with this fascinating man named Tom.

Fist rising, Greg taps out a soothing rhythm as he asks for entry. There’s no reason for Tom to think it’s him so Greg is not surprised when the door is pulled open in the most aggressive way. They share a heated look for a second, their eyes locking as Tom gathers up the small details of the situation to better orient himself. Greg doesn’t know him all that well but it’s easy to see Tom tries to cloak himself in the guise of control. That’s why he swears and says mean shit, to stay one step ahead – Greg is almost certain of that.

Caught up in his runaway thoughts, Greg misses Tom’s first question. His cheeks color when the older man closes the space between them to get in Greg’s face. “Are you stupid? What are you doing here, Gregory?”

The words his mind came up with on the walk over are nowhere to be found. Greg’s mouth opens and closes, gaping like a fish – the impression he wishes to make is crashing and burning by the second. Soon, he’ll be much too embarrassed to do what his body (and heart) so desperately want him to do.

So, instead of answering, Greg pushes into the room, past Tom, without saying a word at all. His long legs carry him across the soft carpet, putting a bit of space between them again. Despite trapping himself in a corner like a caged animal, Greg feels better knowing walls and a door stand between them and the rest of the feral beasts out there roaming freely. In this space, their secrets, whatever they may be, remain safe and sound.

At least, that’s what Greg is hoping for.

Cutting all of his loses and screwing up the right amount of courage, Greg finally says what his mind supplied instantaneously after Tom asked his inappropriate question. “I would, you know.”

There, he’s said it. It’s out in the open.

Except, Tom squints at him, both hands coming up to cross over his chest. He looks pissed off or taken aback – Greg finds it hard to tell.

“You would, what? I don’t speak in fucking riddles, Cousin Greg.”

Knowing Tom adds the word cousin to rile him up makes this entire situation that much sweeter. Tom has no clue that Greg is eating it up – the quasi-bullying, the mean comments and harsh deliveries. By the end of the night, Greg is the one who’s going to have the upper hand. It’s just a matter of time before Tom finds that out, too.

With a saucy smirk, Greg straightens up, making himself taller. “I would kiss you. I’d do it without being forced to, even.” He looks earnestly over at Tom, gauging his reaction.

It’s silent for a long moment – Greg starts to feel terrified that he’s made the wrong move, that he’s screwed the fucking pooch. The longer the silence goes on, the worse the inkling gets.

Tom, however, is not done surprising him.

After clearing his throat, Tom finally speaks unflinchingly. “Do it, then. Kiss me. Kiss me, Gregory – you little shit. Lay one – “

His words are easily gobbled up by Greg pressing their lips together in a heated kiss. The method is more than successful at shutting Tom up – whatever the older man had on his mind is out the window, gone and billowing in the wind for someone else to hear some other day. Now, Greg is what’s important. That much is true by the way Tom moans sweetly against red lips as Greg deepens the kiss.

The kiss turns hot and sticky sweet. Tom isn’t afraid to thrust his tongue into Greg’s mouth, or fight for dominance as things get even more heated. Both of Tom’s hands are fisted into the front of Greg’s shirt, using that leverage to pull him close. The room is suddenly hot with Tom gripping him so tightly in conjunction with all the other stimuli attacking him, too.

Greg is quick to pull away, though only far enough to get his jacket off of his arms and onto the floor. Without that restriction, it’s glorious to move his rapidly cooling arms. Greg uses the newfound freedom to wrap Tom up in his grip until they’re pressed together chest to chest. Then, Greg abuses the small advantage his height gives him to walk Tom back until his back is pressed against the door. There’s fire in those blue eyes that is new and exciting – Greg desperately wants to see so much more of that.

----

Tom is having a mental breakdown.

That’s all his mind can supply him with as Gregory Hirsch, Cousin fucking Greg, barges into the room and kisses him with gusto. There’s no other explanation for the divine press of lip against lip, nor the sense of satisfaction Tom feels with every brush and swipe of a tongue that tastes like Sprite and cigarettes. It’s maddening which means he’s very quickly catapulting towards the whims of insanity.

Or, he’s about to have the best sex of his life. Tom, being shook up and oxygen deprived, is still trying to decide.

His mind whirs on the subject with every second that passes. It’s astounding to realize that thinking and having his mouth fucked by a man-baby is a hard thing to do. Greg, despite being all gangly limbs and awkward youth, is a good kisser. His hands are huge and take up a lot of real estate on Tom’s back and sides. Despite never admitting to it before, Tom is a big fan of touch like this – his body is on fire, slowly burning away with each new exploratory graze Greg’s big hands choose to bestow upon him.

There are so many other, much more important things, that Tom’s mind can fixate on but the world is all but narrowed down to Greg’s lips and the undulating push and pull of their hips grinding together.

When the hell did that even happen?

Taking so far aback, Tom struggles to pull away from Greg’s incessant ministrations. They both let out what seems to be a sigh of disappointment, though Tom’s head is immediately clearer with a bit more space between them. He’s already too deep to back out but he’s not going down without a fight.

“What do you think this is, Greg? Do you really think I’m that easy?” Tom asks, trying to school his face into a look resembling shit eating. It’s hard to do anything but pant and smile, however – Tom feels the best he’s ever felt. More happy and carefree than any other moment with Shiv or anyone else. He’s so fucked, Greg’s answer doesn’t really matter.

Though, it too aids in the warmth that fills Tom’s guts. Greg, it seems, without even knowing him or interacting with him more than once, has Tom pegged. Right from the start, Greg knows him better than Shiv or Logan, hell even his own mother.

“Yeah, I do. I think you asked me to kiss you because you want me. You want me in the sort of way that uh – makes it hard to do like anything but blurt out the dirty truth. You weren’t joking or stumbling nervously through a thinly veiled attempt at a threat. I interest you and you like that. You want me, Tom.”

Greg enunciates his words with a shift of his hips and the subtle roll of their cocks finally brushing together. The feeling of victory is so sweet – Tom’s cock throbs against Greg’s own, each pulse getting hardier with all the new words that pass through Greg’s lips. Tom likes being put in his place – that much is clear by the jeering taunt and the desperate sigh he can’t help but sigh.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck – Greg, how did you know?” Tom mumbles a half a second before pressing their lips together again, this time much more desperately. His hands move from the front of Greg’s shirt to the thick belt holding up shitty slacks. It’s old and ratty, easy to get the fake leather undone and out of the loop of Greg’s pants in no time. The snap of it hitting the floor makes Tom moan again, the sound echoing around the room to mix with the hasty piling of clothes being discarded.

Buttons come undone and Greg’s hands eventually join in on the fun. They’re awkwardly trying to jerk each other off after a few fumbling minutes it takes them to get each other naked. Tom huffs out a laugh and swats at Greg’s hand. After spitting into his palm, Tom wraps his hand around both of their lengths, eager to resume their desperate pace.

Minutes on end, Greg and Tom share breath. It’s glorious to feel Greg’s hips hump up against him, seeking more friction from the sleeve of his hand around them. Precum and the bit of slick his spit allows him is just enough to ease the ache but not topple them over. Now that Tom’s appetite has been wet, there’s no stopping him from getting his fill.

Not even the desperate plea of Cousin Greg in the throes of passion – though, it’s a close call.

“Uh, fuck – I’m close, Tom. So close,” Greg mumbles after a particularly glorious stroke of Tom’s hand. Their hips are rolling together, both of them on edge.

Tom has just enough brain cells to stop himself, though. His legs feel heavy as he pulls his body away just enough to turn around to face the door. He stays quiet until his chest is pressed against the wood before looking over his shoulder – hopefully glancing in Greg’s direction in the most enticing way possible.

So desperately, Tom wants to get fucked. Feel pleasure and pain and lust without having to protect his back and watch for the fallout. Intimacy with Shiv is a game. With Greg, Tom, despite still not really knowing the kid, is sure he’ll get exactly what he wants.

----

Head full of lust, Greg takes an obscene amount of time to recognize what Tom is putting up on offer. His cock is throbbing from the near orgasm, thoroughly cutting off the pipeline of blood back to his brain. Though, when the fog clears and Greg gets his shit together, the invitation is much too enticing to pass up. Especially with Tom looking over his shoulder so demurely like he is – Greg is but a man with a raging libido that’s never satiated. Throw in Tom’s good looks and his monster cock – at the end of the day, Greg is making out like a bandit. He’s the lucky one here.

Smiling at the thought, Greg sidles up to Tom’s back, wrapping one long arm around his middle. With his other hand, Greg reaches up to trace Tom’s lips with two of his fingers. Softly, almost as a whisper, Greg mutters, “suck.”

Tom wastes no time at all opening his mouth to do exactly what he’s told. The bossy man with sarcastic words and radical insults is nowhere to be found. In his place is someone needy and desperate, so taken apart that he’s thrusting his hips back against Greg in hopes of a little friction or something more.

Greg takes his time marveling at both the beauty before him and the power at his fingertips. Once he feels they’re wet enough, Greg drops his hand from Tom’s mouth, settling it between his pert ass cheeks, instead. Spit probably isn’t enough for what’s to come but Greg is too impatient to look for an alternative. Without any warning at all, his sloppy fingers trace Tom’s hole, pulling a jolt from the older man.

“Fuck, Greg!” Tom gasps, his voice thankfully muffled by the door he’s pressed against. While the party is raging on without them, there’s no need to alert the whole house as to what’s going on so soon. Greg is plenty certain Tom is only going to get louder the longer this goes on. In fact, he’s hoping for it.

After a second, Tom relaxes back, letting Greg easily push his first finger in to the knuckle. Tom is warm and tight around him, like the hot burn of the first hit of pot after a long day. The feeling of home is too much for what is supposed to be a quick fumble, though Greg can’t help the way it settles in and starts to take hold in his chest. He’s not put together enough to fight off the inevitable.

Pulling back, Greg thrusts his finger back into Tom – first gently, then with a little more umph. As predicted, Tom’s voice echoes more loudly around the room with every forward move. Two fingers replace the one eventually, the eager tips of them finding Tom’s prostate almost instantly. Greg reminds himself of that special spot and does his best to hit it with precision throughout the rest of his drawn out prep. Despite being strangers, Greg is compelled to take care of Tom, like it's engrained within him.

When impatience eventually bubbles up to the lip of their passion, Tom turns to look over his shoulder again, a glint of something unnamable in his eye. “Are you going to fuck me, or what?” Even in a position of submission, Tom is still an asshole. As the words process and Greg lets them settle in, a soft smile plays across his lips. They both know there’s no turning back now. The question is specifically to rile Greg up, to get him going and pushing things along.

Luckily, it strikes right where Tom obviously expects – Greg is suddenly desperate to make a space for himself inside that tight heat.

His fingers leave an emptiness that Tom thrusts back against, whining like a lost puppy (or horny little slut, the jury is still out) – the noise goes straight to Greg’s cock, making him even more impatient for what’s to come.

Gripping himself at the base, Greg shifts until the head of his cock is lined up against Tom’s rim. He plays with the pink muscle there, pushing and pressing against it. The tip slips in, breaching Ton for the first time.

“I don’t have a condom. Are you sure?” Greg asks, even as he’s pushing inside to slide forward inch by inch until he’s all the way home.

Snorting out a choked off laugh, Tom shakes his head that’s lulling between his shoulders. “Fuck you, Greg. Just take me. I don’t care – “

A hot burst of lust lances itself through Greg’s skin then – the permission is all he needs to thrust the last couple of inches inside so he’s surrounded by Tom in all ways. Leaning forward, Greg shifts his hips until the tip of his cock is pressed perfectly against that spot inside Tom; it makes him yowl like a cat in heat. If everyone doesn’t already know what they’re doing, it’s obvious now.

That thought sparks something in Greg. He’s a nothing without many prospects but there’s something he’s good at. He can take apart Tom, this seemingly perfectly put together person, and reduce him to groans and pleas and chuffed out noises Greg is certain the man doesn’t even know he’s making. It’s intoxicating and ludicrous all at once. He’s in no position to take or demand. He’s here to grovel, yet this man gives him things freely, without any sort of fight. His body. His trust. Even his irascible passion for more. Greg doesn’t deserve Tom or this gift but he’s going to cling to it for as long as he can.

Bursting through that thought bubble, Greg blinks back to the moment where Tom has one hand on the door to push himself back against Greg’s thrusts and the other fisting his cock. Their pace increased during Greg’s musings and things are quickly hurtling towards the edge of that steep cliff. His toes already feel like they’re hanging off and if Tom’s noises are anything to go by, the older man is standing right there with him.

Encouraged by that, Greg leans his weight even further into Tom’s back and frees a hand from its tight grip on Tom’s hips. Long fingers tangle with Tom’s so both of their hands move  ruthlessly over sensitive skin. Greg moans when the slickness of abundant precum registers – their hands are moving so easily because Tom is very wet. He’s leaking on himself, onto the floor, even against the door every time Greg thrusts forward to pin him against it. The whole scene is glorious and so much that Greg can’t hold on much longer.

Thankfully, Tom fumbles out a curse and tries to gasp out Greg’s name a second before his orgasm hits. Their hands move double time over Tom’s erection and Greg quickens his pace so his hips relentlessly thrust through their new rhythm, too. Greg lasts just long enough to milk Tom through his orgasm before the hurdle of that little death becomes the only thing Greg can think about. The free fall of cumming inside someone he feels a real connection with is novel and exhilarating and all kinds of addicting. Greg’s already hooked, wanting more before the first hit even settles.

Greg rests his head against the back of Tom’s neck, letting his chest settle and breathing return to normal. He sucks in a whiff of Tom’s cologne and fancy soap with each inhale, intoxicating him further. His head swims with a swell of happiness Greg is certain he’s never felt before.

Tom, it seems, is dealing with a similar situation.

“Fuck, fuck – did that really just happen?” Tom’s voice is wistful, like he’s still grasping for the straws of reality, of the here and now where they’re coming down from the best of highs.

Chuckling, Greg uses the last of his energy to kiss Tom’s neck. “You’re not dreaming, Tom. I promise.” He waits a beat, even presses another sloppy kiss against sweaty skin.

“I’ll take care of you, too. Just you wait and see.”

Greg doesn’t know how true his words are or how deep of a rabbit hole he’s about to head down. All he’s aware of in that moment is the rise and fall of Tom’s chest and the warm realization that the sarcastic ass in front of him didn’t negate him or try to fight back. Instead, Tom leans into him, embraces him further.

It’s funny what one ill-timed joke can do. Greg is certain it’s going to change his life for the better.

[mwolf0epsilon]

What is everyone's greatest fears and insecurities? (I promise this isn't bully anon and I have no ill intent.)

Going for the big guns uh? Buckle in then, let's see what kind of ammo the Fractos has to work with:

Henry Stein - His anger issues. Henry's childhood and adulthood were fairly turbulent because he's prone to getting fits of rage (an issue that was exacerbated when he was drafted to fight in the second world war). There's never been a moment in his life where he wasn't aware that he can hurt people very easily, and it scares him that this is possibly all he's good at. It's why drawing and gardening meant so much to him... For once he could make something good instead of destroying it...

Sammy Lawrence - That he's a weak-willed follower rather than the master of his own fate, untrustworthy and insignificant. His role as the Prophet disgusts him because it's everything he strived not to be, and the hypocrisy of it all left him questioning his identity and sense of self. What is he if he's not Samuel Lawrence Jr? Can he go back to calling himself that? Or is that just another name he can't ever return to ever again...? Just... Who is he?

Jack Fain - Being unable to protect himself and others, no matter how much he tried to be there for his friends. The sense of insignificance and powerlessness left him fearing that every single one if his efforts is in vain.

Susie Campbell - That she's not good enough. Always second best to someone more talented and beautiful than her. That no matter how hard she tried, she should have just given up and let the world step all over her.

Norman Polk - That he's nothing more than an unwanted and unlovable creepy brute. As a tall bulky man of his age and background, Norman's always had a lot against him. But, even when snapping at people or fighting back just as hard was warranted, he never let himself stoop so low. Becoming the out of control and monstrous Projectionist wounded him deeply...

