#like I’m am intrinsically worth less

[mollificen]

I turn 18 at 10:56 am tomorrow.

I don’t feel anything. I’ve done NOTHING with my life. Like it’s no wonder I’m not super excited for it.

I’m so tired. I can’t keep doing this.

[drbased]

Does it ever make you ever feel depressed that men have more variation in IQ? That means even though there will always be more male idiots, there will also be more male geniuses. So women can excel in any field, but a man will almost always be the "best" in it. It just makes me feel inferior every time I think about it, way more than strength difference does. Not only that, but they also have higher variation in all types of brain structure. That would mean men are naturally more diverse, personality-wise.

Sometimes I get into these negative thought processes about stupid shit and it totally consumes me. This is my latest one... Please help

Hmm.

Well firstly, IQ is a completely fake concept designed specifically for eugenicist purposes. You can train for an IQ test, your score can change depending on the day, and your score doesn’t mean anything apart from how good you are at IQ tests. It’s not a measure of intelligence, and ‘intelligence’ isn’t real anyway - as in, there is no such quality of uniform intelligence. I think it stands to reason that the highest IQ scores will be from men, because the tests are constructed around a fundamentally male world-view and value system as well as a white one. And that is what depresses me more - that ‘intelligence’ is viewed as some innate quality that only oppressors can possess so they can prove that they deserve their place in a meritocracy. It’s like that controversy about men winning more at Jeopardy than women - the world is structured around male interests and values, so men achieve in mainstream contests and use that to retroactively justify the legitimacy of those values and interests in the culture.

I’m less interested in the concept of a man beating a woman at certain activities because of him being smarter than her, than I am about him beating her because he's socialised from a young age into enjoying and valuing those activities - but also often regardless of his actual performance, he's also by default assumed to be better and more competent than her purely because he's a man. Take for example that study where when they did blind auditions for orchestras, men still got in more than women, but when they put carpeting down so women's heels couldn't be heard, there was finally a more equal ratio of women getting in. Or those studies where identical CVs given out and names that are typical of women, black people etc. get seen as less competent than those with male and white names.

We don't live in a world where we can objectively measure men's 'natural' abilities at anything psychological. But we do live in a world where we know that women's skills are massively undervalued - women have all sorts of intelligences that make the world run round; we're excellent negotiators, we're less violent, we're great at remembering, we have greater compassion, we make good leaders, we are more responsible, we have greater tact, we are safer in the workplace, we're more conscious of social issues and the environment, etc. etc. And none of what we have is seen as 'intelligence'; in fact, quite the opposite - many of our intelligences are dismissed outright as sentimentality and pearl-clutching.

Once again, though, I don't believe these traits are uniform across all women, or that they're 'natural' to us, just as men's traits aren't 'natural' to them. In the nature-nurture debate, there are too many factors in nurture that can't be realistically measured - and I have a suspicion that for many, feminists included, simply saying that men and women naturally possess certain traits is an easier narrative to swallow, because for many women the fear exists that if men can be socialised to be better, then dismissing them as evil would be morally wrong. But I don't think people need to be intrinsically, ontologically evil for us to dismiss them as oppressors - I simply judge by behaviour, which is more measurable.

Going back to intelligence, I think it's also worth saying here that women are socialised into not recognised or appreciating our skills, and to partake in behaviours that psychologically hobble us. Take for example in that orchestra study - under a feminist lens, wearing heels is a form of hobbling that's both literal and psychological. The woman is performing a feminine ritual, wearing a physically debilitating item that submissively marks her as a woman. Not to say that she would be respected more if she was gnc, but I find it interesting how women accidentally lost their spot on the orchestra in the study because their performative clothing made them noisier and easier to recognise as women. And on top of that, we have stereotype threat - there was a study done where men and women were performing some sort of test, and in one half they were in normal clothes, and the second they were in swimwear. In the second one, women performed more poorly than they did in the first, and men saw no change. Once again, we have two inexorably interlinked factors at play, here - women's swimwear is not built for utility but rather to be sexy, and women's bodies are considered inherently sexual; that's not to say that if women were wearing men's swimwear they'd do better at the test, but rather women are socialised to be self-conscious of themselves but also expected to show more skin - we're expected to dumb ourselves down in the name of being sexy.

The upside in all of this is that the moment you recognise that these things aren't set in stone, and rather that these are all skills you can develop if you gain confidence in yourself, you develop a robust sense of self that you can be comfortable and happy with regardless of external measure of male-approved success. I, for example, found confidence in myself and my writing, and now I'm finding success and getting praise online by women on tumblr. It seems you're best finding yourself environments surrounded by other women, especially feminist-minded women who are consciously choosing to fight against established biases by valuing the skills of women that are undervalued by society. Devaluing male interests and achievements in your own head is something you can also do, and I once again recommend feminist spaces as an excellent opportunity to de-program (obligatory plug for my side blog @learningwomanhood where I do exactly that).

For me, the biggest wisdom to be gained from feminism is the psychological distancing yourself from male thought - the more things you reject that you once unthinkingly believed to be normal, the more you feel that you can truly be human, vibrant, unconstrained; and the more silly the whole enterprise of patriarchy looks. It's not nice that rejecting patriarchy means rejecting mainstream society, but the older you get the more you realise that you simply can't dwell on these things and instead have to do what benefits you within it; nobody is owed a perfect existence, and once you realise that you have to choose a life for yourself and choose to be happy with that, your life will be much more comfortable. In the end, life is all about the gestures of love you make to yourself and others. When you realise that it's your job to be your own best friend, you can carry that energy with you your whole life; you will be inpenetrable because all that matters to you, no matter what situation you're going through or what hell you're in, is that you made decisions that showed love to yourself. That could be considered a form of intelligence - perhaps wisdom itself is a form of intelligence that is devalued specifically because it's female-coded. But wisdom sounds like nothing until you internalise it - all the language in the world can't seem to really get to its essence until something inside you clicks and you understand it.

One thing I would like to say is that those negative thought processes you have are not stupid: they are a valuable part of your processing of the world and are worth attention. We have this cultural idea that with regards to mental health, the parts of us that are 'real' and 'valid' and 'truly us' are all the good parts, and the negative thought processes and patterns of behaviour are like cancerous tumours that need to be artifically removed. One of the best things I ever did for myself is to take myself seriously - because that's my prerogative, as myself and my own best friend. The only thing 'bad' thing about those thought processes is that they cause you distress; that's it. So, then, it's up to you to decide how much you want to indulge in them. I find the best way to really tackle unpleasant behavioural patterns is to simply do them shamelessly, because clearly a part of you wants to do them anyway; one of the first ways I got out of my depressive spirals was to decide that I was going to do all the depressive actions (stay in bed, eat junk food etc.) but simply embrace that those are things I want to do and not feel guilty or sad about it. That way, the depression hasn't consumed me and instead I have made a choice - I have reformed my relationship with myself as an active agent and a made a choice to show love for myself through the gesture of taking my desires seriously, not dismissing them as 'mentally ill'. I could go on but the point is that all of your head is necessarily you - as in, it doesn't come from anywhere else but you, and therefore all of it should be respected and valued. Mainstream society won't tell you that - there's always supposed to be a limit, there's always something that's 'unhealthy' in some sort of metaphysical sense, there's always a part of you that's supposed to be beholden to some external standard, that keeps you feeling insecure and needing validation. But there is no true objective measure of a healthy mind; the only thing that matters is if you're comfortable with yourself, and you can always make gestures of love to yourself regardless of your situation.

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Coffee Shop [Reader x Spencer]

Spencer's picture is credited to @lightningcrashes The other photos are mine.

Prompt: Characters get the same coffee order. They both reach for it at the same time, aka, when the reader and Spencer order the same, oddly specific coffee order, and the reader can see that Spencer is struggling and tries her best to be someone he can lean on. This story is more about Aaron and Spencer’s relationship than anything else and it deals with Spencer’s drug abuse problem (the reader is just kind of there). 

Category: Angst/comfort/whump

Word Count: 4.7K

Content Warnings: Depiction of drug abuse (Spencer and Dilaudid), addiction,  near overdose, brief mention of Tobias Hackel’s episode, mention of depression (and seasonal depression), suicidal ideation, mention of therapy/therapists, canon typical violence, suicide by cop (unsub), mention of child abuse (in the past), Narcan is given, hospitals. 

A/N: I’m going to say a lot here. Please bear with me. I didn’t love how the show handled Spencer’s drug abuse in seasons two and three. It felt like his issues were just “solved” in season three by movie magic. That never sat right with me. So I had the idea for this one shot to provide a possible scenario that addresses Reid’s abuse and Aaron’s response to that problem. This is written as a platonic relationship with the reader. Aaron is acting like a dad to Reid here. I tried to make the depiction of drugs and drug abuse as accurate as possible, but if you see that I am totally off on something, please let me know in a direct message or comment. I’ve never written something like this before so I hope it’s okay. This takes place soon after season 2 episode 17 “Distress.” 

If at any time you need to stop reading this story, please do so. My writing is not worth your mental health!

The literal prompt came from @imagining-in-the-margins and her amazing Meet Cute Writing challenge, though this is less of a Meet Cute and more of a possible friendship situation. 

Lastly, and on a more positive note, if you liked this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. 

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name 

_l/n_ = your last name 

The coffee shop tantalizingly close to _y/n_’s apartment was packed today. Maybe it was because of the rain, or the fact that it had actually started to feel like fall in Virginia, and seasonal change just intrinsically called for a nice warm beverage. _y/n_ would normally dread being in a space this packed, but she’d had a good weekend and there was a soft hum of voices that made her feel oddly secure. She was grateful, however, that she had woken early enough to stand in the line and not be stressed about getting to work on time. As she made it to the front of the line, the barista, Belinda, looked up at her and smiled. “The unusual?” Belinda asked. _y/n_ nodded and said, “The usual, please.” _y/n_ pulled out her card and rewards punch card; she was two drinks away from a free beverage. _y/n_ often found rewards programs a waste, but with how often she found herself at The Press coffee shop, it was a no-brainer. _y/n_ stood by the far wall where there was actually a comfortable space to stand. There lights weren’t so bright and the music was softer as she waited for her drink. Even though it had been a good weekend, she was still tired. The feeling seemed to linger with her. _y/n_ wondered if her seasonal depression was pressing its way back into her life. _y/n_ closed her eyes and added calling her therapist’s office and making an appointment to her mental task list. Over time _y/n_ had learned that letting these emotions of melancholia fester was only a portent of emotional pain in the future. 

The sound of her drink being called snapped her back to herself and her surroundings. _y/n_ moved through those also standing and waiting for their own caffeine fixes. When she finally made it to the counter she reached out for her creme brulee late with a double espresso, but she wasn’t the only one who was reaching for the cup. _y/n_ assumed that the man, who looked oddly familiar, was reaching for the cup next to hers. She was wrong. Their hands brushed together as they both reached for the latte and an unexpected warmth ran up her arm. _y/n_ turned to look directly at the slender, tall man trying to get her drink. She cleared her throat and said, “Sorry I think that’s mine.” The man looked down at her and swallowed, before replying, “No, I’m sure it’s mine. Sorry, I’m going to be late for my train.” With that, the man reached forward, took the contested drink into his slender hand, and moved as quickly as he could to the front door. _y/n_ watched him go with her drink and tried to pinpoint where she knew him from. It took a second, but once was out the door she remembered and facepalmed. ‘Of, course,’ she thought. The man lived on her floor at the apartment at the other end of the hall on the opposite side of her unit. She wondered if she would have to will to confront him later. That was if she even saw him. The man seemed to be gone for days, sometimes a full week at a time. In the evenings when she came back from work sometimes he would be going out with his normal shoulder bag. Other times when she was returning late from getting drinks with friends, he would also ride the elevator up with her. In these cases, he had a duffle bag with him. In essence, he didn’t seem to hold a normal schedule. 

With the mystery of where she knew the man from solved, _y/n_ sighed and got ready to get back in line. _y/_ knew that Belinda would understand and not make her pay again for a new drink. Just as she was getting in line, the woman making the drinks called out, “Large creme brulee latte with a double espresso.” This stopped _y/n_ in her tracks. She was the only person that she knew who ordered that drink. Was it possible that the man really had also placed the same orderer as her? _y/n_ moved back to the counter and waited a few minutes just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. When it was apparent that no one was getting that cup, she moved forward and took it from the counter. She looked at the name on the cup and it most certainly wasn’t hers. It read: S. Reid. In the end, it didn’t really matter, she had her drink and it had just been an accident. And now she knew that someone on her apartment floor had the same taste in coffee as her. _y/n_ looked at her watch and realized that she needed to get a move on if she wanted to get to work on time. 

That evening the lithe man was nowhere to be seen, as she let herself into her apartment. _y/n_ wondered what she did for a living. As _y/n_ moved inside, she pondered that maybe he was a professor of some sort? Or a public speaker who was required to travel often. The man certainly seemed smart enough for it. When she had overheard his phone calls riding up or down the elevator he always spoke fast and used some of the best cadences she had ever heard. Much of what he had been saying went way over her head. However, as her thoughts turned to who she assumed was S. Reid, she thought about the small changes she had noticed about him over time. It wasn’t like she was spying on him, but his mannerisms and odd comings and goings had drawn her attention. She supposed that he was around her age, maybe a year or two older. When she had first moved in around a month and a half ago and seen him for the first time, she had wondered if she could strike up a friendship with him. It would be nice to have a friend in the building. Someone to gossip with about the loud neighbor across the hall. Or someone to grab their package for them from the mail room fifteen floors down. However over the little time _y/n_ had lived there, she had seen S. Reid change -- withdraw into himself. It reminded her of herself, and how she really just wanted a friend. As _y/n_ set her bag down on the sofa, she pulled out her phone and tapped in her therapist’s office number; she felt like she needed a good cry. 

Reid struggled during the next case. Emily’s comments and his own harsh reply were plaguing him like the need for his next hit was plaguing him. The chills and sweating kept him cold much of the time which meant he had to wear more layers which just made the sweating worse. Then there was the irritability at everything from the team to the bright lights and the goddamn fact that he had to roll and shift so many layers of clothes to find his vein to get the needle under his skin. Spencer knew he was taking more each day and knew that it was going to be harder to find the illicit substance without having to go to the same dealer. This was something Spencer had avoided doing up to this point. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to become a ‘regular’ because if word got out, or the ring got busted, there was no going back from there. Even if he did his best to use another name and paid in cash, he just knew it would be the end for him. He could already feel things becoming the end for him. Like it was lurking behind each corner of the industrial warehouses the team was currently investigating. Looking for an unsub that, ironically killed via lethal injection. It would be funny if real people's lives were not in the balance, and yet here he was playing with his own life each time he shot up. 

Back at the precinct, Spencer moved quickly to the men’s restroom. The ache in his joints and the inability to sleep knawed at him to the bone. He wanted to trash and scream and curse, and suddenly, before he could stop his hands from shaking while he took out the glass vial and unsteadily pushed a clean needle in, sucking up the pleasure-poison, Reid was in heaven again. The weight that was lifted off his shoulders was so immense that he sank down onto the toilet seat and put the cap on the medicine before he dropped it on the floor. The sound of the door opening and Hotch’s voice asking, “You in here Reid,” had the younger man pulling at his sleeve and hiding his secret in the inner pocket of his shirt. When this was done. Spencer flushed and walked out of the stall trying to look like he was in control. Spencer cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, sorry. I’ll be back in the briefing room in a moment.” Hotch’s eyes found Reid’s wild, frenzied ones, and Aaron nodded. As the Unit Chief made it back outside, he thought about the very difficult conversation he was going to have to have with Reid. Aaron was berating himself for having his youngest subordinate’s drug problem go on so long undressed, and he was going to have to face the consequences of not acting sooner. 

The case had ended in as much of a climax as possible. The unsub took his final victim's life and realized that he wasn’t getting out of this without a lengthy prison sentence. Instead of facing the consequences of the law, the man decided to let the cops end him, and he finished his life on his own terms, which was cruel given the fact that those he had killed weren’t given that option. As the plane landed everyone got out and moved tiredly toward the bullpen. The flight back had been awkward. Given Spencer’s new ‘behavior,’ the team was on edge. After what had happened with Hickel and Reid, the team was shaken. Clearly, Spencer was changed. It was as if the team was waiting for other shoe to drop, and the suspense was nearly unbearable. As everyone got into the building, and up to their floor, ready to go to their own homes or apartments, Aaron called Spencer up to his office. Reid stood nervously in the neat space, as Aaron said, “Can we meet tomorrow at three p.m.?” Spencer froze for a moment, knowing this conversation would come eventually. Spence nodded and tried to sound like everything was okay, while internally he felt like his guts were being pulled from his body. He cleared his throat at replied, “Of course, Hotch. See you then.” With their meeting set for tomorrow, Aaron dismissed Reid. As Spencer rode the elevator down to the bottom floor of his building, he wondered if there was anything worse than the concept of ‘tomorrow.’ 

The meeting time came and Spencer sat down. His heart was pounding in his chest faster than he could keep up with. Aaron sat across from him with his brows pulled together, showing his concern. Reid shuffled in his seat for a moment before Hotch pulled his attention saying, “Reid. Spencer. You know what this is about?” Spencer’s head dipped in shame, indicating that he did and that he wasn’t comfortable having to confront it. Aaron let out a breath asking, “What is it you're taking? Dilaudid?” 

After Hankel had been killed the team had gone to the hospital. The doctor at the hospital had explained how Spencer had been drugged with the schedule II drug. There was a serious discussion about how Dr. Reid would need to have a safe place to withdraw and the possibility that addiction could be a problem without careful treatment. Hotch had done everything he could that the medical professional had suggested to support Reid in his recovery. However, Spencer was a grown man, and he couldn’t stop or overstep into his agent's personal life. It became clear early on that Spencer was still using a substance, but Hotch didn’t know what the drug of choice was. Of course, he had an assumption. Aaron’s first instinct had been to protect Reid from the system that would certainly terminate him if they found out about his problems. Now, as Aaron looked over Spencer's sallow, twitchy form, he wondered if he had made a mistake in not just addressing the problem as soon as he had clocked it. 

After a long silence, Spencer replied, “It’s the same.” Hotch nodded and said, “I’m sorry Spencer. I’m sorry that I haven’t said anything until now.” Reid’s breathing picked up and he looked over at his boss, asking, “Are you firing me?” And here was the crux of the issue. Aaron didn’t know what to do really. This wasn’t a scenario that he had planned for. Hotch replied, “I’m not sure Spencer. But I think you should take some time off to get some help. I’ll help you if you need.” Hotch was sincere in his concern and willingness to do what he could to get his friend into a better place. Part of Spencer could understand this. The other half of him, the half half-crazed for another high was screaming that he shouldn’t let go of the pleasure the drugs brought him.” All Spencer knew was the BAU. It was security, family, and a place where he could be himself. And part of him, an irrational part of him, felt that now that he had changed, the team didn’t want him anymore. 

This part of his brain continued to tease and taunt him and made sure he felt that the reason Hotch was suggesting he get help was because of his capture and torture, not the fact that he was using illicit substances on the job and putting the reputation of the whole team on the line. Spencer said, “I can do this job Hotch.” Reid was pleading, and Aaron could see the panic in his eyes and said, “I’m not saying you can’t. I just think you need some time. What happened to you was traumatic, and I think you’re still dealing with the long-term effect of that.” Spencer felt like his world was crumbling, and he couldn’t see that Hotch wasn’t letting him go, or even judging him, just trying to reach out. 

Since taking Dilaudid, Reid was finding it harder to keep control of his words and emotions. He would say things unbidden, as he had with Emily. He could feel it happening again. He tried to strangle the words in his throat, but they came out, harsh and piercing, “Just because your father took drugs and beat you doesn’t mean that I’m going to start doing that with anyone.” The words hung in the air for a second, Spencer could see the hurt in Aaron’s eyes at bringing up and using such painful memories to him. However, after a second, the emotion was replaced by disappointment and concern. 

Spencer took a breath and murmured, “Hotch, I…” Aaron filled in the blank and said, “I know. I know you didn’t mean that. Please, Spencer. I’m worried for you. Let me put in the paperwork for a leave of absence. Just for a week. I can email them to you and all you need to do is sign and send them back.” Wordlessly, Reid nodded his head, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. For the first time that day, Spencer felt the great care that Aaron was showing him. He put his head in his hands and began crying, sucking in air between sobs. The fact that Aaron was willing to actually say something. To address what he was doing hurt, and he felt shame for doing what had. But Hotch wasn’t showing shame or embarrassment in his expression, just care. Hotch stood from his side of the desk and moved to Spencer, placing a hand on his shoulder to provide a comforting touch. Reid turned into Hotch’s touch and eventually, the sobbing abated. Hotch pulled back and said, “We’ll help you with this. I promise. I want to see you back here at your best, and I recognize that hard, and it takes time. But I think it’s worth it if we can have you helping us at your full ability again.” Spencer nodded and said, “Thank you, Hotch. I’m sorry.” Aaron nodded his head no and replied, “Don’t be sorry. We’ll work through this together.” 

There were a few more minutes of conversation between the two men. Spencer agreed to what Aaron had suggested and he left Hotch’s office feeling better. The feeling didn’t last. It had been over six hours, and he was starting to feel the urge again. By the time he got back to his apartment, the feeling was overwhelming. Aaron’s supportive and encouraging conversations warred with his need to be free from all his feelings and concerns. The shame and need bubbled up in him as he walked with an urgency to the men’s restroom at the lobby of his apartment complex. It hurt like a brand to not even be able to make it up to his room to find release. Spencer slumped against the wall as he let the drugs enter him. He hadn’t even looked carefully as he inserted the dosage into his body. For a moment everything stilled and nothing mattered. Reid was grateful that the lobby was mostly empty, as he got into the elevator and rose to his floor. The lights from the city blurred as if he had permanent astigmatism. It was beautiful, but dizzying to look at. As the elevator doors opened, Spencer stumbled to the end of the hallway. He made it past one of the other residents on his floor and to his front door. He reached into his shoulder bag for his keys and found the cold metal under his fingers. Reid pulled his keyring from his bag and attempted to fit the metal into the lock. He attempted the simple motor function twice but missed both times. He suddenly felt dizzy and weak and felt his body lean against the door as if it weren’t his own. 

_y/n_ watched as her odd floormate, who apparently got the same coffee order as her, moved out from the elevator. She noticed that he was not well, as he stumbled past her. He just nearly avoided running into her. One of his sleeves was up, and she could see for the first time the puncture wounds and bruising in the veins of his left arm. _y/n_ bit the inside of her mouth. Somehow S. Reid had never seemed like the type to engage in drug use. However, she realized that anyone could be struggling with anything, no matter what they looked or acted like. She had seen her fair share of pain and loss due to substance abuse. It seemed that no matter where she found herself. the impact that The War on  Drugs and The Opioid Epidemic was never far from her door. But it was never far from anyone’s door given the impact and dramatic spike in desire for drugs over the past decade. When the soft sound of metal hitting the carpeted hallway got to _y/n_, she looked over and found the man slumped against the door. His face was pale and his breathing shallow. Given what she knew about the man now, she felt that something really bad was happening. _y/n_ rushed over to him and said, “Hey, can you hear me? Are you alright?” In a non-lucid state, Spencer made a soft nondistinguishable noise. _y/n_ picked up his keys and unlocked his door. She found the light switch and then helped the man to a chair. His eyes were bloodshot and pupils were retracted so much that they nearly looked like a pin point. _y/n_ knelt down and said, “Hey, Reid, is your name Reid? Can you talk to me?” At hearing his last name, Spencer seemed to find some awareness but not much. 