Allison Pendle - That deep down she's just as selfish and careless as Joey. They got along fine because they had a level of understanding about certain arts they were mutually interested in... Maybe that means she's rotten like him. A danger to others if she ever becomes as jaded as he did...

Thomas Connor - The worst part is the guilt. If he hadn't been complacent to Joey's will to begin with, none of this would have happened. He's stuck in a cycle of grief and what ifs, afraid that he's damned everyone because of his own hubris as a prideful engineer.

Shawn Flynn - His willful ignorance will haunt him forever. He knew something was wrong, but he'd rather ignore it and make a quick buck than actually stop to think. It only struck him that he was in too deep when Grant began to deteriorate, and by then it was too late to stop. If only he hadn't been so selfish and cocky...

Grant Cohen - That he deserves all of this in some twisted terrible way. His life has always been one string of misfortunes after another. Maybe he was a bad person in another life. Maybe he didn't show enough people kindness in this one... Maybe he's just destined to suffer. He's always been and always will be unable to save himself...

Buddy Lewek - That he's too weak and cowardly to be of any help. Everyone has been doing so much to keep him safe, and he doesn't have the strength to do the same for them. He feels guilty about it, but he just... He just can't... He's afraid and he wants to go home. He wants his mom... And he feels bad that he's this pathetic when his friends need him most.

Abby Lambert - Regret, guilt, sorrow... She knows them all to well. Most of all she knows hatred the best... She hates that she was so bad a judge of character that she couldn't see just how bad things got. Just how far Joey would take it... She was blind to it all because she considered him a friend, and she'll never forgive herself or him for it...

Doc Hackenbush - That he didn't leave when he could have. He was aware and against the results of the experiments, but he was also curious. Morbidly so. He could have helped stop all of this before it got to this point... But instead chose to stay quiet. A choice that will haunt him forever.

Bertrum Piedmont - That he'd been too proud to realize he was digging himself and Lacie an early grave. What hurts most now isn't even the state he's in... It's that he damned his closest friend to this terrible fate as well...

Lacie Benton - That she couldn't convince Bertrum to not accept a contract with Joey. She knew something was off with the man... She just couldn't imagine this being how it ended... Feels like she failed her dearest friend.

Emma LaMonte - Her biggest regret is not telling her family how much she appreciated them. She'd been a stuck-up unpleasant and difficult lady all her life and now... She fears she'll never have a chance to make amends.

Detective Sinclair - That he failed Joey in some way, thus made him more prone to becoming less interested in being a law abiding citizen. He knows that something broke when he failed that case... That somehow he taught that young and impressionable puppy-eyed boy that justice only matters as long as you're caught... He's a failure of a detective and all of this is his fault...

The Ink Demon - That his imperfections are the reason everyone is suffering. That he's not good enough to deserve to live. That he's a monster that taints everything he touches... The list goes on...

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

The Critique of Manners, Part II

~Or~

A Candid Review of ITV's Emma (1997)

Disclaimer: I do know that both this and the Miramax version were released in 1996, but to avoid confusion, I refer to this one as the “1997 Emma” in reference to the US release date.

The bones of this review were written some six years ago after my initial viewing. I’ve watched it three or four times since then, two very recently (Within the past year). I’d started to soften on it in the most recent watch. So many people love it so much I thought surely maybe I’m just crazy or even wrong; until I found this blog post from 2008 (a year before my favorite version was released) that hit on almost EVERY SINGLE thing that skeeved me out about this version when I first watched it.

Like my previous review of Emma. (2020), I’ll be covering the cast and overall handling of the script in comparison with what I know from reading the book. I will also be commenting on my thoughts about the costumes (Whether they are attractive or accurate, or both, or neither) which will be a bit more in depth than it was for the 2020 version, and this will set a pattern for the costumes section going forward.

Directed by Diarmuid Lawrence with screenwriting by Andrew Davies (Or should I say “Written by Andrew Davies with direction by Diarmuid Lawrence”?), this version was  a fan-favorite among Janeites for many years for … well, reasons I’ve never been entirely certain of. I’ve read the book twice through and referenced pertinent passages MANY times besides, and really I don’t see what they’re raving about.

Let’s dive in.

Cast & Characterization

I’d known about this adaptation for a while, but I held off on watching it, largely for one reason: my apprehension about Mark Strong playing Mr. Knightley.

     I was concerned because when I watched this I had already seen Mark Strong as Sir John Conroy in The Young Victoria and as Lord Blackwood in Sherlock Holmes, both very unpleasant characters. But there have been several occasions when I expressed displeasure with casting choices only to eat my words when I actually watched the movie. So I entered into watching this with an optimistic outlook, sure that Mark and Kate would surprise me with brilliant performances. And I would like to say that they did, but that would be an untruth.

My biggest fear about Mark Strong playing Mr. Knightley was that his rebuking of Emma was going to be a watered down version of ‘RAAAWWWRRR’ that I was familiar with, specifically because of The Young Victoria. It’s very hard for me to see Mark Strong point his finger in Emily Blunt’s face and shout at her, and then watch him do the same thing with Kate Beckinsale (only somewhat less aggressively) and expect to feel all warm and fuzzy about their romance. I expected that to be a tall order. And it was. Whenever he raises his voice, the right side of his face pulls up into a snarl. Now since it does this no matter what role he’s playing I’m guessing that’s just how his face is. It’s not his fault really and it’s almost certainly unintentional, but I’ve seen that snarl before and it does NOT belong on Mr. Knightley’s face.

   Don’t ever think I don’t LOVE Kate Beckinsale, and I don’t necessarily think that my problems with this interpretation of Emma are her fault; these things very rarely fall on the shoulders of the actual actors, but those of the screenwriters and directors who guide them. However – and I am aware that this might sound a bit harsh – I would say that at points, Kate Beckinsale’s performance in this movie (In my opinion) barely outstrips community theatre or even very good high school drama club level acting. It seems to me that there’s burden on her here to sound historical or period. This lends to this interpretation of Emma feeling at once both cold and childish (more on that later.)

Her best moments are when she runs into Jane as Jane is leaving Donwell and when she speaks with Robert Martin at the end of the film. I always like scenes where Emma tacitly apologizes to Mr. Martin, and her feeling when she invites him to Donwell is Kate’s finest moment in this movie.

I found Raymond Coulthard’s Frank Churchill insignificant at first, but on repeat viewings I really started to hate him. I don’t think Austen intended Frank’s caddishness (to use more modern vernacular I’d say he’s an utter “Douche”) to be quite this obvious on first glance. He’s a creep in this version and Raymond Coulthard is just not at all attractive to me, from his big nose to his little shark teeth.

Olivia Williams was a good, even great, Jane Fairfax, and in my opinion does a much better job of portraying Jane’s vexation than, say, Polly Walker did (more on that next time), while still quietly looking like she’d like to arm-bar Frank rather than take his vulgar teasing lying down.

She also has the distinction of being the only Jane Fairfax who’s singing REALLY blows Emma’s out of the water, and I like that all of the songs she sings are in languages other than English (primarily Italian I think?). This achieves the double whammy of showing how much more accomplished she is than Emma by emphasizing that not only does Jane sing and play better, but she knows languages too.

Samantha Morton is a superb actress whom I love and I was sort of appalled at how she looks in this movie. Is she dying of a wasting illness? She looks like a gust of wind will carry her away, although since she looked the same in the 1997 Jane Eyre (In which she played the title role under similarly appalling direction) perhaps that was just her look that year?

Dominic Rowan, as Mr. Elton, is… there’s a perfect word to describe it and I just can’t think of it right now. Like every other young man in this movie (other than Robert Martin) he’s got this feeling of skeeviness to me but it’s more than that. It’s a dweebie-ness as well. This is so dissatisfactory to me because Mr. Elton is supposed to have every appearance of charm and agreeableness, with his only obvious fault being his over-eagerness to ingratiate himself to Emma and some rather vulgar locker-room type talk about marrying for fortune. He’s just so… (I’ve hit upon it now after some discussion with my sister) dingy. He looks less like a “very handsome young man” who “knows the value of a good income” and more like the kind of guy that scrubs up okay, but still you can tell from the rumple of his clothes and the pizzaroni odor wafting from him that he lives in his mom’s basement.

The shining star for me in this production was Alistair Petrie as Robert Martin. I love him as an actor and especially after watching him in Cranford, I think he was an excellent choice for Harriet’s Mr. Martin.

Davies wrote the character to be a little more romantic (Actually buying Anne Radcliffe’s The Romance of the Forest, where originally Mr. Martin was supposed to forget to – something Emma uses as a mark against him to prove how he will age into an “gross vulgar old farmer” who is “obsessed with profit and loss”.)

I especially like an inserted scene where Mr. Martin, working in his field, sees a distressed Jane Fairfax from afar as she is walking home (I think from Donwell). I thought it drew an interesting parallel between two emotionally wronged characters that otherwise would have no interaction.

What’s with Mrs. Elton (Lucy Robinson)? I don’t think nearly enough people question this. I’ve seen it explained away as her being from Bristol and trying to make herself sound more hoity-toity to hide the fact that she’s New Money. I’m not positive on what a Bristol accent sounds like (For that is where Augusta Hawkins is from) but… this sounds like an American trying to sound posh. At some points she almost sounds Texan. It’s all very confusing, because the actress is British.  

Prunella Scales lists among her achievements being an outstanding actress and comedienne, as well as bringing into the world Samuel West, one of my all time favourite British screen crushes. She's probably best known for her work on Fawlty Towers, so its interesting to see her range as much less inscrutable Miss Bates. Her performance is by the book, but so much more engaging than Constance Chapman's 1972 offering, although i find her perhaps a shade too placid. She lacks a certain nervousness that I associate with the character (for more information, see my previous review.)

As for Bernard Hepton as Mr. Woodhouse, I can only say I. Didn’t. Like. Him. I have every consciousness of this being a personal bias. I have seen him play too many insufferable characters in too many things to like him as Emma’s lovable if tiresome father. This isn’t a knock on him or his performance; his reaction to Mrs. Elton is some great subtle visual comedy, this is just a me thing.

Another one of the better characterizations, though a relatively small role, is John Knightley. Played by Guy Henry, he is shown to be a good father, and an “Gentleman-like man”, with just the right blend of good humor and caustic comments.

Sets & Surroundings

I’d never paid MUCH attention to or questioned the houses and interiors used for estates in Austen adaptations until the 2020 version of Emma used such ridiculously lavish houses for relatively provincial gentry it forced me to sit up and pay attention. I think the houses used in this version are mostly suitable.

The part of Donwell Abbey’s exterior is played by Sudeley Castle in Gloucestershire. The Key words for Donwell from the text are “rambling and irregular” and while perhaps not as big as the Former Claremont House (Which, it is believed, was Austen’s inspiration for Donwell Abbey) it definitely is a suitable architectural style and situation and furthermore, having been purchased in the 19th century by a glove manufacturer and having been up to that point left in a little bit of a state of disrepair, fits the “neglect of prospect” Austen describes as well. Its interiors are a cobble-work of the Great Hall at Broughton Castle (Oxfordshire), various rooms at Stanway House (Gloucestershire), and the Strawberry beds at Thame Park (Oxfordshire)

(Top, left – Sudeley Castle; Bottom left – Trafalgar Park; Right – Dorney Court)

Trafalgar Park in Wiltshire and its interiors (a minty sage-green drawing-room fitting in perfectly with the mint-chocolate – primarily chocolate – color palette of the production) played the role of the Woodhouse’s home, Hartfield. A typical Georgian style house in red brick, I believe is consistent with Austen’s description of a “well built, modern house”.

Dorney Court in Buckinghamshire was used for Randalls, Mr. Weston’s recently purchased estate. It’s a Tudor style red brick house and it looks pretty on the mark from the front facade, but I think it’s still too big for a “small estate” with only two guest rooms (Although there’s no panic about the snow in this version – perhaps because it’s already snowing when they set out.)

My biggest problem is the lighting of this movie. I understand natural lighting and I LOVE it when you can even it out – but it is so dark in the evening scenes that it adds to the colorlessness of an already colorless production.

Fashion

Oh Jenny Beavan. You are a well-respected costume designer with good reason. However, I know that most of these costumes are rentals, but why is every-fucking-thing in this movie a shade of brown, beige or green?

As you can see, a rich tapestry of brown and beige. And this isn’t selective. this is (just about) every day-wear outfit in the movie (barring repeats and a few exceptions that I’ll give mention to below.)

Emma’s outerwear is brought to you by Hershey’s Chocolate. Also I’m not certain but I think  that her light brown redingote is the same one as Elinor’s in the 1995 Sense and Sensibility? If anyone can confirm, drop it in the comments.

Perhaps the evening wear will be more colorful?

Barely – Mrs. Weston in a brownish orange; Mrs. John Knightley in an orange-ish brown; Emma gets a dark blue? Or is that just the wintery glow from the window on a dark green velvet? Green (either so dark it’s almost black, or washed-out mint) appears to be the only color Emma is allowed to wear other than brown or ivory/white. Even her gown for the Crown Inn Ball (upper right) is an underwhelming and rather dingy ivory. The champagne number she wears for Christmas at Randalls is not only lack-lustre, but also sports what I’m now calling a “Bridgerton Bust” (where the Empire waist comes up too high, with the seam apparently resting across her bust rather than under it.)

The pink frock (seen properly only from the back) on Mrs. Weston is as close to real color as a main character gets in this production, and can be recognized as one of Jane Bennet’s dresses from the previous year’s Pride and Prejudice.

Even Jane Fairfax doesn’t get a break. Rather than putting her in Jane Fairfax Blue ™ (honestly, Jane Fairfax being costumed in blue is so consistent at this point Crayola should just name a crayon in her honor - this is gonna come back in future reviews) she gets a black-green evening number with no trim at all, and a succession of what the Ladies over at Frock Flicks like to call the “Dumpy Regency Little White Dress”, or drab gray-blues.

Some of the background dancers in the Crown Inn Ball scene get to wear pink! Why not put Harriet in a nice pink frock for this scene?! Why is this so difficult?!

Strawberry picking at Donwell is the only time main characters are consistently wearing identifiable colors that aren’t brown or green: Mrs. Weston in pink, Miss Bates in (oddly the most colorful dress of them all) a nice refreshing lavender blue; Jane gets grey/blue and Mrs. Elton, a pastel mint. Harriet is also given a little break in Mrs. Elton’s introduction scene in a (very) pastel blue frock, while Emma sports white (with a trademark green shawl.)

So how about the...

Similarly dull. I almost screamed for joy when I saw that Frank’s jacket was actually blue, and a vibrant blue at that. (The red is too close to brown, I’m sorry.)

So yes, in short the costumes, while perfectly technically accurate (I didn’t get a lot of caps of them but the trousers sufficiently tight, not that I care to look), are drab as a peahen.

As always I’ll outsource any dancing critique by linking Tea With Cassiane on YouTube, since I find her insights on the approach to dancing in Austen adaptations just fascinating and I would like to share such witty and informed reviews.

The Andrew Davies of it All…

*Strong Opinions Ahead*

There are so many reasons why this adaptation isn’t for me. First of all the very idea of making Emma, one of Austen’s most socially complex works (certainly her most vivid) into a sparse 107 minutes is baffling to me. Perhaps I can understand if it’s a Theatrical release but this is a TV production. Why not at least make it a two part special?

And besides the issue that, in order to make this fit the time frame, the story is severely truncated, there’s… the Andrew Davies of it all.

I have some issues with Andrew Davies’ screenwriting for this adaptation particularly. A LOT of issues. Where does one start? I think Knightley is a good place.

It’s not just the casting I don’t like here; but it does say something to me that they chose Mark Strong for this role. It’s a casting decision I discovered with disbelief when I first saw clips from this version in a Period Drama men compilation video on YouTube. I mentioned above that I know Mark Strong as unpleasant characters with man-handling habits. That’s the kind of role Mark Strong is associated with because that’s just what he does well. And I think this played into the casting here, because Davies’ interpretation of Knightley is a bit… fierce. He shouts SO MUCH in this movie and in scenes like the Harriet Smith debacle (where Mr. Knightley of the book even gets a bit angry with Emma) I can understand this, perhaps. But in the book Mr. Knightley takes many pauses to collect and calm himself, because his goal is not to quarrel with Emma but to argue a point. 97 Knightley takes no such pauses and spends the whole scene in what some might call an escalating rage.