_y/n_ had seen this type of behavior once before and that time it had been too late. She wasn’t letting this man go too. _y/n_ rushed to her own apartment and found the drawer she was looking for. With the nasal spray in hand, she moved back to the man’s apartment. She helped Reid to the floor. At this point he was barely breathing. Looking over him, _y/n_clearly said, “I’m going to give you a dose of Narcan, and I’m going to stay with you until help arrives.” Reid gave no response, nor did he say ‘no’ to what she said. With this in mind and the fact that it was clear that he was overdosing, _y/n_ took the cap off of the Naloxone and moved the applicator into the man's nostril. _y/n_ pressed the trigger. After the medication was inside his system, she moved him into the recovery position so he could breathe better. Next, _y/n_ called 9-1-1. The paramedics arrived quickly and because _y/n_ had been the one who had found him, she went with them to the hospital to give any information she might have. This wasn’t how _y/n_ had planned on spending her Thursday night, but it was worth it if her neighbor would live. She would do it again in an instant. After twenty minutes, the hospital administrator found Spencer’s emergency contact. 

Hotch was in bed when he got the call. He picked up the phone and said, “Agent Hotchner. Who is this?” When he heard the response on the other end of the line, he was up in an instant. He pulled on some sweats and a shirt and he was headed to North Central Hospital in under five minutes. Hotch moved to the reception desk. The nurse sitting behind the desk asked for his name, and Hotch said, “Aaron, Hotchner. I’m here for Spencer Reid. I’m his emergency contact.” The woman nodded and looked in her system before saying, “Yes. Good. Mr. Hotchner, Dr. Reid is with the doctor right now, and we’ll send the doctor out to give you updates. If you like. you can sit in the waiting area.” Hotch nodded and asked, “How was Dr. Reid found?” The nurse looked at him and said, “A woman in his apartment found him and administered aid. She’s actually sitting on the far wall.” Hotch looked over and saw _y/n_. Briefly, he turned back to the nurse and said, “Thank you.” Aaron was worried and scared for his friend. After the conversation they had earlier today that seemed to have gone in a positive direction, Spencer’s problem seemed to have come to a head in a more public fashion. Hotch considered that keeping Spencer’s problems ‘in-house’ versus having it be public was better or worse. But in the end, it didn’t matter. None of it did as long as Spencer was okay. Aaron wished he could do more than wait for news, but there wasn’t. He had refrained from calling the team apart from Rossi and Derek. He felt that the fewer people that knew about this right now, the better it might be for Spencer’s career. 

Aaron moved next to the woman who had found Spencer, and she looked up at him. She seemed concerned. She had been picking at her nails and looking at the door that headed to the ER. As Aaron approached her, he said, “Hi. My name is Aaron Hotchner. I understand you found Spencer Reid at his apartment? I’m his friend? Thank you for getting him help” The woman was relieved to know that there was someone there for her neighbor. She stood and extended her hand saying, “I’m _y/n _l/n_. I’m sorry your friend is going through this.” Hotch nodded and took a seat next to _y/n_ who also sat down. Aaron turned to look at _y/n_ and asked, “May I ask what happened? Where did you find Spencer?” _y/n_ replied, “I was headed into my apartment, and Spencer was trying to get into his unit as well. He didn’t look well, and I noticed the marks on his arm. He kind of fell forward and I went over to see if I could help. I noticed the signs of overdose and did what I could to help.” Aaron nodded and said sincerely, “Thank you for that.” Hotch was deeply grateful that someone had been around to help Spencer when he needed it this woman hadn’t acted as a bystander but actually did what she could to help. Aaron saw so many people just walk by when people were in distress in his job, and knowing that there were people willing to stand up and do something gave him a tiny bit of hope in this terrible situation. They continued to speak briefly before a member of the staff let her know that she could leave. Before _y/n_ went, she gave Aaron Spencer’s keys and asked if she could give him her number and that if he would text her if Spencer was going to be alright? Hotch agreed and took down her number. He thanked her once more and as she walked out the door, he could see Rossi coming into the bright, fluorescent-lit hospital space. 

_y/n_ called a cab and as she moved back toward her apartment. The lights on the streets glistened and cast colorful shadows on the puddles on the road. It had just recently rained. _y/n_ sat back and thought about how ugly and cruel life could be. What taking drugs could do to a person. The face of her floormate's friend came to mind at how concerned he had looked. Sometimes the media liked to make drugs look fun, sexy, and a good time, but that just wasn’t the reality. Sherlock came to mind. The man was a genius and an addict and people loved him! And what wasn’t to love? Because the show never really gave the audience the chance to see what those substances he took would do to a man like Holmes. Then there was Euphoria and its teen angst and bisexual lighting, and even if the show got the drug part right, it didn’t change the fact that the world looked beautiful and that every character was hot. Reality was much, much, sadder. As _y/n_ thought over her own lived experience she hoped that Spencer would get better. Now that she had had this interaction with him she would be sure to get to know him if she could. So he knew there was at least one person in his building that was there for him if he needed it. 

Back at the hospital, Aaron talked to Rossi about what to possibly do for Reid and the team. After another twenty minutes, the doctor came out and told both men that Spencer would be alright. That he had made it. After the doctor had given them the relevant information, a nurse led him back to Spencer’s room. Reid looked up from his bed and the shame painted over his face. As Hotch stepped forward, he saw how ragged Reid looked. Spencer could only manage to say Aaron’s name before he turned to look away. Aaron pulled up a chair and sat down saying. “I know Spencer. I’m right here.” And he would be there, and so would the team. The future looked murky right now, but Hotch was going to fight for Spencer. Fight for him to be on the team and for him to be well. Because Spencer was the smartest person he knew, and he cared deeply for his friend. He was going to do everything he could to keep him in his life.

[youremyheaven]

As someone who has Ardra Sun and Rahu in the 7th House, relationships are a very foggy and intimidating area for me. I have yet to date anyone due to being conditioned that people will just use me. I’ve dealt with that in friendships (though I’ve had good experiences as well with some), so I cannot imagine going “all in” for romantic relationships because I fear that I will be losing myself throughout the motions when it may all come crashing down. I do see myself as someone to hold on to the idea that a connection may break off at any moment; I’ve done that when it came to friendships, so that sense of detachment did help me to feel less pain when that connection eventually fades away because “that’s life.” I learned to appreciate the moments we’ve had then I move on with life like they do theirs. Don’t get me wrong, if I ever come across people from my past, I’d treat them well. So, I’m sure I wouldn’t be no different in the romance realm… However, it’s really hard for me to maintain contact, and I am aware that it may come across as heartless, and they may assume I never cared at all for the connections I’ve made to begin with since I just let them go. A lot of the times, my life goes by in a blur, and I’m often in my head a lot. I do long for love but I know I need to work on my pleasing tendencies and my spacey mentality. I gotta realize my self worth more, so I guess it’s a good thing I made a conscious decision not to date anyone unless I’ve worked on the shadows that loom over me 😭 I have other things that haunt me from the past to work on, but I’d rather not discuss those 🥲 The only person I consistently keep in contact with is my sister, and she has Magha in Mercury. I don’t know if that says something, just wanted to loin that out.

Yeah, I really gotta work on myself more…

tysm for sending this

a lot of what you said describes my ex

his detachment, especially from life itself, often bothered me and upset me, I knew it had something to do with his Nodal influence but it was hard for me to understand it.

thank you for describing it for me. idk reading this made me emotional because i really desperately wanted him to not be so spacey or feel like he was untethered and kind of passing through life. but i also know that there was no way for me to help him and that it was/is his own journey. there is resentment because you want them to want to be better for you but at the end of the day its important to realise that sometimes love isn't enough to rewire things that are so intrinsically linked to who you are. i have a lot of compassion and love for them but i know its not healthy for me to be in a position where i feel like im the only solid thing in their life and like air, he's circling in and out, all around me but isn't fully there.

[im--never--happy]

I really fundamentally cannot understand how and why the avatar fandom has been sleeping on Mako. Especially with all the Zuko love. People love an angsty sad boi who just wants to do the right thing. And by god if that is not Mako I don’t know what is. Like. Mako as a character is soooo fucking angstable. So much angst potential right there. But fandom just collectively ignores him (or else hates on him for no fucking reason). Is he perfect? Of course not, but Zuko is so insanely far from perfect and all of Zuko’s wrongdoings so far surpass any of Mako’s. Yet fandom easily forgives Zuko, resident sad boi, for his actual fucking crimes (kyoshi village didn’t burn itself down, Song’s ostrich horse didn’t steal itself, Sparky Sparky Boom—I mean Combustion Man didn’t hire himself—lmao) in favor of focusing on his trauma and angst (don’t get me wrong I am an absolute slut for angst and complex nuanced discussions of trauma in fictional characters, and Zuko is such an amazing vessel for my insatiable thirst for angst. But. SO!! IS!!! MAKO!!!!!). But Mako doesn’t get that treatment. He’s vilified for his significantly less bad mistakes. And it makes no actual fucking sense. Because he is so primed for angst and he has insane amounts of trauma. And he’s so sweet. He just loves the people in his circle so fucking much, he just wants to do right by them, he just wants to protect them and keep them safe, and also fucking save the goddamn world. Jfc. He’s sooo GOOD. And the crazy thing is that he’d actually be a better fit for a lot of the specific angst and character traits people want to project onto Zuko that actually aren’t in line with Zuko’s character. Like when people write how Zuko is so humble and doesn’t think he deserves anything and is so intrinsically kind and patient and gentle. And that’s just… not canon Zuko at all. Canon Zuko is impatient and loud and shouts and so insanely fucking proud. He was raised a prince thinking he deserved everything because he was royalty. And yes yes so much abuse and lack of self worth and trauma. Yes obviously. But Zuko expects (or at least expected) people to give him things or do things for him because he was royalty. At least at one point. He doesn’t know how to cook or take care of himself or other people, because he’s always had people doing that for him, at least to a certain degree (I’m not saying the ship banishment was luxury but he still absolutely had a crew that did a lot of shit, like cooking and day to day grunt work for him). Whereas Mako IS humble and soft spoken and quiet and gentle. He never raises his voice with bolin and never lashes out in anger. Bolin and Korra say hurtful unfair and unkind shit to him, and he just fucking takes it. He doesn’t shout or throw insults back. He just accepts their anger and criticims and still fights to help and protect them. He is self reliant and raised his younger brother alone since they were both homeless orphans. He can cook. He also doesn’t think he deserves better when people treat him like shit, because he’s always been treated like shit. (Hello self worth self-loathing angst potential galore!!) Mako is everything that a lot of fandom want Zuko to be and he has endless potential for sad boi trauma angsting. But he gets hated for no fucking reason while Zuko gets idolized. And it makes no fucking sense and drives me absolutely fucking nuts

[raayllum]

Did you notice that Callum never sketched once in S4? He had his sketchbook with him on their journey but never pulled it out or used it. At first I thought eh, maybe they just didn’t have time to include that with everything else going on this season. But then I began to think that this choice may be intrinsically connected to Callum emotionally repressing himself. Drawing has always been a way for him to express his big feelings and his ability to love deeply. But instead, he’s been focusing all his energies on being a mage instead, because he links his self worth entirely to his magical abilities. AND THEN, my brain started going to big picture things like Callum the Mage vs Callum the Artist, and which is is ultimately going to be beneficial for him and who he is in the end. I dunno where I’m going with this, but I just wanted to throw out this observation and hear your thoughts.