Knightley’s cheerful arrival to Hartfield to tell Emma that Robert Martin intended to propose to Harriet is cut out so we start right off with his indignant exclamation of “She refused him?!” and it’s all go from there. To make matters worse, Emma’s own arguments are crippled by Davies’ editing. Many of her more (what might even latterly be considered “feminist”) arguments are cut out. In fact once Knightley gets going, he juggernauts his way through all of his rebukes and speeches from the book, but Emma hardly gets a word in edgewise after arguing that Robert Martin is not Harriet’s equal. What Austen wrote as a heated debate is turned by Davies into a one-sided tirade. (By don’t take my word for it, watch the clip.)

The final cherry on top is having Emma, after Knightley leaves the room with the last word firmly in his grasp, childishly pout “You are wrong Mr. Knightley, and you will see you are wrong and then you will be sorry.” I half expected her to cross her arms and stomp her foot. Worth noting is the fact that Davies adds an additional “It was badly done. Emma,” in this scene where there was none in the book. Rather overkill to my mind. Is this his catchphrase?

At Box Hill, Davies has Knightley begin his climactic rebuke of Emma’s insulting behavior by grabbing her arm and hauling her aside, and concludes by leading her, still holding her arm, to the carriage. Well at least he doesn’t shout at her in this scene; but again, all but one of Emma’s responses are cut out and she stands there, pouting until Mr. Knightley leaves and then she bursts into tears.

When Mr. Knightly proposes to Emma I was feeling good about this scene, until he dropped the “I held you when you were three weeks old” line, and I immediately felt uncomfortable. Maybe you DON’T want mention how you held her when she was a baby after you asked her to MARRY you. But perhaps worse is Emma’s response to the line: “Do you like me as well now as you did then?”

Bringing up holding Emma when she was three weeks old at the proposal (A line which was not in the book) is bad enough but there seems to be a peculiar repeated emphasis on Knightley recalling Emma as a baby. He dragged it up previously when he and Emma make up after the Harriet debacle, as he holds John and Isabella’s baby daughter (whose name, I would mention, is Emma.) In this instance too, the line is a Davies addition.

Let’s talk about Knightley’s strawberry line.

This is delivered in voice-over as a transition to the strawberry picking party at Donwell, and is portrayed as a formal invitation: “Mr. Knightley invites you to taste his strawberries, which are ripening fast.”

At first I was confident that I was reading too much into this (but I think at this point I can safely say that I’m not). I can’t help bursting out laughing every time I hear that line. It was a questionable way to word that if you ask me, especially considering that this is (once again) NOT the line in the book, and it was NOT a formal invitation. It was said to Mrs. Elton and intended to be a joke.  

“You had better explore Donwell then,” replied Mr. Knightly “That may be done without horses. Come and eat the strawberries; they’re ripening fast.”

   ‘ If Mr. Knightly did not begin seriously, he was obliged to proceed so...’

   And here I thought Janeites hated adaptations that cut out “Miss Austen’s biting wit.”

To top it all off, we have Frank Churchill (Who I have already pointed out is a bit of a creep in this adaptation and even more detestable than he already was as Austen wrote him) praising Jane: this would be fine, if he wasn’t drooling into Emma’s ear about the turn of Jane’s throat, (He actually utters this line)

and how fine his dead aunt’s jewels will look against her skin. May I just be the first to say “Ehewhegaugh”.

I juxtapose this with the book where Frank's lines are almost exactly as Davies renders them, except Jane Austen never wrote the "have you ever seen such a skin?" Line. The difference i have highlighted in bold:

"... She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is she not an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes as she looks up at my father. --- You will be glad to hear that my uncle intends to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will it not be beautiful in her dark hair?"

Because talking about how pretty your fiancee's hair is, is normal and marginally less creepy than talking about what a fine skin she has or how lovely your (i cannot stress this part enough) dead aunt's jewels will look against it. Davies' script also makes no mention of having them reset, which makes me think he’s talking about the actual necklaces and bracelets Mrs. Churchill would have worn.

But hey, maybe its just a me thing.

Harriet Smith’s story suffers, primarily, I can with some candor admit, due to the time constraints. After Mr. Elton is married, we never see Harriet in any distress. It’s almost as though she’s forgotten all about it! Emma never has to appeal to her to exert herself or to move on. Perhaps this is better than Doran Godwin’s Emma gaslighting Harriet and manipulating her by constantly chastising her for… well general heartbreak (but that’s a bugaboo for a different review.)

My last complaint of note is that ludicrous harvest feast at the end of the movie. The whole concept of this scene just does not seem at all Janely to me. I was under the impression that I was meant to be watching an Austen. Not some bullshit Thomas Hardy knock-off. This is another Davies touch and I hate it more on the principal that it is one of his numerous, obsessive tweaks made solely to point out the existence of the lower classes.

If Davies wanted to show Mr. Knightley’s being an attentive landlord and gentleman farmer then I don’t see why he couldn’t just show Knightley actually running his farm?

“Okay’, you might say, “but I think the highlighting of the servants is to show how good Knightley is by treating them like real people compared to everyone else”, and I hear you. And in the situations where that is the case, like him greeting the Woodhouse’s butler and asking after his family I think that’s totally fine and in character. But things like the servants moving the knee cushions every time someone moves down the line at strawberry picking, to me, is AS ridiculous as the “servants clipping the lawn on their hands and knees with tiny scissors” trope. Like we get it, people took the lower classes for granted, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that it would be easier and more realistic to have Mrs. Elton have to move her own knee cushion. I don’t think Knightley would instruct his servants, who he treats so well, to do that kind of thing, but you could write in Mrs. Elton’s expectation of it if you wanted. It seems like the kind of thing she would expect the landed gentry to do.

Screenwriter for some of the best loved Austen’s (including the sacrosanct 1995 P&P Mini-series and my favorite Sense & Sensibility), I thought of Davies for years as untouchable; until Sanditon happened and left everyone who knows anything about Jane Austen really wondering where this mess came from. I put it to you now that it was there in Davies all along.

Davies admitted, when talking about the drastic “Sexing Up” he did in Sanditon that he felt Austen’s works could have done with a bit more sex appeal. I can hardly disagree and additions like Darcy’s little swim in the pond and Edward Ferrars’ angsty wood-chopping are welcome and beloved. But it seems that what he really wanted all along was what he gave us in Sanditon; and finally, without actual source material to stand in his way, he had a chance let his dirty old man show and gave “Austen” the sexing up he thought it needed.

And it gets more troubling as you look back.

In my opening paragraph to this review I mentioned a 2008 blog post that not only agreed with me that there’s something very off about this screenplay, but gave me some possible insights as to why. It points out numerous things that I have always questioned in this version but have never seen anyone else criticize (though I am informed that more recently it has gained its’ share of critics). In fact the post itself actually points out that almost no one in the Austen Blog-sphere had (at that point) criticized this version’s faults in any meaningful way, but my favorite thing about it is that it points out what you find in Davies’ screenplay if you pay careful attention to it “Rather than sitting there and cataloguing what is “technically faithful and whatnot”.

Many Austen bloggers have kind of been playing Miss Taylor to Davies’ Emma for some two decades and change.

The most troubling thing of all is Davies own comments on Mr. Knightley (and other things, more inferred in his screen play). All of the aspects of this interpretation of Knightley that I mentioned earlier seem to stem from the fact that, as quoted in Sarah Caldwell’s book on his works, Davies thinks there’s “Something odd going on with Knightley.”

Davies clearly reads foul, or at least questionable, intentions in Mr. Knightley but I find it interesting that, rather than cutting out material he may have found troubling about Knightley in the book out of his screenplay, he doubled down by adding MORE troubling lines and situations (that were never in the book at all, and imagined solely by himself) in a romantic story with a happy ending.

Perhaps there’s not so much something odd going on with Knightley, Mr. Davies, but with you.

Final Thoughts

At this point I might ask what it is that everyone sees in this version that makes them think it’s so perfect, but that would be a bit pointless since all I’ve read since I discovered this version is people on elaborating on just that and I don’t care to hear much more.

“The lines are verbatim!” textually, perhaps, but it’s the ones that added that trouble me.

“The leads have so much chemistry!” I’m glad you think so, but I can’t find it.

“The costumes are damn near perfect!” And brown. So, so very brown.

As a 90's TV period drama, this version is pretty standard. It sticks to the book (except in those places where the screenwriter saw fit to dabble with some subtle but troubling suggestions about the characters.) And if it floats your boat, as always I'm glad it gives you what you want from the story.

I know I hold unpopular opinions on Jane Austen adaptations, and perhaps this is one of them, but every time I watch this version I feel the need to read the book as a cleanse. Perhaps Davies’s ferocious Knightley was simply a pendulum swing reaction to Douglas McGrath’s almost too laid back interpretation in the Miramax film from earlier in 1996, but even if that’s the case it’s just uncalled for and is my biggest turn off for this film.

Tone: 3

Ribbon Rating: Badly Done! (40 Ribbons)

Casting: 5

Acting: 6

Scripting: 4

Pacing: 2

Cinematography: 4

Setting: 3

Costumes: 5

Music: 2

Book Accuracy: 6

[thefact0rygirl]

Vee? May I ask for some soft words on your blog? I feel like a total loser because, due to my mental instability, I’m not able to work and therapy is a very slow process. And even if I might end up being healthy enough to work, it might not be a “normal” job but a workplace for disabled people where I don’t even make enough money to pay for my rent. I just feel like it’s not worth fighting for if I end up needing money from the state anyways. And everyone else here seems to be building a normal adult life while I don’t have an education

Hey babes. I’m sorry this is so late, but I hope you can still find some comfort 💖

You are not a loser.

Your mental instability does not take away from your value.

Your existence is not a burden. It is not a mistake.

Society has warped us into thinking that mental illness and disability are associated with being lazy, a loser, ugly, a nobody, etc. It’s so, so fucked up. And the farthest thing from the truth.

I don’t want to say I understand how you feel; all I can say is I can relate to feeling hopeless through my own struggles. I spent a majority of my life dealing with undiagnosed mental illness and eating disorders until a couple years ago. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder a few years ago and while it’s been helpful, it's also been fucking hell to deal with.

You've spoken such true words when you say therapy is a very slow process. It's slow and it fucking sucks. I feel no one likes to admit how challenging it can be. It’s not all aesthetic tiktoks and pretty pastel colors like it’s made out to be. It’s messy and dirty and hard as hell.

When I started going to regularly, it made me angry. I put this unnecessary burden on myself that I had to be “cured” in a certain timeframe. I didn’t realize until recently that this is not how therapy works. In fact, it is only unraveling all of the work I’ve done so far. And I’ll be fucking damned if I have to redo the progress I made.

What helped me come to terms with progress (and hopefully you find some comfort!) is that we are trying to dismantle a lifetime worth of unhealthy habits and cycles. These habits and cycles are familiar for us. They’re comforting in a really fucked up way, because it’s all we’ve known. It’s what we had to do to survive. And the human mind hate change, especially if this change is perceived as being a threat to our well being. Our bad cycles and habits (no matter how damaging) are familiar and comforting. We don't really see them as threats to our well being, even when they are.

We can’t expect to fix a lifetime of habits in a certain timeframe. To be honest, I still find myself waiting for that big moment where I wake up and my head isn’t fucked up and I can like what I see in the mirror and eat a meal and not feel guilty about eating and actually take out the trash and not have a panic attack. When I’m having a bad episode, not having that big beautiful moment is crushing. It makes me want to say fuck it to the world and stay in bed. It takes a lot to get me to move, but I have to do it because, like you said, therapy is slow. Don’t go back in time and lose time by unraveling the work you’ve done. No matter how small or insignificant you may think it is, that is still time that you are losing.

Even the tiniest steps are progress. You may think there is nothing substantial you can do. But you don’t need to. Small things become big things. I spent over a year in weekly therapy session and a shit ton of medication thinking that it wasn’t doing anything until I realized that I allowed my partner to hug me. This was a massive step for me and something I would have never been able to do.

And progress includes asking for help.

Needing assistance is not a sign of failure. If you need help, then you need help. End of. Fuck the opinion of people who don’t truly know what it means to be hungry or not know if you’re going to have a home.

You are not a failure, society is for perpetuating this feeling of failure.

The government is not set up to help its people. I don’t care what government it is, who is in charge, or what your political beliefs are, it all operates the same. Especially in the United States. You are not Jeff Bezos and you need help to pay your rent. You need help to buy food.

Getting assistance, whether it be from a friend or the state or wherever, will help you get to a better place. Denying yourself help is only validating your feelings of worthlessness and honestly, it’s taking away from any progress you may be doing. You are worth it.

And fuck a “normal” adult life. It doesn’t exist.

We are constantly bombarded with seeing other people’s success and viewing other people’s lives through the filtered and picturesque filters of social media. Everyone glamorizes their lives. All that this does is send us subliminal messages of toxic productivity and misleading beliefs.

Life doesn’t come with a map, and everyone experiences different twists and turns and events the shape us. But we don't see those struggles, all we see if what we want people to see. We fall into the rat race and trying to catch up with others without realizing what we are trying to obtain isn’t even real. The people who seem to have that normal adult life don’t even have it.

Normal looks different for us all, and it is constantly changing. The only thing I can say is find what normal looks like for you right now. And if you’re wanting to create a new normal, take small steps. Baby steps. Take steps that just involve twitching your big toe. It doesn't need to be significant or mean anything to anyone except yourself. Be selfish when it comes to your well being and progress.

I hope this helps, or at least distracts you for a minute 💖

And to reiterate from before -

You are not a loser.

It doesn’t take away from the fact that you are a living being.

Your existence is not a burden. It is not a mistake.

[meigh-day]

Breathing Lilies (Tendou x Reader) - Part 6

Here is Part 6. Hope you enjoy this Tendou focused chapter. Also, “The Girl” finally has a name...

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Title: Breathing Lilies

Characters: Tendou/Ushijima/OC Students/F!Reader

Includes: Hanahaki Disease, Angst

Status: Complete

Word Count: 1.6k

Previous Next

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"Dammit Tendou!!" Goshiki grumbled petulantly as he watched the ball leisurely roll by his feet.

"Awe. Cheer up man." Tendou peered through the net at his teammate. "If you really want to be the ace you'll have to get through me." The way he said it. You'd almost take that as a threat but they knew it wasn't. It was simply a challenge. Goshiki wanted to surpass Ushijima some day and Tendou was happy to encourage him in his own way.

"Hmph...whatever. Let's clean up." Despite how sullen he was acting, the black haired boy felt inspired. He would keep trying, if only to see the shock on Tendou's face when he spiked a balk right past him.

Once the gym was put back in order and they'd said their goodbyes, Tendou and Ushijima found themselves together on the walk back towards the dorm.

"Wakatoshi..."

"Hm?"

Satori slowed his face, glancing over at his friend before continuing his thought.

"Is something wrong with Y/N?"

Ushijima kept his expression neutral but was pleased to hear he was starting to notice.

"Did she say something?"

"Well, she kinda got mad at me the other day." Here he paused, thinking about what you had said and, when prompted by his stoic faced friend, explained.

"I didn't get it as first but I think I'm starting to..." Again he paused, looking thoughtful doe a moment. "But, it wasn't just that. She seemed...off... I could feel her shaking and I mean I know she was mad...but I just don't think that was why. You must have noticed something's wrong with her too, right?"

"Yes." Wakatoshi stopped, their already slow pace halting completely. "You should talk to her. It might take some serious convincing on your part but...she needs you." It was just a tiniest trace of a hint, just a little encouragement to push in in the right direction. He was willing to try and give this a chance. One chance, before he took things into his own hands.

Tendou found his friends statement a little perplexing but it also didn't make him feel better. It seemed like Wakatoshi knew more than he was letting on but Tendou also knew there was no power in this wide world that could make his friend talk. If Ushijima was going to tell him whatever it was, he simply would have told him.

"I'll do or say whatever I need to, to get her to listen to me...."