I thought at first that he was sketching at some point in the Drakewood but you're right! He's just skimming his book

We didn't see Callum draw on screen at all in S3 either, too consumed by the journey and mission and honestly his feelings for Rayla. However, we do know that Callum draws in S3 because he draws Rayla's parents and shows it to her.

On the one hand, having his sketchbook mostly be a spellbook is just very practical and he uses it all the time this season. On the other hand, we also know that drawing is something Callum genuinely loves to do - and something he does to process his emotions

He draws Sarai in 1x07 to process his feelings of loss, which he shares with Ezran

C: When you were under the ice, I was so scared. I thought I was going to lose you like we lost her.

We see him draw like that again in 2x07 when he's worried over Rayla, but he doesn't say anything to Ezran. He's tight lipped, he's angry, he's conflicted. He throws his sketchbook, a gift from Harrow that he cared enough to have stitched up by the time S4 comes along, on the ground because he's so pissed off at feeling helpless and worried

So I don't think him drawing per se is like, a big thing in S4 just because he draws so sparingly in season three, but we do know that 1) Callum is very emotionally shut down in S4 overall and 2) he is not actually processing the bulk of his emotions, either purposefully distracting himself from them, trying to, or having them over ruled by other more recent trauma. For example, Callum only gets one (1) day to process Rayla's return before the very next immediate night, Aaravos possesses him. Give this poor kid a break

I do think there's something to be said for High Mage Callum vs Prince Callum vs regular Callum identity wise though. You have Callum's role to his brother ultimately as the prince, something he's more comfortable in, and defining himself as a big brother is something and his family has always done: he takes his role as the older sibling very seriously, shown in how he looks out for and somewhat parentifies himself around Ezran, and even including Harrow's last words to him: "Take care of your brother."

Then you have his role as the high mage and as a mage in general, which leaves him vulnerable to Aaravos and uncertain of himself; probably why he ultimately can't give up the cube ("If I'm not a mage, then who am I?" from Callum's Spellbook) but also something he's struggling with because of Rayla (who inspired him to become a mage in the first place) and Viren (a shadowy predecessor looming over him).

Then there's 'regular' Callum, who we see most prominently to me in 2x04: curious, determined, searching, reckless, desperate, as he goes out into the storm and finds Rayla waiting for him. He's magic-less, a little bit hopeless, down on himself. He feels like he's nothing; Rayla sees otherwise, "magic or no magic."

After all, Rayla doesn't mention his magic once to Sol Regem when she lists all the reasons he's wonderful and amazing -- because he always was, and she's always known it

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Trigger warning - self hate

Looking for - anything you want to say

When I’m eating food, I feel bad like I don’t deserve to eat the food. I feel guilty every time I get a snack for myself or a blanket to cover me to be comfy.

I think about myself in that moment and can’t help but think I’m worthless.

I never ask for anything, I’ve always been the quiet one who doesn’t ask for anything or to join the car ride somewhere unless I’m told to.

When I take up space anywhere I go I feel like I’m stealing from others who deserve it more than me.

I expect people to get mad, hate on me, treat me like shit, although most people I meet are super kind to me I just can’t handle their kindness it makes me cry.

I don’t feel like I “own” my own space or things, I feel like everything I own or space I take up is automatically someone’s else’s who is worth more than me.

I am defective.

I can’t stop feeling guilty over everything I do even when I’m not really doing much of anything.

Everyone around me growing up at school and at home the adults and the kids all told me I was worthless. It must be true. I hate being kind to myself when I’m told I should be. I don’t feel like I’m telling myself the truth when I’m doing that, I feel like I’m lying to myself.

I was born defective. I remember always being this way from a young age. I feel guilty no matter what I do throughout my days. Like I don’t deserve anything. Not even food and water.

I understand I was abused. I understand the role I played for my abusers growing up. But I still can’t help but believe I deserved to be abused bc they said I hurt them all first… I offended them all the time, I upset them everyday, everything I did upset them. I was difficult and took space others needed and deserved and not me. I always felt so bad for them I always always upset them all at home and at school. I was and still am someone who has something intrinsically wrong with them.

Doing nice things for myself feels wrong…

I am defective. I am worthless. My abusers were right, they were right, my abusers are the only ones who never lied to me.

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry about what you've been through and the impact it's had on your self-perception and self-worth. It sounds like your experiences enduring abuse has deeply affected you to the point that you've been made to believe that you were "defective" from birth.

You deserve to have basic necessities like food and water. You deserve to take up space. You deserve to feel comfortable, loved, and supported, as much as your abusers have tried to convince you otherwise. Being made to believe that you don't deserve to be treated with respect is something abusers intentionally instill because that kind of mindset can be easier to take advantage of (like feeling like you deserve the abuse and feel less motivated to escape, something an abuser wants for you). Abusers want you to believe you don't deserve anything better so that they can abuse you for as long as possible. That's why they're so repelled by people with self-compassion and confidence.

There is only much that I can say and do to help here. If you can access or afford it, a mental health professional such as a therapist could help you process your experiences and how they have shaped the way you treat yourself. While it can be incredibly difficult to make that first step in seeking help when you simultaneously believe you don't deserve it, you've already begun by reaching out to us, and the transformative capabilities of therapy could be life-changing for you.

If anyone would like to make any comments or suggestions, please feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help and please know that we're here if you need anything.

-Bun

[neuxue]

A few days ago I finished my buddy read of the Riddle-master Trilogy, and I’m left unsure what to say. I finally got around to reading it, after your numerous recommendations in your wot liveblog and I guess I want to thank you(?). It felt like discovering a new favourite and I have the deepest gratitude towards your for making me know her words. Do you have any recommendations which book to follow up with?

Anon, you have made my day. Maybe my week. Possibly my month. I love being rewarded for pushing this trilogy on everyone at every opportunity because I think the people I know who have read it remain in the single digits and yet lines from it have haunted my waking hours since I read it well over a decade ago, so. I am delighted that you not only read it but loved it - you're very welcome for the rec, and also please talk to me about Riddlemaster any time.

As far as recommendations! My next favourite of McKillip's works is Alphabet of Thorn, which is a beautiful story about a girl, a library, an ancient powerful sorceror/king loyalty situation, and the concept of translation given vague sentience and less vague power. If you enjoyed her writing in Riddlemaster, give this one a try! I also have a particular soft spot for The Book of Atrix Wolfe for the way it plays with identity, agency, desperation and its consequences, and the particular grief of living with yourself. Or you could try any of her other works; you'll find she revisits certain themes that are found in Riddlemaster, and her prose is always lovely.

Outside of McKillip... I sort of struggle to recommend something as an 'if you liked Riddlemaster, try this next' because while I can think of stories that are similar to specific aspects of it, I don't think I've ever come across something that hits in precisely the same way.

Two that you've probably seen me talk about recently: if you liked music-as-power, watching a character become immensely powerful at the cost of something that was once an intrinsic part of their identity, and a love story that focuses on seeing and being seen for who you are, you could try 《魔道祖师》 / Mo Dao Zu Shi, usually referred to MDZS or The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation in its English translation (or its TV series adaptation 《陈情令》 / The Untamed). It's not the same vibe, but there are elements. Or, by the same author, 《天官赐福》 / TGCF / Heaven Official's Blessing, which has arguably fewer parallels but a slightly more similar vibe. Maybe. Still quite different but... hey, I liked both, and I feel like dissimilar as they are they sometimes hit some of the same things I want out of a reading experience.

Or, if part of what really did it for you with Riddlemaster was the exquisite agony of it all, and the infinitely fine line between love and betrayal, and the feeling of being held gently even as you were being stabbed in the heart, and you just want more of that no matter the genre or story it's in, you could take my hand and trust me and give something like Machineries of Empire, The Traitor Baru Cormorant (bonus points for lovely prose), possibly one of Robin Hobb's books, or maaaaybe even Doctrine of Labyrinths a try. Fair warning, all of those do feel darker (and Machineries of Empire in particular is weirder, though does have a fairly close Erlenstar parallel if you look for it), but for me they do hit some of those same deep-seated buttons in the id. Also for what it's worth, I know that Yoon Ha Lee (author of Machineries of Empire) has read and claimed to enjoy Riddlemaster; I think Seth Dickinson (author of The Traitor Baru Cormorant) might have as well, but I could be misremembering.

And if anyone else reading this has 'if you liked Riddlemaster, try ___' recs, please toss them anon's (and my!) way.

[biblioflyer]

Is Star Trek Insurrection anti-progress?

In which I take a stab at trying to be generous towards one of the Star Trek takes that annoys me the most.

This is a continuation of a series analyzing Discovery’s finale and the different worldviews in the Star Trek fandom. This is also, in part, a reaction and analysis of a discussion about conflicting values behind Trek between Michael Heaton and Tim Sandefur on the Political Orphanage podcast. For more like this, use the Star Trek ethics tag.

In the last post, I focused on the fandom skepticism of the geopolitical assumptions of The Next Generation. Another key complaint Sandefur raises is that Next Generation seems to have turned its back on techno optimism in favor of neo-pastoralism, my words not his.

Neo-pastoralism being the vague notion that not only was the pre-industrial world more ecologically sustainable, to some degree life was better for humans under those conditions. By virtue of being more ecologically sustainable, preindustrial pastoralism is morally superior to the way society would be organized at any point from the industrial revolution onward. 

I’m painting with an extremely broad brush and am almost certainly guilty of caricaturing both Sandefur’s objections to TNG’s relationship with technology and also the beliefs of people who would prefer pre-industrial ways of life for aesthetic, moral, or practical reasons.

Let's set aside the obvious contradiction that TNG takes place on a spaceship outfitted with technological doodads that render industrial scale agriculture if not obsolete, then much less necessary. That’s a point well worth litigating but the savvy thinker recognizes that these are backdrop elements intended to be observed and then quickly taken for granted until they become plot relevant.

The setting’s philosophy of technology and the intrinsic goodness of progress, in the material sense, is found in how characters react to plot devices. The MacGuffins and scenarios that warrant scrutiny by the characters and audiences rather than disappearing into the background.

I’ve got to be honest, I’ve forgotten most of Sandefur’s argument on this point, except that he really, really didn’t like Star Trek Insurrection and had nothing but contempt for the Baku or the idea that anyone would feel sentimental about taking away their unnaturally long lives to maybe confer superior medical care to people offworld, and destroy the planet’s ecology in the process.

I suppose if I was going to steelman this, there are times where it is judged that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one. Imminent domain laws in the US are sometimes used to break a stalemate between the representatives of the many, i.e. the state, and individuals or small groups of people who are standing in the way of a major development that theoretically would improve the lives of the many. It would stand to reason that Sandefur would be unsentimental about mountaintop removal mining as long as humans aren’t directly exposed to any pollutants that result.

I guess he sort of has a point?

Except that I think it's pretty clear that Insurrection is a metaphor for the forced removal of people from their land for the purposes of exploiting their natural resources under the assumption that the more materially powerful and numerous society has more of a right to those resources than the people who are not utilizing them “properly.” Furthermore, any resistance to resettlement and “fair compensation” is characterized as irrational sentimentality. 

Although I wonder how many people who think more in terms of whether resources are being properly exploited would be in favor of demolishing the Washington Monument to build a Walmart or dynamiting Mount Rushmore to get at a newly discovered vein of platinum? Are there proponents of forcibly resettling the Baku who oppose resettling the Federation colonists who found themselves on the Cardassian side of the new borders?

Reviewing some of his recent work just to make sure that I wasn’t name-dropping someone who had undergone a massively problematic character arc since the original recording, I do find that in the present Sandefur actually has strong beliefs about private property protections. So I wonder what the threshold is at which private property rights are overridden by collective benefit.