The following day Tendou stood anxiously in the corridor near your class, his beady red eyes peeled just waiting for his moment to pounce. He was going to be relentless, he'd drag you off against your will if he had to. It didn't matter if you hit him or yelled at him or ever cried, he wasn't going to let you do until he'd coaxed it out5 of you.

"Uh...Tendou..." He spun around and came face to face with 'her'.

"Oh, hey Sumi." A smile greeted her as he looked down at her but she didn't return it. Instead she signed and motioned for him to follow her.

"Can this wait? I was waiting for Y/N...need to talk to her." He took a few hesitant steps forward, glancing around the hallway hoping to catch sight of you.

"No. I'm sorry but it can't. It has something to do with her actually...please."

He offered her a quiet nod and followed her into the closet empty room. Once inside, and she was sure the two of you were alone, Sumi let out a sigh, facing away towards the windows. All night she had thought long and hard about what she had done and what she had seen. To say she felt guilty just didn't cover it. People had called her selfish in the past and they had every right to do so. It wasn't that she was unfeeling but until now the only consequences of her actions had been hurt feelings or maybe some tears. This time, her self-centered actions were on the verge of costing someone their life. She hated herself for it.

"I made a mistake. I lied to you about..everything."

"What..are you talking about?"

"I...was never really interested in going out with you. Honestly, I wanted to try and get closer to Ushijima so I pretended to like you."

She tried to keep her voice even as she spoke. It was the first time she'd ever had to come face to face with what a shitty person she was. Her gaze in the windows caught the reflection of his face and his expression just cemented that fact even further.

Tendou looked absolutely crushed. He could have handled it if she had said he just wanted her type or that she didn't feel the same. But to find out he more or less meant nothing to her, well it made him feel insignificant.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me. I hope you never do but I am hoping to try to fix what I've done to Y/N."

"Y/N?" That got his attention. Amidst the swirling pool of emotions he was falling into, hurt by the cruelty of the girl before him had inflicted, it was all put on hold when she said your name. If Sumi had been heartless to him, he could only imagine what she might have done to you.

"What did you do to her?" His voice was low and heated, the harsh tone making her flinch away.

"I just...If it wasn't for me...If I'd left you alone...she might not have gotten sick."

That..was not what he was expecting. Tendou was ready for her to say she had said something horrible to her or bullied her in someway...not that she had made her sick.

"I...What?...How?"

Sumi sighed, you hadn't told him. Not that she was overly surprised. This wasn't her first time dealing with someone who had this disease.

"Tendou, I don't know what you and Y/N mean to each other..." She paused for a moment. "It really isn't my place to tell you..."

He listened to her hesitant words, a cold unease settling into the pit of his stomach.

"Please Sumi. What's wrong with her?" Satori's voice came out softer, the anger replaced with apprehension. The way she looked back at him, sympathy in her eyes, made him feel ill.

"She has Hanahaki."

"Hana....haki?" The name sounded familiar but he'd only heard it in passing. Though what he has heard was not pleasant.

"No. No that can't be right." He shakes his head in denial. "You..you're wrong. People only get that when....and...and we....I.."

"I know this is a lot to take in right now Tendou. I am, unfortunately, all too familiar with it. Hard to mistake it when you see someone coughing up flower petals and..." Sumi stop short, not wanting to finish her thought.

"And what?" He had to know. He needed to know what was wrong and he needed to know the truth. This was nothing like the things he had imagined might be bothering you. It was so much worse.

"...blood." Sumi let out a shaky sigh, averting her gaze. "My sister had it too. It was...awful."

Tendou ran a hand through his hair, his heart racing. He needed to know more so, for now, he put aside what she had done to him so he could focus on finding out more to help you.

"Your sister...did she get better?"

"No." Sumi crossed her arms along her chest as she thought back. " You'd be surprised by how many people choose to wait and hope. Instead of getting it removed my sister kept it. She loved them so deeply and couldn't bear to lose any memories they had made, including her feelings for them."

Silence. For several long seconds they stood there, neither of them saying a thing. Tendou's mind was racing. How long had you been sick and why hadn't you told him? Part of him felt hurt and sad you hadn't come to him. Though he could only imagine how hard this had been for you and he knew you well enough that he was certain you only did this to spare him more pain. Like Ushijima, he wished you would rely on him more and not try to do so much alone. Tendou wanted to be someone you could depend on, someone you would come to for help. He wanted you to let him help you shoulder your troubles.

"What...happened to her?" It was a pretty shitty question to ask under normal circumstances but he needed to know if there was any hope and Sumi's feelings didn't matter right now. She glanced back over at him, her lips pressing into a line before falling into a frown.

"She died. The roots kept spreading and the flowers bloomed and grew until they suffocated her." Her voice trembled as she spoke but she didn't care that you had asked. Honestly, she was willing to do whatever it took to help you. Hoping she could give you a chance to live, hoping you didn't meet the same end as her sister.

"Tendou, do you really only think of Y/N as a friend?" She paused for a moment, her thoughts wandering. "When I watched the two of you, I honestly didn't think this fucked up plan I had stood a chance. You guys just looked like you were...together. And the way you look at each other..." Sumi paused, an imagine in her head stilling. Even before she had decided to enact her malicious plan, she had seen the two of you almost everyday and couldn't help wishing someone would look at her the way he looked at you.

"You look at her like you're watching a sunset." Tears began to gather at the edges of her eyes.

" I hate what I've done to you...to her." Sumi could never go back and change the things she had done but she was going to try and make amends, starting with you. As she turns to go, Tendou stops her with one final question.

"Can I actually save her?"

"That all depends on you."

[batwynn]

Quarantine Positive Mental and Physical Health Checklist:

Note: Not everything works for everyone and not every service is provided by your local services, so please always take advice with consideration of that fact. ALWAYS check with your doctor or informed professionals about anything that requires medical treatment, etc. 

(American) National Suicide Hotline:

1-800-273-8255

List of international hotlines:

http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

(WARNING! Some of these are no longer operational. Double check in your country for a line if one of these does not work.)

*IF  YOU HAVE/THINK YOU HAVE COVID19 AND ARE SELF ISOLATING TO HEAL AT HOME:

*If you have asthma or any other chronic lung conditions, heart conditions, or kidney conditions please be sure to call either your doctor’s office or the ER if you are experiencing any symptoms of the virus. (Fever, dry cough, trouble breathing.)

*If you are trans and bind or bind your chest for any reason, DO NOT WEAR A BINDER IF YOU HAVE ANY OF THE SYMPTOMS! This virus attacks the lungs! You could cause serious complications and end up hospitalized or worse. I understand the need to bind, and I understand the dangers of not binding. But please, please DO NOT BIND when sick or symptomatic. 

WHO does not recommend people use Ibuprofen, but to use Tylenol for fever and pain reduction.  

Please remember to keep up your intake of fluids!

Checklist: 

Have you taken your medication(s)? — with the stress levels at high right now, now might be a good time to make up a schedule somewhere for your daily medications and their times. If you need reminders, you can use your phone’s calendar function (with an alert set at ‘at the time of the event’) or the ‘reminders’ application (iPhone). If you can’t use these, or don’t have them on your phone, consider asking someone who is available and able to send you a message/text/call to alert you to take your medication(s). If you don’t have a phone, try to place the schedule somewhere you will see it often during the day. (Possibly on the fridge, by your desk, by your bed, etc.) Multiple copies of the schedule might also help.  

Have you been drinking your water, or other fluids? —Hydration is important whether you’re sick or not! If you have trouble drinking water, good alternatives would be coconut water or low-added-sugar juices. (100% juices are best) Sipping soups like broth can also hydrate, but be careful of salt content! Many fruits and veggies also have a high water content. Try: celery, cauliflower, spinach, broccoli, dark leafy greens, tomatoes, watermelon, cantaloupe, strawberries, kiwis or oranges.

Have you spoken today? If not, try to read a few lines of something out loud just to stretch out your jaw and vocal cords a bit. A lot of tension can be held in your jaw, and it’s good to loosen it up a bit every so often. 

Have you had enough sleep? Your mood/health can be seriously affected by lack of sleep. If you’re having trouble going to sleep: Consider reading something familiar and comforting before bed, or consider putting your phone away an hour or so before going to bed, and try to keep it just out of reach. With everything that’s going on, the temptation to check the news all the time or scroll for hours to try to de-stress is understandable. Try to limit yourself to certain times of the day, and avoid doing it late into the night. *There are medications of all sorts from over the counter Melatonin to prescription medications that can help with falling asleep, staying asleep, nightmares, and more. Please reach out to your doctor/therapist/psychologist if you think you need help with sleep. 

Dealing with chronic illnesses or pain and aren’t allowed to go in for your usual appointments or PT(Physical therapy)? Check in with your doctor/specialist’s office by phone and see if they are allowing phone/video appointments. A lot of offices are doing this, and some are willing to refill medications/start new medications via these appointments. MOST Pharmacies will now deliver your medications to your home, some even for free. If you don’t already have a print out of home PT exercises for your specific pain areas, call and ask for them to either mail one to you, or direct you to one online. It’s important to keep up with your PT!

If you’re low on food due to money/stores being empty and you need to keep your blood sugar up, you can try to even things out with Glucose Tablets.  These are not a replacement for a meal, though! Please check all your local food pantries, churches, and even school food programs.

A lot of schools are offering a meals-on-wheels-like program for people with children in need. 

And if you’re elderly, Meals on Wheels is working extra hard to make sure everyone has food, including doubling up the amount you get per week for a lot of people.*  (Please also consider donating to them if you have the funds!) 

If none of these options work, please call 211 to speak to a member of the United Way call center who can help connect you to resources in your area. (This is not just for food.)

Stuck inside with family/roommates/partners and need some alone time?—If you have a private room, stick a sign on the door requesting to be left alone. Adding a period of time can help give them an idea of how long before knocking. For example: ‘Leave me alone for 40 minutes unless emergency please!’ If you do not have a room to yourself, if possible make up a plan with your roommates/family/partners to designate alone time in a room. Each member of the household can have 1 hour time alone in the bedroom/living room/bathroom/etc. Try to keep communication open, even when you really need to be alone. Make sure the others know you need this time, and that it might be good for them, too.

Did you eat today?

• If you feel like you’re dissociating, try counting your fingers or looking at your finger whorls. Remember that they are unique to you, that you are real. If this doesn’t work, you can also try counting things of one shape or color in the room to try to ground yourself in your surroundings. Fidgeting or chewing gum can also help stimulate your senses, which can help keep you grounded.

• If you are having a panic attack:

1: Ground yourself to reality with something familiar like a keychain or even pictures of something on your phone. [Cats and dogs are good.] Also, do not trust everything your mind/body is telling you right now. Thoughts like, ‘i’m going to die’, ‘everyone is leaving me’, ‘everyone hates me’, are a part of the panic, try not to linger on them, because they will only make it worse. A good trick is to try to replace these thoughts with a mental image of something either calming or silly. Like a Sloth, or a unicorn fighting a giant jelly bean.

2: Find a space that feels the safest for you, and stay there.

3: Take slow, deep breaths. After breathing in for four seconds, hold it for a few seconds before breathing out for another four seconds.

4: Stimulate your mind with something simple, and not stressful. Tap your fingers, re-read nice messages from someone, play a game one your phone that doesn’t require any thought or is timed.

5: You are doing a really good job. You don’t have to feel embarrassed. You are not alone. You are strong, and awesome.

Try not to feel guilty for feeling overwhelmed, upset, angry, sad, etc. This is a really rough time, and you’re allowed to feel how you feel.

Did you brush your teeth today?

Don’t be afraid, you’re not alone!-Reach out to someone you know, if you need it. If you can’t find someone, feel free to reach out to me and we can talk, or I can direct you to someone else who might be more equipped to help. 

Have you hurt yourself recently? Please take the time to clean and cover it. I know it’s hard to take care of yourself right now, but it’s not good to get an infection especially with the hospitals and doctors possibly turning you away due to the influx if COVID19 patients. 

It’s okay to take time to get going, and no, you do NOT have to write that book right now. 

You don’t have to talk about it if you aren’t ready. Being stuck inside with people does not mean they get to pressure you to open up about anything you’re not ready to open up about. 

You CAN talk about it, if you’re ready. Your problems are real, even if they might seem small or insignificant in the face of huge, global issues. 

If you are stuck in a home with an abusive person and cannot get out because of the current situation, please remember there are many applications, chats, text lines, phone lines available depending on where you are and who you are. 

Have you stretched in the past hour? 

Here are some online/phone options for AA/substance abuse groups. 

Pet a cute animal today! If you can’t, there’s loads of livestreams from all over the world with cute animals on display! 

10 relaxing online games

Try making one of these comfort foods: 

American Comfort Foods

Canadian Comfort Foods Indian Comfort Foods Japanese Comfort Foods German Comfort Foods Mexican Comfort Foods [sorry, a lot of Tex-mex in there.]

Remember: You matter. Your feelings matter. Your life matters. 

[collinnmckinley]

Siege OC: Anna Fisher (SS Agent), unique questions.

#squad: who’s friends with who? what are the squad dynamics like? Alex Reed, her only long term friend friend. Her Protective Detail Team. Collinn “Warden” McKinley.

microscope: zoom in – describe the little, insignificant details about an OC. Anna has a scar under her left ear, it was caused by her childhood friend Alex, when they used to not like each other.

fragrance: what do your OCs smell like? Most likely leather and dry cleaning suit smell (idk how to describe her smell) and she uses YSL’s Black Opium now and then (it was a gift from her team for her birthday). Note: my sister has it, and its the closest thing I could think of.

photo album: describe one of your OCs’ favorite memories. When she defeated Collinn in CQC for the first time. That day she laughed and smiled like she never had before, even Collinn was surprised by it because she’s always stoic and has this resting bitch face.