Ultimately, I think Insurrection largely invalidates the arguments of the pro-Baku removal side. Even Admiral Dougherty’s appeal to people with chronic illness only moderately softens the overall impact of seizing the metaphasic radiation. Especially since it's depicted as a natural phenomena. An exotic one to be sure, but anything of nature ought to be something that the Federation can throw its best minds at and eventually replicate in a lab rather than having a finite quantity of whatever charged particles emit the radiation to ration. Of course to give credit to Dougherty and Sandefur, this may not be easy, timely, or even possible in the long term and many lives will be lost from chronic illness while the effort is underway.

This is where its worth talking about virtue ethics vs consequentialism. Because I do believe that TNG definitely leans more towards virtue ethics than consequentialism, but its all contextual. In the context of the Baku removal, Picard opposes it because he believes in his core its wrong. Even though the applications of the metaphasic radiation would presumably help many more people than the 600 people on the Baku planet, the removal of the Baku against their will represents a moral violation of a sort that, under virtue ethics, undermines the habit of disciplined commitment to ethical behavior and invites easier rationalizations of would otherwise be deemed unethical behavior. This is of course, something a consequentialist would likely describe as a slippery slope fallacy.

Ironically, while this is depicted as an example of TNG era Trek being all in on environmentalism to a fault and “anti-progress”, that this seems like something that could ultimately be whipped up in a lab and ultimately being deployed as a resource without practical limit seems pretty consistent with established Treknology and doesn’t seem like a reach. 

So where I end up is feeling that it's just kind of weird and icky to hate on this movie for reasons other than it not being particularly cinematic, it being another cliched “badmiral” story, or the way it utilized particular characters: Data’s emotion chip was disabled and thus his growth as a character reset, Worf was just comic relief and muscle, Beverly was in that movie too I think.

[uozlulu]

It’s that time of night again. Alone with the thoughts. So many thoughts.

Still thinking about the quandary of desire. What would it feel like? What would it be like? Would it be consuming? What would it feel like? Would it be like a perseveration? Would it be less intense? Would it be like how people try to convey it in stories or would it be kind of muted? More subtle?

Would it be like being the center of attention? That seems absolutely horrible. Although I don’t mind sharing the stage with others, of doing solos as long as someone else is with me. Maybe I was just built for more than one person? Although it seems like the more people you add the more complicated something that seems complicated becomes, and then if it’s two against one that’s double the center of attention and that sounds very unappealing.

I used to feel very heart poundy around certain people and I used to blush and so forth. Sometimes I’d trip over myself and stuff. I don’t really do that anymore and haven’t for a long time. Sometimes I wonder if desire is connected to stuff like that but at the same time I’m not sure if it was a desire for those particular people or a desire to know things. I used to be very curious about kissing, if it was really going to be like stories promised or if it’d just end up feeling like it looks, like just mouths. I mean you know every builds alcohol up and it tastes like poison so....I also think a big part of it was a desire to be understood, to be loved, to be accepted for myself. Like people around me loved me but I felt very alien, very out of space, out of place, and I just wanted to feel like I was a person for once in my life, that I had some kind of intrinsic existential worth. But since then I’ve figured out that that’s a bit too out of reach and I’ve adjusted myself accordingly. I’m much more content with who I am than I used to be because of it. I wouldn’t say I feel particularly human, but I at least have healed enough to not feel like an object deserving of abuse.

But despite all this wondering and contemplation, it still feels ridiculously pointless because at the end of the day these are things I will never know most likely. I mean I’m thirty-eight and despite going on a handful of dates with a handful of boys in high school never once - not ever - has anyone ever tried to kiss me. I’ve thought about kissing some people in my life when I was younger but sometimes I wonder if it was out of desire or out of curiosity. I’m very science brained and I used to be so desperate to be loved so so so so so desperate. Honestly thank goodness I was considered very ugly or I might have gotten myself into repercussions.

Anyway, I’m still thinking about desire. I’ve started to read E rated fics more though I stick to the ones with actual plot and kind of like skim the E portions because it’s not really my monkey or circus. But I think it’s part of this desire curiosity. What draws people into such things? What draws estranged lovers together again? What might make someone who knew you when you were younger and in your prime still consider you an option even now? Even if your hands shake? Even if your memory isn’t what it used to be?

I mean like back when my BMI was 18 and I had my health relatively, everyone called me fat and ugly every day. I was fake asked out so many times I lost track of how many. One time a guy fake asked me out in math class loudly before class started and I went from 0 to LIVID in picoseconds but I didn’t say anything before I didn’t want to tell him to fuck off and get in trouble with the teacher if they were to walk in suddenly. Some other kid went, “She looks so hopeful,” and everyone.

Everyone.

Everyone laughed.

I can’t even remember how I responded. I think I got so angry there’s no way even pre-seizure return me would have remembered.

But I think that’s part of what drives this too. I’ve always been so undesireable even if I did manage to date a few boys here and there. I mean no one asked me out in university even before I got so super inflamed and stuff.

That said, I did make peace with some of this after turning thirty. I do feel more happy and light now that I’ve let go of my expectations of ever being anything other than forever alone. But I guess I can’t stop feeling curious about things. - Maybe I’ll get lucky and these thoughts will run their course sooner than later.

[literaphobe]

hello everyone :) as someone who’s been in fandom spaces for a decade and creating content for half that time i think i’d like to talk about the concept of intrinsic value vs extrinsic value: especially when it comes to tumblr, a site where low reblog rates and terrible reblog-to-likes ratios have been an ongoing and worsening problem!

this is something younger people in fandom should know, i think, and it’s something i’ve learned and reinforced over the years myself. often times i see fandom creators complain about how punishing making art/writing/creating anything is, and how absolutely disheartening it is when they don’t get the traction they want, or when they see other people being more successful. it’s discouraging. it could make you feel inferior. you wonder what you’re doing wrong. i’m here to assure you that it’s Absolutely nothing — art is such a subjective thing, and timing and chance have so much to play. just because you are not as ‘popular’ does not mean you are less talented

however, that’s where the problem starts: if you only derive extrinsic value (validation from others) from making fandom content, you are setting yourself up for heartbreak and disappointment. if you are suffering a lot (sacrificing sleep, time, energy) to make fandom content and the only thing that makes it feel worth it is potential popularity, then i genuinely suggest you stop or cut down the amount you create for the sake of your health

i know it sounds so silly and obvious: make art only if you like it! write only if you have fun doing it! but that is how fandom works. that’s how it all started. none of us are doing this because we have to. we do it because we want to. and if you feel like making fandom content is making you more unhappy than happy, then i recommend you stop/take a break. there is NO shame in that. there are multiple ways to participate in fandom. there is no right or wrong as long as you aren’t hurting anyone. you don’t have to ‘make content’ to be absolutely vital to the community. every single person who interacts positively is important. just put out the energy you want to feel in a fandom space and that is the best thing you could possibly do :)

i absolutely understand the appeal of getting attention and love and appreciation for the things you do. however, it cannot be your sole motivation. this is something true of content creation in general. when you ask successful ccs what tips they have for streaming, most of them say do it because you like it. don’t do it for clout or it’ll kill your motivation. it’s the same for fandom spaces. it’s even more true for fandom spaces, because no one is paying us. and that’s why when i write/make any form of content i constantly ask myself the same question. am i having fun? is this worth it even if no one else cared? and if the answer is yes i go on!

in the same way how small ccs cannot expect big ccs to just ‘give’ them popularity and receive a huge dedicated following overnight, it is counterproductive to expect bigger blogs to reblog any and every piece of fandom content they see. and especially in smaller fandom spaces like tumblr, what we really need to emphasize and promote in general is interaction — reblog the things you like! talk about what you liked in the tags. whether you are a big blog or a small one, this is incredibly vital to any fan community. you might think you’re not making a difference because your reblog doesn’t expose a person’s work to thousands of followers, but i have personally found the greatest meaning in one sincerely made comment than i have in like… hundreds of silent likes/reblogs. the point is, as understandable as it is to resent blogs with huge followings who i cannot speak for, there is so, SO much power in all of us as individual members of this community

it goes without saying that we should encourage and support creators in any fandom. however, it worries me to see fans, especially young people in fandom, tear themselves apart over making content, things that should be joyful experiences. it’s worrying to see resentment within a community as well. let’s try to do right by each other, and please don’t sacrifice your health for fan content, or any content in general!

[xiaq]

Hi, I have a question re:sex and Christianity. Small background: I still go to church, and I still live with my parents even though I'm not much younger than you, because housing is very very expensive where I live (pretty common here, I would say about 2/3 of my friends live with their parents and we are decently privileged kids)

Anyway. How does one get over purity culture? To be clear, I've never been told in church not to have sex, I've never gotten the gendered lessons that you got. But I am terrified of having sex. My first real, multi-year relationship just ended and while there was hand stuff etc, there was never any p in v sex (lol I feel 12). But I still had insane anxiety about being pregnant despite being on bc. And I think its because I know my parents would be so disappointed if I had sex. And if I was pregnant I could imagine all the gossip. And honestly I think im from a pretty open church, b/c one of our previous ministers kids recently got married at 8 months pregnant and lots of church people were at the wedding and supportive and her parents were there and everything.

I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???

(Asking because it seems like you've been pretty open about purity culture/removing yourself from it)

CW for sex talk (again)

How does one get over purity culture?

Oh man. That really is the million-dollar question, huh? Obviously, I can only answer re my personal experiences, and this is something you should talk to a therapist about, but I can tell you how I’ve tackled it with my therapist at least.

Purity culture is, at its core, an ideology that is perpetuated by shame. If you’re indoctrinated into purity culture when you’re a kid, the concepts become baked into the way you construct your identity, your perception of self, and your perception of your sexuality. It’s practically intrinsic, by the time you’re an adult, to feel shame any time you’re reminded you have a body, much less a sexuality.

According to the chapels I sat through every week as a kid, a girl's body could be 3 things: an intentional stumbling block for men, an accidental stumbling block for men, or unnoticeable. Women were to strive for the third option so as to keep their (and their male friends/authority figures) purity intact. After all, if a boy, or even your male teacher, had impure thoughts about you, it was your fault for tempting them (which, holy shit. I still can’t believe that was a thing I bought into for so long. If my 45 yr old grown-ass teacher had impure thoughts because he could see my 12 yr old collarbone, that sure as hell wasn’t my fault. But I digress.) The Only time a woman’s body can be something else, is when she gives it to her husband, at which point she must suddenly flip the switch in her brain that she is now allowed to be a Sexual Being and she must perform Sexual Duties despite living in outright fear of her own body and sexuality for years (decades?) up until this point. Jesus take the wheel.

Purity culture isn’t a thing you can just decide to walk away from if you’ve grown up in it. Because its ideology is insidious and internalized. So first you need to submit to the fact that you’re going to be fucked up about sex. It sounds like you’re there. Second, you need to interrogate what you believe. If you’re leaving religion behind entirely, you’ll approach removing yourself from purity culture differently than if you still identify as a Christian. It sounds like you might be the latter, which meant, for me, separating what’s actually biblical and what’s shitty, contrived, doctrine that I was told is biblical but is actually more political than spiritual. This helps you address the shame issue.

You need to throw away I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Lady in Waiting and all those ridiculous books you read and reread in the hopes of somehow obtaining impossible marriage perfection and look into actual scripture interpreted within its historical context. I could write a book on this, but the TL;DR is that the text of the Bible was written, translated, curated, and changed multiple times over thousands of years by human beings with human biases and, often, personal and/or political agendas. It contradicts itself! Reading it as it is—a flawed historical document—rather than some sort of God-breathed perfect document—is incredibly freeing. When you do, you’ll probably realize that purity culture is bullshit on a spiritual level. Which is a good start, if that matters to you. Because any time you start to feel shame or guilt you can ask yourself: does God actually care if I wear a bikini or touch a dick I’m not married to? Probably not. Wear the bikini. Touch the dick.