Wardrobe: what’s your OC(s) style like? Dress shirt, suit jacket, suit trousers, black boots, black necktie, sunglasses, black leather gloves. Typical SS Agent wardrobe.

lightning: who’s the most impulsive character? and who is their impulse control? Collinn, He taught her to control her anger and and not to act impulsively, and when she’s about to do it he’s there to remind her in one way or another.

ufo: identity! what are some key identifying qualities or traits of your OC(s)? how to they identify in regards to gender/sexuality? Anna has sharp jawlines and short hair, some people mistake her as a “pretty boy”. She got that reputation grow for her pretty quickly and Collinn would tease her for it, calling her: “Hey! Pretty kid! you ready to roll?” and she would give him the death mixed annoyed stare. Collinn would just chuckle at he expression, he always found it cute.

love note: who likes who? crushes? relationships? are they mutual or unrequited? Collinn was her mentor for the longest time (until he moved to Rainbow), she looked up to him, admired him, but never thought of him as a man until later on. When team Rainbow visits DC for a mission, and they meet again after a long time. She realizes that she missed him more ways than she could ever think. As for Collinn, he never saw her as anything beyond this kid who he mentored, until she got injured pretty badly one day and he realized he could’ve lost her that day.

poison: vices/bad habits? what are they? how do they affect your OC? Anger issues, Anna has had them from when she was a teenager. It slips from time to time, but she learned how to control it. Anna also avoids being with people, she likes to do her job but hates being around people. Ignores what people say to her, she doesn’t do it intentionally she’s just more interested in what the higher ups in the room has to talk about. (a habit she got from Collin). Also she’s WAY to blunt for he own good, she doesn't get a good first impression that much.

compass: who’s the moral compass? in general: what are your OCs’ morality like? do they have high morals, or not? are their morals self imposed, or do they base their morals on religion/family/influence of others? Anna’s moral is based on logic and truth. If she senses something fishy, she would dig it up until she actually finds the dirt. And she would used that dirt to straighten people’s act or to protect what needs to be protected. And she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty in order to maintain peace. She hates her family so there’s no way she puts her belief in them.

track & field: which (if any) of your OCs are athletic? what sports to they play? which of your OCs would go HARD in P.E.? Anna would go HARD in P.E, that's one of the methods she uses to control her anger issues. Also she likes to play basketball when she can, something she got used to do when she was in the navy. She somehow persuaded her protective detail squad in making that habit.

parachute: who does your OC(s) trust the most? who makes them feel safe? who would they do absolutely anything for? Collin (Warden) lmao even tho he tells her not to trust him blindly as much as she shows but she does it anyways, also Alex, her only friend.

conspiracy theory: what are your OC’s beliefs? are they skeptics or do they believe easily? who acts on blind faith? who needs to see to believe? Anna doesn’t believe in crap like that, she believes in logic but She thinks that there is some form of god somewhere.

zodiac: what’s their sign? does it influence their personality? do they care about astrology? Virgo, again, no Anna doesn't believe in stuff like that.

contact: how does your OC(s) feel about touch/physical contact? are they affectionate? if so, how do they display affection to others? Anna doesn’t do physical contact, unless it’s a combat/protecting someone matter. Other than that, she’s not affectionate at all. That changes later on tho, With Collinn( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).

interiors: describe your OC(s) bedroom/home/or a place they consider “theirs”. what’s in it? do certain items have a special significance to your OC? Anna lives in a studio apartment, and it’s pretty dull, how ever she has a collection of her medals from the NAVY, and her high school certificate. Also her cameras that she collected it in time since she was a teen and some of the picture she had taken from her journey.

hobby: what do they love? what captivates them? what are their passions? Anna has a an odd habit of random stuff, it’s one of the things she enjoys doing and it’s very very rare that she does it, Collinn caught her taking pictures only ONE time when they were on a trip with the president in Norway. She lays a bit of guitar as well, something she learned from Alex, he’s a music producer. Besides that, beating up people, holding dirt on people, more protection.

psyche: what’s their head space like? do they have any mental illnesses? how do they process difficult or emotional situations? what are their coping mechanisms? Anger Issues. I have mentioned this more than one time lmao, she deals with it by in the practice range, or at the gym, however if it was in a tight situation, she would try to calm down for the moment as much as she can, so later on she would get it out in a CQC match with the person who angered her. She never received any affection since she was 10 so she doesn’t know what it feels like nor recognizes it when someone else shows it.

shooting star: if your OC(s) could have one wish what would it be? To fix the poverty problem her hometown, Detroit, has in some places. To Remove all the bad roots of the politicians. To expose the dirty people who think that they work for the righteousness. To be able to meet her nephew.

wild card: talk about any OC! anything you want! Anna isn’t in team Rainbow, Collinn (Warden is the only connection to Rainbow she has. However, she might join in late on, who knows (I still don’t have a gadget for her).

Thanks @zephours for suggesting these, quite the unique questions they are. 

Also @tsarethan, I know you would like to these as well.

[deserted-americanmaiden]

Signs of Lesbian Compulsory Heterosexuality [Part 1: Men]

"Attraction" To Men

Deciding which guys to be attracted to – not to date, but to be attracted to – based on how well they match a mental list of attractive qualities. 

You have a ‘list’ of impossible criteria in your head that a man must meet for you to be attracted to him, and if you ever meet someone who matches all the criteria you just add more impossible standards.

Constantly testing your attraction to men. You pick one or more conventionally attractive men in the room, and try to force yourselfself to be attracted to them.

You like the idea of being with a man, but any time a man makes a move on you you get incredibly uncomfortable.

You do not like the reality of men, only the idea of being with men.

You may like the idea of being in a relationship with a man, but can always pick out a reason to not want to date any man that is interested in you or any man suggested to you. These reasons are sometimes reasonable, but often insignificant (i.e. “I don’t like guys who do their hair like that, he has a weird mole on his face, he’s too tall”).

You can fantasize about men and find men aesthetically attractive, but thinking about realistically being with a man makes my stomach churn.

Only developing attraction to a guy after a female friend expresses attraction to him.

You like getting attention from men and being validated in your attractiveness, but the moment it goes from attention to an interaction (i.e. from flirting to asking out) you start panicking.

Getting jealous of a specific female friend’s relationships with guys and assuming you must be attracted to the guys she’s with (even if you never really noticed him before she was interested in him).

You view relationships with men as a chore, burden, or just something you must deal with.

Confusing a strong emotional connection/dependency with a man for romantic feelings, can be due to mental illness.

You get crushes on just about every guy you’re friendly with, because there’s really no difference between friendships and crushes to you.

You feel like you could theoretically be attracted to men (you may even have fantasies about them), but in practice you never have any feelings for them.

Picking a guy at random to be attracted to.

Having such high standards that literally no guy meets them – and feeling no spark of attraction to any guy who doesn’t meet them.

You’re far more certain about being attracted to women than you are about being attracted to men.

Only/mostly being into guys who are gender nonconforming or feminine in some way.

Alternatively, the guys you like are always a hypermasculine man’s man who embodies everything about manliness.

You want to date/fall in love/get married/have kids/etc with a guy, but the guy you dream about is never specific and may as well be a cardboard cutout.

All of your fantasies around men are always with faceless, nameless men; the more realistic the fantasy and the more details about your partner you invent, the less excited and into the fantasy you become.

Only/mostly being attracted to unattainable, disinterested, or fictional guys or guys you never or rarely interact with. (Such as teachers, married or older men, and men that live far away).

Similar to only crushing on famous or fictional men, the men you like may be gay or in relationships as they are also unattainable (if they are in a relationship, you may even start to wonder if it’s actually the woman you have a crush on).

You lose all attraction or get extremely uncomfortable if there are any implications that they might like you back. You get deeply uncomfortable and lose all interest in these unattainable guys if they ever indicate they might reciprocate.

You mistake the desire for male approval as attraction. You don’t necessarily want a relationship with men, but you want men to want a relationship with you.

Reading your anxiety/discomfort/nervousness/combativeness around men as attraction to them. Confusing your anxiety around men for “butterflies” or being flustered.

Reading a desire to be attractive to men as attraction to them.

You wish you weren’t attracted to men / You wish you were a lesbian.

Relationships With Men

Dreading what feels like an inevitable domestic future with a man.

Or looking forward to an idealized version of it that resembles literally no m/f relationship you’ve ever seen in your life, never being able to picture any man you’ve actually met in that image.

You have every reason to be happy in your relationship with a man, but you just aren’t / everything is going really well, but something is missing and you can’t figure out what.

Being repulsed by the dynamics of most/all real life m/f relationships you’ve seen and/or regularly feeling like “maybe it works for them but I never want my relationship to be like that”.

Thinking you’re commitment-phobic because no relationship, no matter how great the guy, feels quite right and you drag your feet when it comes time to escalate it.

Going along with escalation because it seems like the ‘appropriate time’ or bc the guy wants it so bad, even if you personally aren’t quite ready to say I love you or have labels or move in together etc.

Or jumping ahead and trying to rush to the ‘comfortably settled’ part of relationships with guys, trying to make a relationship a done deal without investing time into emotional closeness.

Your relationships with men are devoid of passion.

Feeling like you have to have relationships with guys and/or let them get serious in order to prove something, maybe something nebulous you can’t identify.

Only having online relationships with guys; preferring not to look at the guys you’re interacting with online; choosing not to meet up with a guy even if you seem very into him and he reciprocates and meeting up is totally realistic.

Getting a boyfriend mostly so other people know you have a boyfriend and not really being interested in him romantically/sexually.

Wishing your boyfriend was more like your female friends.

Wishing your boyfriend was less interested in romance and/or sex with you and that you could just hang out as pals.

Thinking you’re really in love with a guy but being able to get over him in such record time that you pretend to be more affected than you are so your friends don’t think you’re heartless.

After a breakup, missing having a relationship more than you miss the specific guy you were with.

Worrying that you’re broken inside and unable to really love anyone.

Sex And Intimacy With Men

Having sex not out of desire for the physical pleasure or emotional closeness but because you like feeling wanted.

OR: preferring to ‘be a tease’ to feel wanted but feeling like following through is a chore.

Having to be drunk or high to have sex with men.

The idea of kissing, cuddling, dating and/or having sex with men is really scary/anxiety inducing, and the idea of doing any of those things with women isn’t (or is noticeably less scary).

Your fantasies about men still somehow turn out to be a little "gay". Maybe you’re penetrating him, you don’t have to look at his face/don’t want to look at his face, you want a threesome with another woman, he’s very feminine, etc. It might be a “straight fantasy” but you’ve altered it in a way straight people might not be totally interested in.

Thinking because you don't like/pursue sex with men you must be asexual. Or vice versa with romance for men.

Your fantasies about men give you intense distress or anxiety. They could be intrusive thoughts, forms of self-harm, or otherwise.

When you think about guys, you think about all the things that you could tolerate doing with them (dating, kissing, sex, marriage) but always in terms of what you could force yourself to do, not what you want to do.

Being around guys that are interested in you gives you intense anxiety.

Feeling weird/wrong calling your boyfriends pet names or showing them pda, but gladly showing your girl friend’s pda.

Only being comfortable with sex with men if there’s an extreme power imbalance and your desires aren’t centred.

Using sex with men as a form of self-harm.

You don’t have much of an emotional reaction to kissing or being otherwise physical with a man, or you even dislike/hate it.

Feeling numb or dissociating or crying during/after sex with men (even if you don’t understand that reaction and think you’re fine and crying etc for no reason).

Being bored with sex with men/not understanding what the big deal is that makes other women want it.

Doing it anyway out of obligation or a desire to be a good sport/do something nice for him.

Never/rarely having sexual fantasies about specific men, preferring to leave them as undetailed as possible or not thinking about men at all while fantasizing.

Having to make a concerted effort to fantasize about the guy you’re “attracted” to.

Source:

[you-can-write-this]

How to Construct a Villain

Make sure that your villain does what she does for a reason!! You can do more than “bad for the sake of being bad.” You can connect to that character!! I believe in you!!

Here’s a list of villainous motivations and how to write them!

Selfishness - In the real world, this is probably the most common motivator for so-called “villains.” The selfish villain feels threatened and acts in self-preservation; this may be preservation of her life, of her pride, of her belongings, etc.

Reasonable variant: The reasonably selfish villain sees an actual, real threat and evades it, screwing everyone over in the process. This villain is sacrificing others in order to survive. She may appear impulsive and afraid, or thoughtful, patient, and furious. Whatever helps her sleep at night.

Unreasonable variant: The unreasonably selfish villain imagines a threat which is not there. She acts in self-preservation when she or her possessions are not in danger; maybe she thinks that innocent black kid in a hoodie is going to kill her. Greed also goes under this category; she sees anyone who takes potential money from her as a threat. She’s creating a narrative which is completely unreal, and responding to it accordingly.

Don’t make greedy characters into hateful people. Hatred does not drive greed. Self-preservation mixed with an inflated importance towards money is what creates greed. She wants more for herself, not less for others. Greedy people don’t kick puppies, spit on children, or for that matter, rub their hands together devilishly.

Don’t think of your villain as selfish in all ways, at all times. Your villain is committing a selfish act (or promoting a selfish idea), but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t take care of her family.

Don’t have her act “maniacally.” She believes she’s doing something perfectly normal in her selfish act: protecting herself. Otherwise, she’s guilty-- all the more reason to not be maniacal.

“Protecting her own” sub-variant: The very most selfish people have trouble promoting their values, because nobody gains anything from Mrs. “I come first, so fuck you.” Group selfishness is far more dangerous: people can become allies under selfishness. Consider fascism, as well as other forms of aggressive group hatred. Her selfishness extends to a group beyond herself, but not infinitely. Maybe she wants to protect her friends. A man “protecting his family” can do some weird shit.

Revenge/“giving them what they deserve” - Some villains are motivated by hatred, anger, or spite. Villains who want revenge see the hero (or victim) as the embodiment of a trauma. A villain who “gives them what they deserve” hates the hero (or victim) for some other reason; it could be personality, minority status, or anything else.

Don’t rely heavily upon monologues or flashbacks. A monologuing villain is a sign of an overcomplicated motivation. Like jokes, the best motivations need not be explained.

Reasonable variant: Some villains seek revenge for a genuinely atrocious act. This puts the hero (or victim) in a shade of moral gray, and your audience will be absolutely intrigued and elated.

Unreasonable variant: More often, villains want revenge because of some unintentional or insignificant slight committed by the hero; the hero accidentally slipped the villain’s secret, and all of a sudden the villain is out to kill. This puts the hero in the moral clear, while still allowing the villain some believability. But the reasonable variant is far easier to justify than the unreasonable variant.

Don’t make the slight too small. You won’t make the villain seem more intense; you’ll make the villain seem ridiculous.

Destruction out of sadness - Some destructive behavior comes from deep feelings of emptiness. Think of your villain’s foul action towards others as a sort of suicide; instead of destroying herself, she destroys whatever she can find. She may consider her feelings to be sadness, but she may also consider this boredom (either conclusion is valid from the observation “nothing makes me happy and I don’t feel anything”). She may have a very clear and concise excuse for why she’s targeting something/someone, but the true answer, as you the writer know, is destruction out of sadness.

Don’t just blame mental illness. Mental illness can be aggravate destructive thoughts or feelings, but mental illness on its own does not cause destruction. A person with a particular disposition may react to mental illness in an unhealthy fashion (e.g. depression causes empty feelings, but most people do not respond to these feelings by destroying things). It is the unhealthy reaction which causes destruction.

Don’t make these characters stoical as they act. These characters usually appear intensely emotional, and are filled with a great desire to feel something; anything.

“Giving up” variant: When plunged into a depressive state, your villain no longer finds joy in those things held dear. She has probably lost her previous motivation (e.g. the person she tried to save has died), and with all hope lost, and nothing good to do, she only has bad to do on her radar. She will probably have an excuse, a story in her head, about why her actions are suddenly destructive (e.g. “it’s your fault she’s dead”).

“Always empty” variant: Rather than giving up, maybe your villain never had hope in the first place. Maybe she has always been building up to this level of destruction.

Don’t rely on flashbacks to illustrate that she’s always been this way. You should have an idea of how long this destructive pattern has lasted, but the audience doesn’t need to know that. Other characters also don’t have to explain how long she’s always been this way.

Because she can get away with it - Some people want to see the world burn just because it’s not supposed to. They’re told not to do something, and when you look away, they will absolutely do it, just for the sake of it. This is actually far more common than you might think-- package thieves, shoplifters, and even serial killers usually feel powerful by existing above the law. This is often an extension of destruction out of sadness; characters who feel empty unconsciously seek a thrill through rule-breaking. To consider more believable thrill-seeking villains, I recommend this brief video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RyszHongpf0

Don’t make thrill-seekers out of those comfortably in power. The “because she can get away with it” motivation relies upon a desire to break rules, not to make rules. I’m calling out Hunger Games (as fun as that series is). No thrill-seeker wants to see suffering unless it’s taboo and they’re curious. (Hint: Most Roman colosseum fights portrayed in fiction are historically inaccurate.) If your police officer villain is abusive on the job, unless she’s doing something that could threaten her employment, it’s probably not for the thrill. She has something else going on. She might be trying to demonstrate her power above others out of insecurity, so try "selfishness” (at the top of this post).

By accident - Villains who commit foul acts accidentally are potential heroes with bad luck; the most tragic villains. Your villain might have been on drugs, or maybe there was an element of miscommunication. Fantastical elements, like transformations, create most accidental villains. Regardless, your villain is probably not in the ethical clear. Why was she on such dangerous drugs? Why would she do something so extreme just because of a rumor?

Don’t assume that your villain deserves forgiveness. Many fantastical romance stories forgive villains too quickly. Be careful not to structure your story around the assumption that the accidental villain just needs help or love; on drugs or not, we cannot just pretend that she didn’t kill a man. The bigger the rule broken by your villain, the harder it will be to forgive your villain (e.g. any form of killing in a society like ours should be near-impossible to forgive). The logic of fault is irrelevant; it’s about the emotional trauma or shock, which your characters should not forget easily. If you frame your accidental villain as forgivable, your audience may stop suspending their disbelief.

Don’t just blame mental illness. Mental illness is not like mind control. It does not take over a person’s being to have her commit a certain act. A person with a particular disposition may react to mental illness in an unhealthy fashion (e.g. depression causes empty feelings, but most people do not respond to these feelings by destroying things). It is the unhealthy reaction which causes destruction. Although mental illness can coincide with many motivations, the accidental villain cannot be caused by mental illness. 

Differing morals - If used alone, this is probably the easiest motivation to justify. Your villain believes herself to be acting ethically, and she has a genuine argument against the actions and beliefs of your protagonist. Your story may argue against the villain’s beliefs, or it may play around with her philosophy. This motivation can also be layered onto any of the above motivations.

Don’t make her dialogue smug in regards to her philosophy (e.g. “Oh, but don’t you know? So-and-so-a-moral was the true meaning all along.”) This is a cliche, and will also put her in constant danger of info-dumping her relevant ideas and character traits via monologue. If she wants to convince the protagonist of her beliefs, have them argue back and forth. Don’t let her dominate the conversation.

Don’t assign her a moral which is too obviously immoral. If your villain represents the ethical implications of white supremacy, readers may feel patronized or bored by constant arguments of “racism is bad.” Just about everyone theoretically agrees that racism is bad. If you argue against a popular moral stance, or debate something morally non-obvious, readers will feel a lot more respected.

She “had to do it” - Many villains do not consider themselves powerful agents of their own making, but rather, slaves to a cause. Sometimes the most dangerous person around is an underling or a follower. She may be loyal to a specific person, alive or dead, or maybe she works to put the words of a god/s in motion. She may understand this person/cause as intended, or she may be misunderstanding it completely.

[creative-type]

Confidentiality

Word count: ~4000 AO3 Summary:  He was the youngest, most naive Straw Hat, but Chopper was also a doctor, and doctors keep their patient's secrets. 

"Any dizziness, lightheadedness, or blurred vision?" Chopper asked as he listened to Nami's heart.

"No, no, and no."

The newest Straw Hat was learning quickly that hearty constitutions were the norm for this strange little crew. For someone who had been deathly ill less than a week prior, Nami seemed to be in remarkably good spirits. But the fact remained that she had nearly been killed by a prehistoric disease, and that regular checkups were a must until Chopper was certain she would not relapse.

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. The steady, even rhythm was soothing. It really did seem like she was fully recovered. It was the closest thing to a miracle Chopper had seen in his short medical career.

"Hey, there's something I wanted to ask you earlier, but I forgot," Chopper said.

"Sure," Nami said with a soft smile that made him want to squirm in delight.

"Who's Arlong?"

Lub dub, lubdub, lubdublubdub…The room went deathly silent as Nami's heart began to race, and Chopper realized he had asked something very bad without even meaning to.

"Where did you hear that name?"

The sharp, almost panicked tone in her voice made him cringe. Hiding his face with his hat, Chopper tried not to see that his indomitable navigator (his new friend) was scared.

"Y-you did. When you were sick." Nami paled, and the scared look was replaced with one of horror. "Y-you were delirious. You said something about maps, and that…and that you'd have them finished on time."

Nami's arms went limp by her side, and she stared blankly ahead without seeing.

"You asked him not to hurt you."

The statement snapped her back into reality. Nami grabbed the front of Chopper's lab coat, her gaze burning with anger. "Don't you dare tell anyone. I'll deny it till I'm blue in the face. I'll call you a liar and make you wish you were never born."

"I-I wasn't going to!" Chopper stammered.

"You said it yourself, I was delirious. No one would believe you anyway."

"Nami, I'm your doctor! I would never tell anyone what happened when you were sick!"

"I—you wouldn't?" Nami seemed to remember herself, letting go of his clothes as if they were on fire.

"No, I wouldn't!" Chopper exclaimed as he took a step backward.

"Oh." Nami looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Then her hand moved to her shoulder, tracing her tattoo with one finger. "I'm sorry. It's just that Arlong…Arlong wasn't a very nice man."

Chopper nodded his understanding. "Neither was Wapol, but he's gone now. Arlong's not here either, so you're safe." His spirits lifted when he saw a small smile on the navigator's face. "But if you want to talk about it, I'm here."

Nami reached out and touched his cheek tenderly. "Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it."

With a metal nose, blue hair, and forearms bigger than a normal man's thigh, Franky could never be described as normal. Add in cola-fueled energy systems, air cannons that shot out of his hands, and the ability to turn into a reverse centaur, Franky was downright freakish.

Chopper didn't mind. There were monsters aplenty aboard the Thousand Sunny. Franky and his cyborg body fit right in with the rest.

Besides, the shipwright was proud of his handiwork. Hardly a day went by where he didn't demonstrate some insane feature he had installed into himself all those years ago. He and Usopp would often joke with one another about what upgrades he would attempt next, each more ridiculous than the last.

Seriously, who else besides Franky would think that nipple lights were a good idea?

There was, however, one sore spot, one not-so-insignificant part of himself that Franky deemed less than super.

"Promise not to laugh?" he asked nervously the first time Chopper examined him.

"I never laugh at my patients," Chopper answered solemnly.

"I can't…I can't have kids."

Chopper blinked, unsure of what he was supposed to say. Franky rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "When the sea train hit me, it did a lot of damage, er, down there." His cheeks flushed bright red with embarrassment. "I made sure it looks normal, and there's still feeling, but I can't…"

"Have kids," Chopper answered for him.

"Yeah."

"Is that something you want?"

"No! Not now, but in the future, yeah…maybe, I dunno. It's not…manly."

Chopper nodded his understanding, although he was still amazed he was having this conversation with Franky, who seemed more interested in mechanics and robotics than romance and children.

He put a hoof on Franky's knee and gave him an encouraging smile. "If something, or someone, makes you change your mind in the future, talk to me. There are some treatment options we can try."

"Really? That's…that's super. Thanks, bro. And…if you don't mind keeping this to yourself…"

"Of course."

"What happened?!" Chopper shrieked, resisting the urge to punch Zoro right in his big, fat chin. The bleeding had stopped, but the wounds would reopen with the slightest provocation. He had seen Zoro beaten and bloody before, but the mysterious altercation at Thriller Bark had left him shredded. In places it had been difficult to find enough healthy tissue to stitch back together.

"Nothing," the swordsman replied with the same unnatural calmness he had exhibited since regaining consciousness. Normally when injured he was rushing to resume his training, wanting to excise the weakness that had led to him being hurt. This time was different. Zoro had accepted the outcome of this particular altercation with surprising grace.

It was infuriating, and Chopper was at his wits end. It was moments like this that led him to believe that Doctorine was right to throw scalpels at her patients.

"I. Am. Your doctor!" Chopper exclaimed. "I need to know what happened!"

"No you don't."

Without thinking, Chopper transformed into his full human form, looming over the swordsman as he poked a finger at the one unbandaged part of his torso. "And if you bleed to death because I didn't know the proper means of treatment?"

"Then that's as far down the path I could make it," Zoro said with a lopsided shrug.

"No, you selfish asshole!" Chopper yelled. He had never talked to one of his crewmates like this before, and he hated it. He hated it, because it wasn't even necessary. Sometimes Zoro's pride was as bad as Sanji's chivalry, but at least Sanji had the decency to admit his deference to the fairer sex would someday be the death of him.

"If I can't heal you that means…that means I failed. That I'm n-not good enough for my dream…" Chopper's vision blurred, and he couldn't keep the tears from falling. "I d-don't want you t-to die. I c-can't help you if I don't kn-know what's wr-wrong."

With one piteous sniff, Chopper reverted to his normal hybrid form and sat in the middle of the floor of his infirmary. He cried, not because he was frustrated (that happened all the time with Zoro as a patient) but because he was exhausted. The Straw Hat Pirates had been in so many life and death situations in such a short amount of time, Chopper wasn't sure how much more he could take.

He heard Zoro sigh, and the swordsman joined him on the ground. Leaning back with a small wince, Zoro looked at the ceiling in thought.

"I'm through the worst of it now," he said. "I'm not gonna die."

"B-but it doesn't make sense. Your injuries, I've never seen a-anything like it before. I'm s-scared, b-because….because I don't know what could do that to you, or if it'll happen again." Chopper wiped his eyes with his hooves. "It's as if…as if something was pushing from the inside out. All your muscles and major blood vessels had damage in their innermost layers. Like…like…"

"Like they'd been stretched," Zoro supplied.

"Yes, like if Luffy stretched his whole body too far all at once." Chopper shook his head when he thought of their captain. For once, Luffy had managed to come out of an adventure unharmed. If anything, it was the opposite.

"Exactly like Luffy," Zoro repeated, before falling silent and letting him put the pieces together.

"…You didn't," Chopper whispered when it dawned on him. "How…?"

"That doesn't matter," Zoro said, this time his tone indicating the subject was closed for good. "I'm not going to die. You did your job, Chopper, just like I had to do mine."

"O-okay."

"Luffy can never know," Zoro said. "I only told you so you'd stop worrying."

It seemed impossible, but in that moment Chopper's respect for Zoro grew even more. And to be trusted with a secret this huge meant that Zoro respected him back. Chopper nodded, brushing away the last of his tears.

"Okay."

"Hey, Chopper, is it normal when people talk to themselves?"

Chopper roused himself, blinking sleepily at Usopp. It was a quiet, warm afternoon, and the crew was all worn out from a recent skirmish with the marines. "That depends, I guess."

"Oh." Usopp leaned back on his haunches.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Usopp said quickly. "It's just…I know this guy…"

"Sogeking?" Chopper asked excitedly. Since Enies Lobby, Usopp had kept in touch with his superhero friend, and was more than happy to regale to anyone who would listen with stories of his heroic exploits.

Usopp thought about it for a moment. "Actually, it is. It's not him, per say, but his, er, sidekick. Yeah. Sogeking's sidekick, Sniper Lad, has been, well, talking to himself. He—that is Sogeking—is concerned. Because that's not normal, right?"

"What's he saying?" Chopper asked.

"Nothing bad. Pep talks, mostly."

"Hmm. It's hard to say. I don't want to make a premature judgment when I've never seen the patient."

"I understand."

"But…" Chopper tapped his chin. "Mental health is a spectrum. Health in general is a spectrum. A lot of people like to have black and white definitions of 'sane' and 'insane', but it doesn't work like that, just like there isn't a clear-cut way to say someone is 'healthy' or 'unhealthy'.

"As the sidekick to a successful hero, Sniper Lad has a very stressful and demanding job. If he's not contemplating doing harm to himself or others and uses it simply as a means to cope...Did Sogeking say if these 'pep talks' helped or not?"

"They've gotten the job done," Usopp said.

"Okay. Without knowing more information, I'd say there's nothing to worry about. People deal with stress in different ways, and if that's what works for Sniper Lad…" Chopper looked back up towards the sky. "Who is anyone else to judge?"

"That's good. I, er, Sogeking was getting really worried there for a second."

Chopper closed his eyes, ready to resume his nap. "I'd like to meet Sniper Lad someday. It's a shame Sogeking had to leave so quickly after Enies Lobby. He would have been a real help against Oars. But I guess he's busy with hero stuff."

"Yeah," Usopp said quietly. "I guess he is."

It wasn't often post-battle checkups made Chopper feel sad. Angry, incredulous, or frustrated, yes, maybe even awed if a wound was spectacular enough. But never sad.

His assessment of Robin after her rescue made Chopper sad.

A single, massive contusion covered her abdomen, the bruises a harsh bluish-purple. An abrasion started at the crest of her hip, disappearing beneath her pants. Worst was the bruising on her shoulders. Chopper could still see the individual finger prints from where she had been grabbed.

"Elephant sword, mostly," Robin said, answering the question he was too scared to ask.

Chopper made a distressed noise and tenderly touched a mark by her kidney. It was uncomfortably similar to the shape of a boot, and he was grateful he had already run the tests that ruled out internal bleeding. "Robin, how long have you had suicidal thoughts?"

"Excuse me?" Robin asked, shying away from his touch for the first time.

"You said you wanted to die," Chopper said, eyes misting at the terrible memory. "H-how long have you thought that?" And how long have I missed clinical depression in one of my patients?

Instead of avoiding the question as he half-feared she might, Robin tilted her head in thought. "I don't know exactly how long it's been, Doctor. Archeologists think about death a great deal simply by the nature of their work, and when I started doing more…unsavory deeds to ensure survival, my awareness of my mortality only increased. But actually wanting to die?" A tiny frown appeared on her face, and her eyes grew distant. "Fifteen years, maybe? It's not constant, but during low moments I've at least entertained the notion."

Chopper's stomach twisted into knots. Fifteen years was as long as he'd been alive, humanly-speaking. "Have you ever tried to…to…"

"Not directly, no. I owe too much to too many people to take my life with my own hand, no matter how badly I may have wanted to in the past." Robin looked down at Chopper intently. "Doctor, I'm asking for your discretion in this matter. The others can't know, not after all that's happened."

"A doctor never tells his patient's secrets."

They were silent as Chopper continued his assessment. Robin probably had a few cracked ribs, but there was little he could do for those other than pain control. As he examined her skull, he found several tender areas and a scab where a chunk of hair had been ripped from her scalp. One of her teeth had a large chip in it.

Sensing his mounting distress, Robin touched Chopper's shoulder reassuringly. Her eyes were tired, but her smile was warm. "I left because I didn't have those thoughts here. From the time I joined Straw Hats until Aokiji's attack…I was happy. After digging out of the pit and tasting the sunlight, I didn't want to go back to the darkness. I thought the betrayal was inevitable, and I had no choice but to go back. I was wrong, and I will fight with every fiber of my being to stay with this crew for as long as I can."

Her battered body was evidence enough of that. "Good. But, Robin, if anything happens and there's another low moment…I'm here for you."

Robin's smile widened, and she squeezed his shoulder. "I know."

One of the most exciting things about reuniting after two years was discovering what new things the Straw Hats had learned during their separation. Usopp had his new arsenal of plants, Sanji could set things on fire under water, and Brook…

Brook's new abilities were totally awesome.

"I can't believe it!" Chopper exclaimed. "You got your head cut off and lived!"

Brook took a sip of tea, obviously pleased with himself. "Well, yes. I suppose I did, didn't I?"

"That's amazing!"

"I would have thought you would be more impressed with Mr. Franky's new machines," Brook chuckled. "All I did was improve my control over my Devil Fruit."

"That's cool, but do you know what that means for me as a doctor?" Chopper nearly burst with excitement at the thought. "I have a patient who can get his head cut off and not die. That makes my job so much easier."

"Well, technically, I've already died…"

"Think of the possibilities!"

Brook set his tea down. "I have, actually, and I'd rather not do it again," he said quietly.

"Huh? Why not?" Chopper asked.

"My body was already somewhat durable. A skeleton does not truly need to eat or drink, nor does it have fleshly parts that can fall prey to disease or decay. I've lived this second life for over fifty years, and I am no different than the day my soul returned to my body."

The crux of Brook's problem dawned on Chopper, and some of his elation deflated.

"My body is held together with the energy of the Underworld. You will all age and will eventually pass on, and even when I'm reunited with Laboon, he will not live forever. I've lost those closest to me once before, and I don't want to experience that ever again."

"Oh."

"But," Brook said sadly, "I'm not certain I can die. Perhaps if what is left of me was destroyed completely, maybe, but I've learned how to project my soul outside my body. And obviously it's not something I want to go around testing, on the off-chance I'm wrong. Not yet, at least."

Chopper was quiet for a moment. "You know, Doctorine told me stories of dying people remaining in an unconscious state for over a week until family could arrive to say goodbye, and others who hold on long enough to see their children married or to hold the grandchildren for the first time and only to pass a few hours later. She always thought that people had some control over when they died. You've got a lot to live for, but when your time comes I think you'll be able to let go."

"Yohohoho, I had never thought of it that way. Thank you, Chopper. Of course, there's quite a lot I wish to accomplish before that happens." A grin spread across his skull, and Brook patted the top of Chopper's hat. "Let's not talk of such unpleasant matters any longer. It's been too long since I've seen you…though I don't have eyes…and I want to know how you've managed to develop such wonderful new transformations."

Sanji claimed he never got sick, and technically that was true.

He did, however, get short of breath.

Chopper shook his head as he pulled his stethoscope away from Sanji's chest. The symptoms were subtle, but to Chopper's sensitive ears they were as plain as day. "I know you don't want to hear it, but I think all those cigarettes are catching up with you."