The most important therapy session for me was when my therapist asked what I would do if I got to heaven and God was actually the God I’d been raised to fear. What would I do if he condemned me for being bisexual and having premarital sex and becoming educated, for arguing with men, and failing to isolate while menstruating, and wearing mixed fabrics? If Montero had come out at the point, I probably would have said I’d pole dance down to hell. Instead, I said I would spit on heaven’s gates. If a god that cruel and that pointlessly demeaning really exists—a god who would create in me condemned desire—I won't worship him. The good news is, I’m 99% sure he doesn’t exist. At the very least, he isn’t supported by scripture.

Okay. The final thing you need to do is figure out what you actually want, sexually speaking. This bit is probably the hardest. I’m still in the early stages of this myself. You say: “I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???” Bro, I wish I had an easy answer for you. For me, whenever I’m feeling anxious about Sex Things, I tell myself: 1. My God does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 2. My partner does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 3. I do not equate my worth to my sexual habits. It seems silly, but reminding myself of those three things is massively helpful. If, after I’ve sorted through those, I’m still anxious or uncomfortable, I stop doing the thing. I evaluate. Am I overwhelmed and I need to try again some other time? Do I just not like the thing? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you change your mind. Sometimes you just don’t know. That’s why having a partner who you trust and who’s willing to patiently explore your interests (and respect your disinterests) is so important. Half the battle, for me, was having a partner who told me they’d be ok with no sex at all. Because that took the pressure off me. If the bare minimum they need is nothing, then anything more than that is a bonus! Hooray! This is maybe TMI, but let me tell you. I thought I was asexual* right up until I was able to have moderately non-anxious sex. Never in my life did I think I would initiate a sexual situation but… I do now. It’s a fun thing to do with a person I love and, holy shit. I am furious that I nearly missed out on it.

Finally, re birth control: I don’t know how you can approach that fear in a way that works for you. If you don’t want to ever have penetrative sex, that’s fine! If that’s a point of anxiety you can’t get rid of, then don't push yourself to do it. If you find out you like other sex things, do the other sex things! If you don't like doing any sex things, don't do any sex things! Also, have you considered sleeping with people who can’t get you pregnant? Always an option if it’s an option you want to consider. ;)

Okay. I hope this was even a little bit helpful. Sorry if it’s a little convoluted, I typed it up in bursts during my work breaks.

*This is not at all to say that asexuality can be “fixed." Rather, it’s to say that things like purity culture can drastically confuse your sexuality in general. If you’re asexual, then this process is still important to discover what you like/dislike. Then you can be explicit about those necesities and find a partner who’s a good fit (if you want a partner at all, that is).

[floatingbook]

Heyy, I love reading through your asks and your “series” about changing habits. 💜💜

I want to start dressing less feminine, but I’m very short and most women who dress like that seem to be taller and white. I think it would look ridiculous on me. My body is too weak and nothing looks right because of the boob area/hips. “Masculine clothing” overwhelms my frame. Those women look really powerful to me, but I could never emulate that.

Do you have any advice on how to get over being too short?

Too short as opposed to what, anon? You are your body, and you are the size you’re supposed to be. There’s no point wishing you were someone different. It’s never going to happen. You’re never going to wake up in the morning twelve centimetres taller. There’s no such things as being too short, or too tall. You might be short when it comes to averages, because the rest of the population is taller than you, but it has nothing to do with what height you should be or what worth you hold as a person.

You have to stop thinking like this. You have to stop thinking in terms of unreachable dreams of appearance. Your physical characteristics don’t condition your value. You don’t have to look a certain way, you don’t have to be a certain height, you don’t have to wear a certain style of clothes. You just don’t have to. You won’t die, you won’t be shunned by your friends, the sky won’t fall.

Even if it’s ridiculous by some standards, it doesn’t mean that you look intrinsically ridiculous. You could argue that I am too short, that I look ridiculous, that my clothes don’t fit. Sometimes when I move around, or even when I don’t, my clothes bunch in weird places — because they’ve been bought in the men’s section, because they haven’t been designed for my body type. I don’t care. My body is covered, the fabric is comfortable, it’s sturdy. That’s enough. I look like I want to look, and when I feel uncertain, when I can hear those old insecurities, I stop looking. I don’t have mirrors, I don’t live in a big city, most day I don’t know what I look like from the outside. Let clothes fit weirdly around your boobs and your hips, as long as it doesn’t chafe, and doesn’t hinder your movements. Let clothes “overwhelm” your frame.

The women you see on social media aren’t real women. They’re set-up dolls, airbrushed fantasies, there’s nothing remotely real or attainable about it. Stop looking at them. They displace your expectations toward the unachievable. It’s unhealthy. Look at the women around you, in the street, instead. Go to women’s land, go to the countryside, get yourself to a farm led by a woman. A lot of women don’t dress feminine — look for them in manual occupations.

Very few of us are instinctively good at judging how we affect other people. You don’t know who’s watching you, and you don’t know who’s being inspired by you. Don’t discount yourself. And if anything, unapologetically not adhering to the current beauty standards is an act of bravery and an inspiration in itself. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re allowed to exist too.

[n00dl3gal]

Like Old Times (Father-Son Bonding AU)

A direct sequel to the “Expiration Date” fic, which I’ll link in a reblog. I’ve also posted all my fics in this AU to AO3!! Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for their help and just generally being a cool dude, and the Scoutsune Discord server for indulging my brainrot

No warnings beyond family schmoop!

Less than an hour after the bread monster incident, the Administrator called for a ceasefire. “Only while your base is repaired,” she said over the TV screen. “BLU is quite disappointed in this negligence- as am I. Regardless, you may use these three days as you see fit. Go home, stay here- whatever you do, no more bread monsters.” The screen turned off with a click. 

Scout exhaled through his nose. He was thankful there was no mention of him or Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

Spy decloaked behind him. “Less time than I wanted, but c’est la vie.” Scout looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m meeting with an old contact during our break,” Spy said in Italian. “Would you like to come along? It’ll be like old times.” 

Scout’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. At least this way, he’d get out of helping Engie and Heavy with repairs. And possibly meeting Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

“Excellent. Our flight is at 7 AM tomorrow.” 

“We’re flying commercial?” Scout asked, also in (more hesitant) Italian. 

“Our destination is continental. We’ll leave the base by 5:30.” Scout groaned as Spy started to leave. But- wait, he hadn’t- 

“Oi, where are we going, anyway?” he called back in English. 

Spy paused to look at him and smile. “Boston.” 

“Why do we always get the ass-crack-of-dawn flights?” Jeremy asked groggily, reclining his seat.

“They are the ones with first-class seats available,” Raphael replied. He took a sip from his mimosa. 

“Yeah, cuz God forbid you fly coach for once.” Jeremy shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Hey. Have I ever been to Boston before?”

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. His lip sucked in, as if in thought. “Yes. When you were very, very young. You wouldn’t remember.” 

Jeremy nodded. He wanted to ask more, there was something Raphael wasn’t saying but… well, he was never a morning person. He fell asleep before the plane even took off. 

. . .

It was mid-afternoon by the time they landed in Boston. Jeremy was never fond of long flights; having his legs cramped like that for extended periods of time was murder. He was half tempted to take a jog around Logan International. Raphael, on the other hand, was ushering them both to the car rental. “Can’t even get a stretch in, huh?”

“Unfortunately, we are expected by 4, and I would hate to keep my contact waiting,” Raphael explained in French, accepting the keys from the girl at the counter. “She’s not a very patient woman, in some regards.” 

Jeremy huffed but didn’t argue. He just followed his father to the rental, tossing his suitcase in the backseat. “Y’know, the girl at the counter-” 

“We will not have time for you to go out on a date, Jeremy.” 

“No! No, it was- her accent’s kinda like mine, it’s weird,” Jeremy said. Raphael started the car. “Cuz I’ve only been here as a baby, and I got mine from TV and shit. It’s just… really strange, is all.” 

Raphael made a quiet noise of agreement. “Some of the shows you watched as a child were filmed here. It’s not as complex as you think it is.” 

“Yeah, probably not…” 

The pair lapsed into silence as Raphael drove. Storefronts and high rises morphed into houses. It had been a while since they were in a residential area. RED, for understandable reasons, kept away from civilians. 

Raphael took the roads with practiced experience. Sure, it had been implied he knew the area. If he had a contact here- one with a house, presumably- he must’ve spent time here. But this- this was far too familiar. A bit suspicious, actually. 

Eventually, Raphael slowed in front of a more rundown Brownstone. Still quite nice, just needed a little work. It felt… welcoming, in a way Jeremy couldn’t name.

“Lotta cars,” he observed as Raphael parallel parked. “Must be a party going on somewhere.” 

“Hmm, perhaps,” Raphael said, turning the car off. “Would you mind ringing the doorbell for me? I need to grab something from the trunk. Ask for Sara Jane.” 

OK, now Jeremy knew something was up. He was never the one to make the first contact, that was always Dad’s job. Jeremy might be a full-grown adult, but there were some things that didn’t change. This was one of them. 

Still, he nodded. He climbed up the front steps and ringed the doorbell. He heard- multiple voices from inside, predominantly male, but they quickly silenced themselves. A TV, perhaps? They really ought to get that flower box on the second story window fixed- 

The woman who opened the door was a bit shorter than him, though not by much. She was wearing a simple dress, hoop earrings, and flats. Her hair was dark, curved to her chin. But her nose and earlobes felt… achingly familiar. Like Jeremy saw them all the time. 

“Um, hi, I’m looking for Sara Jane? My name’s-” The rest of his speech was knocked out of him as the woman launched herself at him. Jeremy braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was… hugging him. 

She was hugging him, sobbing, and choked out the word “Jeremy.” 

Wait. He knew that voice. He had only heard it a few times in his life, few enough he could count them on one hand, but he knew it. “M-Ma?” he whispered. 

The woman- Sara Jane- Ma looked up at him, still crying. Her hands found his face as she observed him. “Y-yeah, sweetie, it’s me, it’s-it’s your ma,” she said. 

“Ma!” he laughed, tears of his own dancing down his cheeks. He hugged her back, practically lifting her off her feet. “Oh my God, Ma! I-I never thought I’d-” 

“Oh Jeremy, sweetie, look how tall you’ve gotten! Last I saw you, you fit in my arms! My baby, my handsome baby,” she spoke over him. She rubbed circles into his back as they embraced. It felt so, so right. 

Jeremy laughed even harder. “Are you kiddin’? I got it from you, you’re beautiful, Ma!” He stared at her, trying to commit every mole and wrinkle and perfect flaw to memory. “I can’t believe- oh my God, I’m actually meeting you!” 

“It was long overdue,” another voice said, as Raphael joined them on the front stoop. “I had put it off for safety reasons, but considering our current, ah, situation… I felt it was worth the risk.” 

Sara Jane squealed, pulling Raphael into the hug as well. “You’ve been taking good care of my boy, you promise me, Raphael?” 

“Don’t worry Ma, he’s the best dad I could ask for, considering,” Jeremy teased. 

“Oh, don’t I know it. Called me up last night and told me to get the whole motley crew together. Even managed to get Melvin to bring his twin daughters, bless his wife’s heart,” she explained. 

Jeremy blinked. “Uh- Melvin? Daughters?”

Sara Jane laughed. It sounded so much like Jeremy’s it practically hurt. This was his mother. Lord, he’s finally seeing her. “Melvin’s your older brother, sweetie. Eh, sixth oldest. Bobby’s the oldest.” 

“I have a brother?”

“Oh honey, you’re the youngest of eight,” Sara Jane said plainly. 

“...fuck,” Jeremy whispered. 

. . .

He didn’t just have seven brothers. He had seven brothers, four of which brought their wives, one who brought his boyfriend, and three who brought their kids. And the kids totaled to an additional six, counting the babies. 

It was… an admittedly tight squeeze in the living room. 

Sara Jane introduced Jeremy. Jeremy had been expecting to be treated like a stranger. He had vanished when he was a baby, after all, and his younger-older brothers probably wouldn’t remember him at all. 

And yet, it was like he knew them all his life. 

They teased him and punched him playfully and acted so friendly, so familial it nearly made Jeremy break down. He was still crying from meeting Ma, but being dogpiled with so much affection was suffocating. In a good way. He had seen on sitcoms the intrinsic bond between family, and while he felt it with Dad, they also risked their lives nearly daily. But it was real, it was here, and it was wrapping him in a warm blanket. 

Despite the chaos and the sheer number of people, Jeremy didn’t feel overwhelmed. He laughed and played along with their jokes, cracking some back when he could get a word in. Scott ragged on his dog tags, he countered by pointing out the hole in his pants. Michael told him he was still a shortass, he replied with “it takes one to know one.” Elliot and Ricky were the closest to actually getting hurt, and that was only because Jeremy elbowed them both so hard they nearly fell over. 

For the first time in 25 years, Jeremy understood what “home” meant. 

The kids were especially curious, eager to meet their uncle and step-grandfather. Within seconds, young Rebecca- only four years old- was challenging Jeremy to a race around the house. “I’m the fastest kid in the world,” she bragged, puffing out her chest. 

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy asked. “That a fact?”

“You wanna test me? I beat Johnny Three-Legs at running, and he’s got three legs!” Jeremy laughed and stood from the couch, letting her lead him outside. “On the count of three, OK?”

“You’re on, pipsqueak,” Jeremy teased.

“Onetwothree GO!” Rebecca yelled, taking off in a sprint. Jeremy knew that, by all accounts, he should beat her. His legs were longer, she didn’t have the proper running stance, and it was his job to be fast. That’s what he got paid to do. But some small voice was telling him to let her win, so he did. “Ha! I told ya!” 

“Ya sure did,” he replied, mock panting. “Look at you, a freaking blur on the green. You’re goin’ to the Olympics, kid.” 

Rebecca beamed and hugged his leg. “Promise, Uncle Jeremy?” He nodded because, after that display, there was no way he could speak without squeaking like a chew toy. 

Rebecca skipped back inside, past Raphael, who was watching on the stoop. “You’re a natural with children,” he observed. “I used to do the same thing when you were that age.” 

“Wait- wait, really? You sure fooled me,” Jeremy said. 

Raphael rolled his eyes. “What’s my job again, mon lapin?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jeremy leaned against the railing, watching Raphael’s cigarette smoke in the wind. “Hey. Uh… thanks for arranging all of this. You really didn’t need to.”

“But I did. I meant it when I said this was overdue. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while, but have been unable. Then that whole ordeal with the supposed tumors, and-” Raphael exhaled slowly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you if you died without knowing them. I would’ve never forgiven myself.” 

Jeremy punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, pops. It all worked out, we’re still kicking, and that roast chicken Ma’s making smells incredible. Everything’s perfect.” 

Raphael finished his cigarette and smiled. “Oui. It is.” 

. . .

While Sara Jane had been able to get the rest of the family here, it was a school night. Kids needed to be tucked in by 9:30, so most of Jeremy’s brothers were gone by 8. Elliot was staying overnight, as was his boyfriend. Otherwise, the house quickly went from bustling to barren. 

It gave Jeremy a chance to explore his would-be childhood home.

He made his way upstairs, pushing open one of the doors. It led- to little surprise- to a bedroom. It was set up like a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a toddler bed in the other. Toys were scattered about across the floor. 

He heard Sara Jane sigh behind him. “This was your room, you know.” Jeremy turned to look at her as she flipped the light switch. “That crib… I had put you to bed the night your father planned to fake his death. I was in on the whole plan, naturally. He wanted to hold you one last time, so I said OK. When I woke up the next morning… you were both gone.” She exhaled slowly, grabbing onto his shoulder. “I wrote both of you off as dead, but I knew what had happened. Honestly, should’ve figured it out before then. You hadn’t woken me up crying,” she joked. Her eyes were watering. 

Jeremy hugged her, pulling her close. “You never took the crib down?” 

“By the time I was ready, Bobby’s wife was pregnant, so I kept it up for my grandbabies. I knew- I knew you were out there, sweetie. Both of you.” She kissed his cheek, squeezing him.

“I-I never got to be a normal kid, really,” he confessed. “I mean, Dad did his best, gave me comic books and board games and stuff, but-but I never went to school or made friends or anything like that. I-I didn’t even know I had a family. It took me forever to even realize I had a Ma. An-and everything I did-” The tears were flowing again, more freely than earlier. “Ya missed me losing my first tooth, and potty trainin’, and all that stuff parents should know about. I-I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Sara Jane wiped his cheek dry. “Don’t apologize for what your father did, Jeremy. And definitely don’t apologize for me not potty training another kid. Besides… hold on, I’ll be right back.” She made her way down the hallway. Jeremy didn’t follow, instead deciding to examine the crib. This was where he grew up. It was a simple crib, obviously well-used. Not worn-down, mind, just… used. It had a history. A history that Jeremy wanted to decode, but unlike his dad’s ciphers, he didn’t have the key. 

“Took me a second to find it,” Sara Jane said. She handed him what appeared to be a scrapbook. “Raphael- he wrote when he can. Taught me some basic codes, would send out letters whenever you’d leave a town. Never left a return address, but…” Jeremy flipped through the pages, moving to sit on the small bed. The letters were all coded but appeared to be about how much Raphael missed Sara Jane. Updates on Jeremy’s growth. Letters from a father to his lover and son’s mother. 

One page jumped out to him, though. “I remember this,” he said, running his fingers against the paper. It was a simple drawing of a young boy, holding a catcher’s mitt, and a taller man next to him. “I drew this after Dad took me to my first baseball game, for my eighth birthday. I thought I lost the drawing after we skipped town, but- he sent them to you?”

Sara Jane nodded. “And I kept them all. Oh, honey, the day I first heard your voice on the phone- Mikey can tell you, I damn near fell over. You sounded so happy, and even if I couldn’t see you, that’s all a mother wants.” Jeremy leaned against her and she shut the book. “That’s all a mother wants, sweetie. To see her kids be safe and happy.” 

“I am, Ma,” he assured her. “I promise.” 

They sat like that for a while, with Sara Jane commenting on various letters and drawings in the scrapbook. Apparently, Raphael sent her money when he could- more frequently now that Mann Co. paid so well. She also had a rough idea of their current occupations. “I figure, if you and your father are working for the same company- with his skills, there’s gotta be a whole lot of nonsense going on out in that desert.” Jeremy laughed at that because she wasn’t wrong. “But I also figure since he raised you right, he’ll keep the both of you safe.” 

“I keep him safe too, don’t worry,” Jeremy added. “Uh- listen, it’s touching and all you kept the crib, but I don’t have to sleep in it, right?” 

They both had a good chuckle over that. Their laughs were in perfect harmony. 

. . .

The next two days were a mix of learning the family history and exploring Boston. It was the offseason, so there weren’t any games going on at Fenway, but Jeremy still got a picture in front of the park. Sara Jane took the pair to a restaurant that served “the best damn clam chowder in the contiguous United States.” Which, incidentally, led them to discover Jeremy was allergic to clams. Thankfully they didn’t have to go to the hospital- he just sort of immediately got sick before it passed- but it did suck.

It was damn good chowder, though. 

They went down to the harbor where the Boston Tea Party happened. It was crowded with people, resulting in them not staying long. Jeremy was a bit better with crowds than Raphael, but neither was great with them. Came with the job. Getting overpriced memorabilia from a nearby gift shop, though, went over much more smoothly. 

When not out on the town, Sara Jane dug out more scrapbooks and photo albums, catching Raphael up on what his stepsons had been up to. She showed Jeremy pictures from Ricky’s first school play to Scott opening up his butcher shop. Graduation pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures- it was all there, and Jeremy devoured it. He wanted to know these people. He wanted to know his family. And he did. He learned about Michael’s stint in the Navy, Melvin meeting his wife, how Bobby’s son could dribble a basketball for twenty minutes straight. He learned about how his parents met. How Raphael loved each of Sara Jane’s children, even if they weren’t biologically his. How Jeremy wasn’t planned- few of the kids were - but they were both so, so happy to realize he was coming. 

He also learned that, while diner food would remain the undisputed king, homemade meatloaf came pretty close. 

. . .

The only problem came when it was time to leave. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t want to return to work, or leave his Ma behind. Sara Jane wasn’t even torn up over losing her son and lover again. It just felt like there was so much left to say, to do. There was uncertainty as to when they’d be able to return. “We get time off for Smissmas, I know that’s months away but I’ll be here, I promise,” Jeremy swore, hugging Sara Jane for the eighth time. 

“You better,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “You have 25 years worth of gifts to catch up on, not to mention birthday gifts-”

“Ma, you don’t have to go that far,” he whined. He was touched, sure, but the thought of that much luggage was truly frightening. Oh God, he was going to have to get gifts for everybody, wasn’t he? What do kids even want for Smissmas? 

“Hush, let me spoil my baby,” Sara Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “Oh, Jeremy…” 

Jeremy nodded. “I know, but I’ll call. I’ll write, too. Send pictures if I can.” 

“I’ll make sure he does,” Raphael assured her. Sara Jane stood to kiss his lips, with Jeremy looking away pointedly. “You have my word, ma petite chou-fleur.” 

“Alright, alright- now get going, I don’t want you two missing your flight. That boss of yours sounds like she’ll tear you both a new one if you’re late,” Sara Jane said, shooing them away. “Love you boys!” 

“I love you too, Ma!” Jeremy shouted back, for the very first time. 

The drive back to the airport was quiet. Jeremy stared out the window, watching his hometown- he had a hometown- pass by. “Hey, dad?” he asked, still looking outside. Raphael grunted to acknowledge he was listening. “One of these days, our contracts with Mann Co. are gonna expire. We’re gonna have to find new jobs.” 

“Yes, that’s correct,” Raphael said. He tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel. 

“And-and I was thinking when that time comes… maybe we could come back to Boston. Find some gigs out here,” Jeremy suggested. 

Raphael sighed. “Unfortunately, being a spy means that you don’t have the option of retiring, Jeremy. Not until you’re unable to complete your job. At that point, though, you’ve probably died a dozen times over,” he explained. “Even if I could retire, settling down somewhere so close to people I care about- I would still have enemies.” 

“Right. ‘Course,” Jeremy said. “It’s OK.” 

“That being said,” Raphael continued, “you have the luxury of youth and not being tied down to such a career. If you want to find a job in Boston after we finish with RED, there’s nothing stopping you.” 

“But people will still be after me, since I’m your son. And you wouldn’t be around.”

“Every child leaves their parents someday. And you’re strong, Jeremy. You can protect yourself and your family.” Raphael smiled. “I don’t believe Sara Jane needs much protecting, but I do worry.” 

Jeremy laughed. “I mean, did ya see the muscles on Scott and Michael? Guys can probably bench press a tractor!” 

They both chuckled before settling into quietude. Eventually, though, Jeremy had to break the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, mon lapin.”

“...so your nickname for Ma is fucking ‘little cauliflower?’ What the hell, Dad?” 

[letteredlettered]

hi! i was wondering if you could elaborate more on your thoughts of how draco and harry are usually written in drarry fic? like how (imo) draco is usually romanticized and more loved by readers, while harry is cast as coldhearted or mean if he doesn't immediately forgive draco post war. your fics are some that don't do this, and harry is, understandably, still angry about draco's part in the war, which i really enjoy to read. (also what are your pronouns, if you don't mind answering?) ty!