"You 'think'?" Sanji said.

"It's polite doctor-speak for 'smoking two packs of cigarettes a day is going to kill you'. But I'm sure you knew that already."

"Hey, no need to be hostile," Sanji said crossly. His fingers twitched, and Chopper knew he was fighting the urge to pull out a cigarette at that moment. Chopper was very flexible when it came to doctoring, but he absolutely refused to let Sanji smoke in his infirmary.

"We've been through this before. I guess I'm just frustrated," Chopper said. "You know the risks."

"I do, and that doesn't change the fact I'm going to light up just as soon as I go through that door."

"Can't you at least cut back a little?" Chopper pleaded. "No girl's going to want to kiss you if your breath smells like tobacco."

Sanji threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, you poor, ignorant bastard. Why do you think I started in the first place? It gives me an aura of mystery that matches perfectly with my handsome charm. Look up debonair in the dictionary, and there's probably a picture of me with a cigarette."

"That same picture would also be listed under lung cancer," Chopper said.

"Well, if I live long enough to get to that point, I give you permission to laugh at my sorry ass."

"No. I'll be too busy trying to keep you alive, despite your terminal case of hopeless idiocy," Chopper said, managing a smile.

Sanji snorted. "That's something, I guess. How bad is it, Chopper?"

"You're in the early stages of lung disease. I'll make up some treatments, but as far as I can tell none of your abilities have been compromised yet."

"That's good," Sanji said, and the relief in his visible eye was nearly palpable. "No reason to give Moss Head another reason to exercise his superiority complex."

"And there's no reason to worry the rest of the crew," Chopper agreed. "All the symptoms are reversible. For now."

"Okay." Sanji stood to leave. "I'm sure there will be plenty of I-told-you-sos later, but I really need a smoke."

"Good doctors don't say I told you so," Chopper said quietly. "They stick with their patients, through thick and thin."

Sanji stared at him in surprise, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. "Then I'm glad you're my doctor, 'cause you're the best there is."

Burns were tricky. Really, having a large amount of scar tissue regardless of cause was tricky. The new skin wasn't as flexible or strong, and if the wound went deep enough the underlying areas were affected as well. No matter how cool looking, Chopper was glad when his patents didn't scar. It was healthier that way.

It was, of course, impossible to avoid all of the time. The Straw Hats were pirates, with all of the danger that entailed. But Chopper considered it a matter of pride that he was able to treat his friend's wounds without leaving behind long-term complications.

Which, in a way, explained why he felt so guilty when he saw Luffy's chest. The X-shaped scar showed how he had been unable to be there in his captain's time of need, not just during the battle, but during the time of recovery as well. Whoever had done the initial treatment had done a serviceable job, though Chopper believed he could have done better, had he been there to try.

"Does it hurt?" Chopper asked softly, palpating the edges of the wound.

"Every day," Luffy said in his normal, simple way, as if it were no problem at all.

"I could help with that," Chopper said. "It's the least I could do after I wasn't there to help…"

"That wasn't your fault, Chopper. I don't want you to say it was ever again, captain's orders," Luffy said, with a seriousness that was usually absent from his voice. "I was the one who wasn't strong enough. Me, and no one else."

"But…" Chopper faltered when Luffy glared at him. "It's not your fault, either."

Luffy leaned back, a sullen expression on his face. "Maybe not, but I'm still gonna make sure it never happens again. I'm strong enough now, I swear."

"I know."

Slowly, Luffy's normal grin returned. "I'm not good at very many things. I can't be the Pirate King without you."

"That doesn't make me happy at all, asshole," Chopper said, delighted.

"Shishishi," Luffy laughed quietly. Then he looked down at his scar, and the serious expression came back. He blinked a few times, very rapidly as if he were trying not to cry, and when he looked at Chopper again his eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

There was a second reason Chopper did not like scars, one that was more psychological than medical. He did not like his patients to be reminded of their trauma every time they looked in a mirror. When Chopper was able to heal someone without leaving a visible mark, he liked to think he had helped heal them on the emotional level as well. He would never pretend that the pain had never happened, but he did think that it made it easier to move on.

Luffy didn't have that opportunity. Every day he would be faced with the evidence of his brother's death.

"And we've gotten stronger, too," Chopper said. "We'll be right behind you, no matter where you go."

A look of pure relief coursed through Luffy's body. He wiped his eyes and gave Chopper a wobbly smile. Maybe two years wasn't enough to completely heal him from the events that took place during the Marineford War, but that was okay. Luffy was well on his way, and Chopper would see to it that his broken heart was made whole again.

[avenger-hawk]

Itasasu > SasIt ! I applaud you. Never understood how Itachi would ever not be the lead. Dude as a kid already wanted to lead. Even in his last moments, being open about the truth he never let go of the reigns.

Say it louder for people in the back~

I could just post your ask without adding anything because that’s Itachi’s personality in a nutshell, or I could just add this image because their expressions are pretty telling, but I’ll add more.

(under the cut antiSas*ita, anti submissiveItachi &dominantSasuke, some vague anti-ending too)

First of all when I, this anon and those with a brain refer to this it’s never just about top/bottom in sex. Someone recently made a fuss (again) about how wrong it is to express a preference on, as they “elegantly” put it, who takes it up the a**, obviously followed by their insignificant minions trying to get attention by playing woke and knowledgeable on realistic stuff. Needless to say, I pay more attention to a pigeon strutting around that to a first world kid playing woke when they can’t even get out of their room without whining, let alone having any experience with (any orientation of)sex. These dumbass**es have no knowledge or experience in sex as well as interacting and living as functioning humans, otherwise they would know the difference between fiction and reality and they wouldn’t shield themselves behind mental illnesses and other issues that magically are only relevant when someone attacks them in return.

Unfortunately for those who attacks who dares have a preference and an opinion, calling them fetishists, actually come off as way thirstier and only interested in smutty acts, since to me (and not just me) sex is not just a physical act, but an extension, and an expression, of someone’s personality, like a lot of other things. In relationships there is almost always a dominant person who takes the lead and a more passive one who follows it, who lets the other lead. Usually someone who leads in a lot of aspects also is dominant in bed. There are exceptions, sure, from switching to being unexpectedly submissive, but it’s more likely that someone who wants to be in control always wants that, both in real life and in fiction.

People misunderstand characters all the time, especially Itachi and Sasuke and their dynamic. They aren’t able to consider the whole picture and the underlying motivations, they just see a few details and they come to simplistic and wrong conclusions. So they see Itachi as not just the martyr but the submissive, meek selfless cinnamon roll who was treated as a tool by his father and the village so he can only obey and he would obey to Sasuke, Shisui and whomever they want. They don’t realize that no matter how smart and how visionary his thought is, he’s a shinobi, a tool by definition, like many others. Obeying to his father is a matter of education and affection, since it’s his father. But he also shows a non-submissive attitude towards him, like when he refused to go on a mission if his father didn’t go to Sasuke’s academy ceremony. So obeying and being submissive are different things. Same for Konoha. Obeying to Danzo and Hiruzen is a matter of loyalty, not to them but to the idea of village, since Itachi knew its flaws. And obeying to them isn’t submitting either, or supporting their cause. He was manipulated because he was young and alone, and he was afraid that Danzo would kill Sasuke, and still he knew it, or he wouldn’t have threatened Danzo to spill Konoha’s secrets if he harmed Sasuke. How is this a submissive personality? Itachi is an independent and visionary genius, his thought process is so complex and twisted and extreme that no one else gets it, readers epecially. 

You said it, Itachi always wanted to be in control, from knowing things to acting to change them. He even decided how and when to die, and when he returned as Edo Tensei he only opened up when he decided, making Sasuke wait because he had stuff to do first (no matter how important). He led Sasuke’s life completely, from their childhood to the massacre (choosing to kill the clan and spare his beloved brother), to his life after the massacre, that he controlled indirectly, making him stay in Konoha, pushing him towards getting stronger and fueling himself with hate for him only, making sure he wouldn’t know the truth after his death. He wasn’t even that subtle about his controlling attitude over Sasuke, like making him believe that he was making his own decisions (kinda like Orochimaru and other manipulators did to Sasuke instead), he clearly directed them since his infamous speech the night of the massacre, and he pointed out when Sasuke didn’t do as he had said, like not killing N*ruto.

I’m not saying that bottom Itachi can’t happen, but I don’t think his dynamic with Sasuke would lean towards Sas*ita.

Sasuke is mistaken as a dominant character because of his rude, bratty, arrogant attitude, not realizing that he only shows it at certain times, while most of the time he’s detached, lost in his thoughts, never imposing or asserting himself unless he’s fighting. He never tried to control anyone, as you can see from the way he formed Team Hebi/Taka, freeing them first, helping them out (like Juugo, promising to be his cage) then asking for their help in return but making it clear that he won’t force them if they’ll refuse. He’s blunt and direct, goal oriented and effective, and he’s another original thinker with an out-of-the-box mentality but he’s not controlling or assertive, no matter how goal oriented he is. Because of his original thinking, that leads to original goals that no one shares and everyone condemns as criminal, he acts on his own, he does what he has to do for his goal, since no one will help him. He doesn’t care about being a leader, he doesn’t care about power. He wants to be acknowledged by the few he holds in high esteem, the few strong ones, and that’s all. He dreamed of being in the Uchiha Police beside his father and brother, he is reminded of that in Shinden too. He wanted to become Hokage to change a flawed system, because no one else would do that, but when N*ruto promises to do it himself he steps aside, and he’s ok living as “the Hokage’s shadow” whatever that means (I don’t believe he’s another Hokage-like figure since he doesn’t have the same political power. He’s a subordinate to N*ruto). His path was set by Itachi at first, even though he modified it it was still a reaction, no matter how independent. Then he reacted to whatever life threw at him, and he reacted quickly and effectively, fighting back, getting up as his world crumbled over and over, and that’s a sign of his strength, but it’s not a sign of assertiveness, since he’s a passive person. Kishi himself wrote him as yin and this stays whether he’s compared to N*ruto or Itachi or anyone else. Even the way he thinks about looking at their backs identifies him as passive compared to them. Taking matters in his own hands because no one else does is different as initiating everything and setting things in motion like Itachi did instead.

All this to say, once again, that even though I had a Sas*ita phase at some point, I understood that while it’s ok to have one’s own preference, it doesn’t match their personalities at all, so it’s not IC. Their dynamic is clear, Itachi takes the lead, Sasuke follows, naturally, since he’s the youngest and he’s wired to obey to his older brother, who would have been the clan leader if the massacre hadn’t happened. Itachi is caring and protective of him but also controlling because it’s his way of protecting him, as extreme as his mindset. He’s a genius who knows better than anyone, so he thinks, and he’s Sasuke’s older brother, he loves Sasuke more than anyone else and this gives him the right, in his mind, to act for his own good, no matter what Sasuke thinks and wants.

And Sasuke is honest, direct and selfless. He loves and respects his brother so much that he doesn’t impose his presence or his ideas on him. Never. Not even when he was trying to know the truth and Edo Tensei Itachi was about to leave him forever, and he would have wanted him to stay and take care of him, even fix him, even scold him for having disobeyed him, or stop him from destroying Konoha. Thus I can’t see him taking the lead in their relationship. He’s not sneaky or manipulative either, so he’s not “topping from the bottom” or whatever. 

Most of the times Itachi and Sasuke interact Sasuke is looking up at him, literally and figuratively, and you can see it in the manga panels or screenshots. He literally worships Itachi like a god, and he respects him incredibly, while Itachi worships Sasuke in a different way, not putting him on a pedestal but putting him under glass and controlling his every move. This, too, shows their dynamic.

Itasasu >Sas*ita indeed.

Also this applies to other pairings as well, especially Sas*naru. I don’t care about your eventual “they switch”. Not on this blog. 

[adeadpoetblog-blog]

First thoughts

I’m going to try something here that I’ve never done before. This is to be my platform for getting things off my chest in as anonymous a way as possible. 

For years, fucking YEARS, I, like so many people I know or have known, have seriously struggled with depression and anxiety. As a result, it causes me to mess up pretty much everything I care about (which is far more than I’d like it to be). Ideally I don’t want to care, but I genuinely can’t help caring about absolutely everything and everyone. I hate it. I wish it were possible to turn that all off and just disregard what happens to the world around us, to the people we love, and to ourselves. But it’s not happening. 

I started this because of a few reasons.

1. I really need a way to vent that doesn’t drag down the people I love the most by constantly turning to them when I need to get something off my chest.

2. I want to be able to say things that I wouldn’t even say to them.

3. I hope that somehow this all reaches someone else who is suffering, someone who doesn’t know what to do just as I don’t, and that it lets them know that they aren’t alone.

So basically this is what’s set this all off again. I’ve messed up. Again. Recently it would have been the birthday of someone who meant the world to me, but unfortunately she is no longer here. Last year she took her own life, due to her depression, and when the date hit her birthday it brought everything back up. I shut down, and I’m still emotionally and mentally exhausted from it to the point where I have this deep dark haze clouding my thoughts that I can’t get through. This however, clearly has little to do with me fucking up right? Well I would have hoped so. But I had been growing close to someone who when I once had a discussion about depression with her, when we discussed how horrible everything can be, she was still positive. She, who has been through all of her own shit, still remained positive. I told her how much I loved this. How despite all of the darkness, she still had this incredible light to her. 

It’s rare to grow close to someone so positive when you have such a bleak outlook on everything yourself. But she was always so understanding, and so incredibly brilliant. After everything that has happened over the last year (a story for another time), I had told myself to not grow close to anyone. I was so certain that no matter the person, at this point my walls were up, and no one would get inside. At least not easily. I didn’t even realise what she meant, until she suddenly pulled away. Despite talking every day about every menial and insignificant thing, suddenly it stopped. Now leading up to the birthday of my departed friend, she had been starting to pull away. However I believe that it wasn’t so much pulling away, as it was her just not having the time. But on this day I ruined it. Because of my...emotional state, I pushed. I pushed her away all by myself, and now, in doing that, I realise how much she meant.

This is something that happens all too often. I’m not sure if I can blame depression and anxiety, but it certain feels like it is a huge part of it. From what I’ve seen in the people I know who suffer in the same way, it happens to all of us. The “friend” who died...she did it. Other friends with the same issues all do it. It seems that it’s not something that we have control over. It’s part of the illness. 

People say “get help” or “go see a therapist”, but they clearly don’t get it. So many of us do that. We get the “help” that we are told we should get. But it’s never permanent. It may help us to understand what is happening to us, but it doesn’t change the way we feel, and the things we do out of over thinking, and over talking about everything. Sure there is medication to squash the feelings, but they can make things worse, or get rid of all of the good feelings too. Despite all of the hurt, all of the unending confusion, sadness, rage, and all encompassing darkness, there are the good feelings that the medication takes away. The little bits of hope we get, the moments of happiness, and any kind of love. And love is the single most important thing in this world. Love for family and friends, and the overwhelming out of control feeling of falling in love. These are the sorts of things that stop us from taking these pills. Because while it may stop the “sadness”, that’s not really what depression is. It’s darkness. And without the light of the good feelings, the darkness only becomes more and more black. 

So I wish we didn’t push people away. I wish they would understand and not want to run away. But there are people who stay by you. These are the people who matter. So maybe this girl will come back. Maybe she needed time to process things, or maybe she doesn’t know how bad it is. I don’t know. And due to anxiety, I’m far too afraid to ask. Because if I do, I’ll just push her further away right? That’s how I see it anyway. A friend told me to give her space, and let her come to me. I wonder if that friend realises how hard it is to not pick up the phone and call her? Or if that friend realises that she won’t come to me. We push people away. It’s our curse. And usually, they don’t come back. But as I said earlier, she has an incredible light to her. So I hope, I really, really hope, that she does come back. I’m not even asking for a romantic relationship. Just for her light and warmth.

[autumnsedai]

Can I rant for a minute?  I feel like I haven’t ranted in a while.

So a friend of mind, a ‘friend,’ aka someone on my facebook friends list who I went to school with since elementary school but who now has vast differing opinions on politics and human rights than I do... I digress.  A friend of mine posted a video on what it means to be a ‘progressive’ in today’s society, about how it doesn’t mean what it used to mean.

And I tried to watch the video, I really did, but there was something in there about disagreeing/disliking trigger warnings.

And I know.  I’m preaching to the choir here.

I just sometimes need to write shit out to get it out of my system.

But the thing about it is that it pisses me off in so many ways.  Number one I feel like people would be shocked that I would say trigger warnings are good because I am a hater of censorship.  Censorship to me is a lot like free speech - say what you want but other people don’t have to like it.  Read whatever you want, discuss it, etc.  Censorship is about whether or not it is legal to sell something, in my opinion.  If the government said that I’m not allowed to read anything, you must know that’s the first book I’m going to go out and buy.  If that was ever made into law, I guarantee you I would break that law with full conviction that it was a law to be broken and fuck the consequences.

Censorship is about not hiding things from the people, it’s about freedom of knowledge.

Trigger warnings are not censorship.  Trigger warnings can be placed in certain places so that people who don’t want to know about the contents of the book/movie/music/whatnot don’t have to read it, but also placed in a way where people who have triggers can find them, browse them, and make an educated decision about what they’re reading.

There’s a kind of underhanded, subtle but not really, snub towards people with mental illness when people hate on trigger warnings.  What is their reasoning for hating them?  Because they don’t think *they* should be bothered by the trigger warning just so *someone else* doesn’t have a panic attack?  Even playing in my mind the way some people would say that, with the body language of disgust and mockery, offends me and pisses me off.  It’s a complete shut down of mental illness and it pisses me off because I don’t think people realize it.

And the part that really gets me is that this friend of mine was in the military.  She is a veteran.  Where did the term “trigger warning” come from?  Because I’m fairly certain it came from veterans with PTSD.  The sound of gunfire sending them into a panic attack or worse.  A trigger.  How can you be a military personnel, a branch of our culture that is rife with PTSD and a complete lack of adequate health care, and be against trigger warnings?

It’s because of knowledge, honestly.  Trigger warnings have branched out across all fields of mental illness, still mostly by PTSD sufferers, but not always veterans with PTSD.  Having a history of a violent assault can lead to PTSD, whether you’re in a war zone or not.  So somehow, conservatives, Republicans, Deplorables (honestly, to some extent I don’t even want to call them conservatives or Republicans because I feel like Trump supporters are lower levels than them.  And honestly, there are so many of them that are owning the term, why not use it) have associated trigger warning with the special snowflakes who are triggered by seemingly insignificant bits of real life.  Just because something is insignificant to you doesn’t make it insignificant.

But it kind of comes back to sexism and rape culture, doesn’t it?  I’m pretty sure another large group of people suffering from PTSD are rape victims.  And, not to be one sided, but most vocal rape victims are women.  (Yeah, I know, men are rape victims as well but because of the way society is, they’re a lot less vocal about it.  I hate it, it pisses me off, I want to punch each and every person, male or female, who has ever said “but he’s a guy, of course he wanted it” because gross.  And fuck you if you think like that.  But these are facts.)  And yeah, there’s a wave of women standing up now, raising concerns about feminism and sexism, talking about rape, admitting to being sexually assaulted, bringing the public to look at it and see it for what it was.

So yeah, there’s a large group of our society that is misogynistic, whether subconsciously or consciously it honestly doesn’t matter at this point, who feel that women should just suck it up.

So I guess what I’m realizing is that people hate trigger warnings because they hate women and they hate people with mental illnesses and they think both groups should just suck it up despite the fact that the term originated from an overwhelmingly male population that ended up with PTSD from defending our country and protecting our freedoms.  And to me, that’s incredibly insulting to the military.  I might not like or agree with war most of the time but I have such intense respect for veterans.  Whether they’re deplorables or not.

So yeah.  I guess that wasn’t a rant so much as a stream of consciousness.

[summerwenxili]

Communication or the uselessness of it

In this world where we are living in, communication and human skills are painstakingly overrated. You open any job offer, nine times out of ten they ask you to be ‘a people person’ of some sorts. And that is hideous, really.

I hate communication in general. I panic when I have no choice but to make a phone call, and I get even more desperate when I get phone calls from total strangers. I don’t even reply to emails unless I really have to.

I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t like this. If anything, I have increased my tolerance towards communication over the years, against my will. While from time to time, I do enjoy a good debate or an enriching conversation with certain human beings. But in general, most of the conversations we have on daily basis are at best useless, and most certainly a waste of time.

Take after work drinks with colleagues, for instance. There you were, after a long day of work filled with conversations of no intellectual value whatsoever, your colleagues announced to you with some sincere and sanguine excitement that the entire office is going for a drink in the bar nearby, and it’d be great if you can be there too. You forced a smile, and quickly went through your memories: for the last five invitations of this kind, you’d used excuses including appointment with your ophthalmologist, your dentist,  your gynecologist, your bank account manager, and your downstairs’ neighbour who counted on you to water his plants. You were running out of excuses. So you nodded, you said nothing, you followed them, because another refusal would make it too obvious that you hated socializing. Why is that a sin? You don’t know.

In a perfect world you would have been at home, drinking tea, watching another episode of Gintama and singing the opening song out loud because you don’t give a damn. But there you were, you were in this bar. Your colleagues claimed that this was the best bar in town, and when you looked at the menu, the only drink they had was beer. And you hated beer. You have always hated beer and you hated even more the face people make when they heard that you don’t like beer, as if they just heard someone claiming that he hated chocolate or babies.

And yeah, you hate both of them, also.

They started talking. They first talked about work, each of them talk about what they did at work. Then they talked about the work of their boyfriend/girlfriend. They talked about some non-subjects in the middle, then they started to gossip their ex-colleagues. Once that was done, conversations of their private lives started. They talked about their wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, they talked about how they enjoy being single when they obviously did not, they talked about the prices of cars, of real estate, of clothes, of a visit to a famous hairdresser. They talked about children, the dream to have children, the problems of their children, and their parents, their in-laws, their distant uncle’s neighbour’s dog. They talked about clothes again. They talked about cars again. They talked about real estate again. They talked about real estate once again. They talked about real estate till the cow come home. In your desperation for the party to be over, you started to imagine a group of cows arrived and attacked the bar. Of course nothing of this sort happened.

You pretended that you’re listening. Of course you were not really. You asked yourself, is it my fault? Is it my fault that I really don’t care about the new boyfriend, the marketing project or the newborn baby of my colleagues?

No, it isn’t. It isn’t because at the end of the day, they don’t care about you either, and even if they do, it doesn’t even matter. The point is, why on earth do people seemingly enjoy these useless conversations? And why were you there, against your will, wasting your time? And how is it fair that you’re not even supposed to be writing this article at all because it is almost politically incorrect to complain about useless social events?

Because that is how this world works, they say. You have to socialise with people, they say, even when they clearly do not offer you any insight of anything at all apart from the mundane realities that we’re going through. And when you look around, everybody else seemed to be genuinely having fun. Gosh, I hate having fun. You said to yourself.

Yes, that’s it, having fun. I have never been able to fully seize the point of having fun. I looked at the moments when people claim that they had fun, and I am confused. They claim that they had fun because they were surrounded by human beings with whom they have no real connection, they talked about things that did not interest anyone at all, and they became painstakingly embarrassing after binge drinking. If that is really what fun is to the majority of human beings, let me die at the bottom boredom.

The trouble is beyond the simple fact of people having fun in incredible situations. The real trouble is useless conversations are killing other conversations. In a room full of conversations about newborn babies and consulting projects, no one can possibly start a debate on euthanasia or the use or overuse of plastic. And while we’re at it, let’s be honest, it doesn’t apply only to drinks between colleagues. Whenever one meets someone new in any kind of situations, there is a great chance that the conversation stays dreary from the beginning to the end. Jobs, clothes, career, children, real estate. Nothing new, nothing inspiring, nothing creative ever comes out, dullness reigns till the cows come how, go out, and come home again.

Finally, after a full 3-hour long presentation, you were finally free to leave. Of course, you were free to leave from the beginning, in a theory, but you were really free to leave only after a certain amount of time spend amongst these dreary conversations, which demonstrated, wrongly, that you enjoyed the night and you were ‘part of the team’. Call it a “dullness tax”, if you may.

On the way back home you listened to some teenage-girls-resistance-against-the-world song again. It was funny, you hated teenagers when you were a teenagers and you still dislike them now, but now you knew that they had some luxury that you don’t have anymore. They can scream that they’re against everything, but you, a miserable, insignificant adult can only try to adapt yourself to the society, lest you’d be called an unfit. When you’re an unfit as a teenager, you’re just an unfit, that’s not funny, sure, but as an adult it makes you a total joke. You cannot disagree with the dreariness that keeps the world the way it is, you cannot refuse to be part of this society, and when you turned back, you see no way out. 

When did all of this start? And how long is it going to last? I don’t know, but somehow I’ll have to find a way out of all of these before the end of myself. Before useless communication eats me alive.

[arsnovac12]

Blog Post 1

I go on runs from time to time when I’m back in Burbank, I enjoy keeping active, but it’s mostly an excuse to get out of the house. When I come home on holiday, I become confined to my parents house without any means of viable transportation. I have my drivers license, sure, but no car. My parents can’t afford to buy me one, and I can’t afford to get one myself. In fact, even if I could afford a car, I certainly couldn’t afford the insurance to go with it. Anyway, all this is to say I go on runs so I don’t feel too confined to my house.

That’s not very interesting, is it? Some things just tend to be that way. The life of a poor twenty-one year old white kid is never all that interesting in the first place. My life, my story, whatever it is, is not irregular. In fact, it’s one most people in America know very well, because it gets championed whenever one of us poor white kids gets rich and famous. Surprise, surprise, it happens pretty frequently.

So why write about it? I don’t know. Does it really matter if no one sees it in the first place? Maybe not. I guess I backed myself into a corner. If you’re reading this (if anyone is reading this) you’re probably expecting me to dive further in. Ultimately, you might say, there’s no point in agonizing over whether or not you’re going to talk about your life, because you already started writing a blog post about it, and it has to go somewhere. It does, doesn’t it? So why start with a lengthy preamble full of rhetorical questions? Besides being a clear literary crutch I’m struggling with, I think I feel indebted to having a conversation or dialogue about these things, as if to hide from some private guilt I have in telling any personal story. Writing has clearly become some sort of therapy to me, where I play both doctor and patient. The results are always inconclusive.

Anyway I should get back to the bullshit lede about running. Look, I like running, and it’s when my head is its most clear, so forgive me for using it as a starting point. Most of my ideas come to me when I run, so it was only fitting that it become the brief anecdote that starts a blog post that holds the kernel of what I’m going for. Which, now that I’m thinking about it, I didn’t really get to. Look at me, whining before I even finished my “insignificant thing is contorted into something profound” anecdote. Okay, I’ll finish the story:

I like to go on runs. I feel trapped at my house, and I like to get out. Anyway, whenever I run, I take the same path. It leads away from my house towards the park in the hills where people would take their prom photos back in high school. The path mostly runs parallel to the major streets and hits several large intersections on its way. In all, the run from the house to the park and back is about five miles. Yesterday, I reached the park and stopped for some water. This wasn’t irregular or anything, but I took my time and drank more that I usually would. Then, something compelled me to keep running. The hills in Burbank are filled with expensive homes, and near the top of the street, sort of tucked away, there’s a pretty large mansion that’s almost gothic in its design. Anyway, I guess it was my curiosity that drove me to keep going. To get a look at that mansion, and the others around it.

So, I kept running for another half mile or so to see this mansion. On the way up, the houses got larger and more impressive looking, and I was filled with a mounting sense of dread. Eventually I reached the cul-de-sac with the house on its end. Naturally the street, called Viewcrest if you can believe it, was the most decadent one yet. Their driveways were filled with expensive cars I don’t know the names of, carefully manicured lawns, and about ten security cameras lining every porch. I got closer to the end of the street where the imposing mansion was, but it was tucked away from the front and hardly visible. I didn’t get much closer than fifty or sixty feet. The drive way had a large black Hummer sitting in it; another, more psychological warning sign for someone like me to keep away.

I left pretty quickly after I got there. No one was out, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being unwelcome. Before I turned the corner and left the street completely, I had the strange desire for someone to come out of their house and scold me for even coming there. In this fantasy, would I stand my ground, or run away as is fitting for my station? My brain firing it’s typically small amount of synapses couldn’t quite make it that far. Instead, I was caught up in the swell of what righteous injustice such a thing should muster.

This story isn’t very interesting, I know. Nothing really happens in it and there isn’t much imagery to it, but it caught me off guard as I thought about it again today. I had the idea to write about the experience soon after it happened while I was still running, but I, ever the proactive one, put it off. In sitting down with it today, I realize how full of shit I am.

Before I go on, I’ll give a little more context for my life. As mentioned briefly before, I’m a poor white kid. My parents are loving if occasionally abusive, or maybe abusive if occasionally loving. We live in my (deceased) grandmothers house and can’t afford any necessary repairs on it to make the place livable. My dad lost his job about a year and a half ago that was going to take him to retirement, now he works at target. My mother is a hoarder, not to the extreme you may have seen on television, but certainly well beyond what the general society might deem as healthy. She works just enough hours at the Disney Corporation’s day care so that they don’t have to give her full time benefits.

Two of my adult brothers still live at home, crowding the house further. They could, should they allot their funds correctly, afford to have their own place, but my parents discourage that sort of thing. Coming from lower middle class families, both of them have really only known economic uncertainty their whole lives. To have their children live lives separated from themselves means certain uncertainty. Plus, when you don’t have the kids at home, there’s no one left to accuse of being a burden.

I, more than any of my brothers, struggled against my parents to have a normal life. For a while I was pretty damaged; my parents fundamental conservatism really did a number on me. I was a hateful kid, saying cruel things to people that didn’t deserve it. When I got to high school, it took a little while, but I became a better person. Still prone to bouts of selfishness, I began to try a little harder for things. I quit running competitively in high school to join the theater, much to my parents chagrin, and also started dating. Naturally my parents tried putting a stop to both.

By the time I finished high school, I had cut ties with most everyone that knew me there. By its end, I had partially realized that I hadn’t progressed all that much as a person and was still rather selfish. My assumptions that people did not like me were eventually proven correct when I had finally done something that had made me worth disliking. I receded further into myself, even more aware of my deepest flaws.

Eventually I made it to college where I became more depressed than I had ever been before. Towards the end of the semester, my mom ordered me to call after weeks of ignoring her. During that phone call, I told her that I wanted to kill myself. Horrified, she said that they could afford to send me to therapy, I said no, it would be too much of a hassle and it would get to be too expensive. She was relieved and thus the matter was settled and never spoken of again.

So today, I sit in my crowded bedroom in my decaying house (yes, there are rats now) and try and write a story, a true story, about how running in the rich part of town made me sad. So often I am desperately seeking a new lede, some way to ease into the story of my life, so I come up with the flimsiest ones imaginable as opposed to just starting from the beginning. I’m no one I tell myself, so why bother in the first place? No one will read it anyway. But so often, I’m met with the same dull idea that I have a story worth telling. The cynic in me is so embarrassed to want to explain away my life that it has to invent a dialogue with no one to justify wanting to tell an over told story. The poet in me wants to make something beautiful out of my life, and will find any excuse to do so in the most meaningless of events. The realist is here with you trying to make sense of these two voices.

I am obsessed with artifice. Look anywhere in my life and you’ll see it. I’m a theater performance major. I sit at home alone and watch movies that very few people like to gage some sensationalist position on. I go running by major streets hoping that someone, anyone from my past will see me and say hello. I run to the park I took my prom pictures at for the hope that some ounce of high school happiness will be absorbed back into myself, so that I can pretend I didn’t lose all my friends from those years by being selfish. I run further into the hills because deep down I know it might lead to something worth writing about. Only to now finally realize there wasn’t much of a story there to begin with. There, or anywhere.

Self pitying is probably what most people would call this. I’ll probably call it that too. Maybe it’s a cry for help. Maybe. Or maybe it’s a desperate plea for attention from an empty audience, because the author thinks that’s most poetic of all.