My pronouns are she/her.

I don't feel very fair talking about usual characterizations of Harry and Draco in fic, as I just don't read Harry/Draco fic any more and haven't in a long time. I know there's plenty of great stuff out there; I just find the stuff I want harder to find.

I do remember the first fics I read that portrayed Harry as an unfairly popular jock, who got away with arrogance, unchecked anger, and misbehavior because he was The Chosen One, who felt that everything he did and everyone he agreed with was Right and no one else was worth his notice. I loved these fics. I still love them, because to me, they felt firmly seated in Draco's POV, and it also felt very clear that Draco's POV was not reliable. The way these stories were written made it clear (to me) that the truth of who Harry Potter was, as a human being, didn't necessarily line up with Draco's opinion, and that we, the readers, were better suited to understanding who Harry Potter really was, both because we knew canon and because we weren't trapped in Draco's mind, which lacked both knowledge and perspective of who Harry was and what Harry had experienced.

These stories in fact turned me on to what I now think of as something really intrinsic to me as a writer, but wasn't at the time: a very tight third person POV in which the reader always knows more than the POV character. This is a particularly easy thing to do to very powerful effect in fanfic, because in fanfic, you can expect readers to come in with a certain baseline knowledge. You can expect them to know that Draco was a bigot, and Harry has very justifiable reasons to hate him; you can expect them to know that Harry was abused and mistreated and did his very best to help people who were bullied. Ostensibly, that should allow you to create some very strong dramatic irony.

I also feel like these fics made me better as a person. I often feel that my whole life is a constant struggle to see outside of my own head, to understand what it could be like to be another person, to know that I will never really know who anyone is, deep down, other than myself. But there have been moments that feel like lightning strikes, when I realize I really was forgetting that the world can be seen in different ways, and then I am reminded. These fics felt like that, because I had always hated Draco Malfoy. I pictured him as someone selfish and entitled, who never thought about anyone other than himself, and never tried to be better because he did not care. But these fics showed that Draco Malfoy was trapped in his own understanding of the world as thoroughly as I am trapped. The HP series is Harry's story. In Draco's story, Draco is the hero, and he has no reason to think Harry is a hero, and rarely if ever (until the end) sees Harry do much that special. Understanding that perspective made me love Draco quite dearly, in a way I never thought I could.

So the last reason I still love those fics is they made me fall for Harry/Draco. They made me see that Harry and Draco are two people who see the world so differently that it would be a struggle for them even to see each other, much less love each other, and that is a struggle that interests me.

These days, I have my suspicions about whether these stories were really as deftly written and insightful as I imagine. Did they really want to illuminate the idea that even a bigot and a bully has his understanding of the world? Or did they seek to defend or even deconstruct Draco's bigotry and bullying by showing that Harry really is an arrogant, entitled, angry twat who deserved what he got from Draco?

I'm not actually sure. I just know that as I continued to read more and more stories, it gradually became clear that plenty of stories were not trying to create that dissonance between what I know as a reader and what Draco as a character thinks. Instead, I encountered more and more fics that seemed to embrace Draco's POV as the only way to understand the events of canon. Lots of these fics even go so far as to suggest that Death Eaters and Voldemort had a point, really, which is something I find downright unpleasant to read.

Frankly, I'm not interested in a straight reading of anything (pun intended). I'm not interested in fics that wholly take Harry's, or the HP series's, POV. As I have said, I find the HP series flawed and essentially unkind. But I'm not interested in fics that are wholly against the text either--fics that make Draco out to be the real hero, and the fascistic eugenics of Death Eaters to be sympathetic. I will defend to my dying breath the rights of people to write either kind of fic, but in the end, my interest will always lie with something in between, that questions the default POV--not in order to hold up a different POV as correct, but rather to suggest that no POV is correct. We all have our different ways of seeing the world, and the world itself is outside of us, only knowable if we all communicate, and ask what other people see.

[meichenxi]

Dear ‘White guy speaks perfect X and shocks Y!’ language YouTubers: STOP

A rant about every single fucking video by Xiaomanyc and similar YouTubers all titled things like CLUELESS WHITE GUY/GIRL LEARNS [INSERT NON-WHITE LANGUAGE HERE] AND SHOCKS [INSERT PLACE].

Disclaimer: I am white British, and I am also very often a moron. I'm trying to inform myself more, and would like to learn. So let me know if there is anything I should change, anything I’ve got wrong or any terminology I can change. 

So this evening I opened YouTube to get some quality Hikaru no Go content, and saw yet another video recommended to me about Xiaomanyc called Clueless white guy orders in perfect Chinese, shocks patrons and staff!!!!

Really? Really. Ok, his Chinese certainly is good - but it isn't great. And it isn’t necessarily any better than people I've seen in the higher levels of a class at university who have spent some time in China. It's solidly intermediate. That's not an insult - that level of Chinese is hard to attain, and definitely worth celebrating!! Hell, I celebrate every new word I learn. But while it may be unusual, it doesn't forgive the clickbait type videos like 'White guy speaks perfect Chinese and wows [insert place]'. 

These kind of clickbait titles rest on a number of assumptions. Before I say any more, I just want to make a note about terminology. Note that ’majority’ and ‘minority’ are not necessarily helpful labels, because they imply both a) a higher number of speakers in a certain place, and b) socially prestigious in some way. Of course a language like standard Mandarin is not a minority in China, but it might be in Germany. Talking about ‘minority’ languages that have a large speaker base outside of the country, like Chinese, is also not the same as talking about languages that have been systematically surpressed by a colonising, dominant language in their original communities, like indigenous languages. In many communities, especially in colonial and post-colonial situations, the language spoken by the majority is not one of prestige at all. Or some languages may be prestigious and expected in oral contexts, but not written - and so on. I use these terms here as best I can, but don't expect them to work 100% of the time.

So let’s unpack these assumptions a little. 

1) That there is something inherently more ‘worthy’ in somebody who learns languages because they want to, rather than because they have to: and that, correspondingly, the people who want to are white (spoilers: much of Europe is multilingual, and white immigrants in majority white countries also exist, as well as discrimination against them e.g. Polish people in the UK), and that those who have to learn are not (spoilers: really? There are plenty of non-white monolinguals who are either happy being monolingual, don’t have access to learning, or don’t have to learn another language but are interested in it).

2) That everybody from a certain background automatically speaks all ‘those’ languages already, or that childhood multilingualism is a free pass - spoilers, it isn’t. Achieving high levels of fluency in multiple languages is hard, especially for languages with different writing systems, because no matter how perfect your upbringing, you’re still ultimately exposed to it maximum 50% of the time of monolingual speakers. Realistically, most people get far less exposure than 50% in any of their languages. Also, situations of multilingualism in many parts of the world are far more complex than home language / social language. You might speak one language with your father and his father, another with your mother and her family, another in the community, and another at school. Which one is your native language then? Monolinguals tell horror stories of ‘both cups half empty’ scenarios, but come on - how on earth do you expect a person to have the same size vocabulary in a language they hear only 25% of the time? Also, languages are spoken in different domains, to different people, in different social situations: just because someone hears Farsi at home doesn’t mean they can give a talk on the filing system at their local library. If something is outside of a multilingual person’s langauge domain, they might have to learn the vocabulary for it just like monolinguals. There’s no such thing as the ‘perfect bilingual’. 

3) That learning another language imperfectly for leisure is laudable, but learning one imperfectly for work or survival is not. If you’re a speaker of a minority language, learning another language is necessary, ‘just what you have to do’, and if you don’t do it ‘properly’, that’s because of your lack of intelligence / laziness etc. It’s cool for the seconday school student to speak a bit of bad Japanese, but not so cool for the Indian guy who runs her favourite restaurant in Tokyo. 

4) That majority speakers learning a minority language is somehow an act of surprising benevolence that should not go unrewarded. Languages are intrinsically tied up with identity - and access to them may not be a right, but a gift. Don’t assume that because you get a good reception with some speakers of one language that speakers of another will be grateful you’re learning their language, or that everyone will react the same. One of the reasons these videos are possible at all is that many Chinese speakers, in my experience, are incredibly welcoming and enthusiastic to non-natives learning Chinese. Some languages and linguistic groups have been so heavily persecuted that imagining such thing as an ‘apolitical’ language learner is a fundamental misunderstanding of the context in which the language is spoken, and essentially an impossibility when the act of speaking claims ownership to a group. Many people will not want you to learn their language, because it has been suppressed for hundreds of years - it’s theirs, not yours. We respect that. Whilst it’s great to learn a minority language, don’t do it for the YouTube likes - do it because you’re genuinely interested in the language, people, culture and history. We don’t deserve anything special for having done so. 

5) That speaking a ‘foreign’ (i.e. culturally impressive / prestigious) language is much more impressive and socially acceptable than speaking a heritage language, home language or indigenous language. There are harmful language policies all around the world that simultaneously encourage the learning of ‘educational’ languages like Spanish, and at the same time forbid the use of the child’s mother tongue in class. And many non-majority languages are not foreign at all - they were spoken here, wherever you are, before English or Spanish or Russian or, yes, standard Mandarin Chinese. Policies that encourage standardised testing in English from a very young age like the ‘No Child Left Behind’ policy in the US disproportionately affect indigenous communities that are trying to revitalise their language against overwhelming callousness and cruelty - they expect bilingual children to attain the same level of English as a monolingual in first grade, which in an immersion school, they obviously won’t (and shouldn’t - they’ll get enough exposure to English as they grow up to make it not matter later down the line). But if the schools want funding, their kids have to pass those tests. 

There’s more to cover - that’s just the tip of the iceberg. 

Some people’s response to these videos and why the titles are ‘wrong’ would be: does it matter that he's white? Shouldn't it just be 'second language learner speaks perfect Chinese'? This is the same sort of attitude as ‘I don’t see race’. I think it does matter that he is white - because communities of many languages around the world are so used to them having to learn a second language and colonial powers not bothering to learn theirs. You wouldn't get the same reactions in these videos if he were Asian American but grew up speaking / hearing no Chinese - because then it would be expected. You also wouldn't get the same reaction if he were an immigrant in a Chinese-speaking community from somewhere else in Asia.

It also implies that all white people = monolingual Americans with no interest in other cultures. While we all are complacent and complicit in failing to educate ourselves about the effects of historical and modern colonialism, titles like this perpetuate a very harmful stereotype - and I don't mean harmful as in 'poor Xiaomanyc', but harmful in that it suggests that this attitude is ok, it's part of 'being white', and therefore doesn't need to change. The reaction when someone doesn't engage with other cultures and isn't willing to learn about them shouldn't be 'lmao classic white guy'. That not only puts the subject in a group with other 'classic white guys', but puts a nice acceptable label on what really is privilege, a lack of curiosity, ignorance, and the opportunity (which most non-white people don't have) to have everything you learn in school and university be about you. If you're ignorant - ok. We are all about many things. But you don't have any excuse not to educate yourself. The 'foreigner experience' that white people get in places like China is not the same as immigrants in a predominantly monolingual, predominantly white English speaking area. As we can see in those kind of videos, white foreigners may be stared at, but ultimately enjoy huge privilege in many places around the world. It's not the same. 

It also ignores, well, essentially the whole of Europe outside the UK and Ireland and many other places around the globe, where multilingualism is incredibly common - and where the racial dichotomy commonly heard in America isn't quite appropriate, or an oversimplification of many complex ethnic/national/racial/religious/linguistic etc factors that all influence discrimination and privilege. Actually many 'white guys' in Europe and places all around the world speak four or five languages to get by - some in highly privileged upbringings and school systems, yes, but others because they have grown up in a border town, or because they are immigrants and want to give their children a better start than they did, or because they want to work abroad and send home money. Many, like people all around the world, don't get a chance to learn to read and write their first language or dialect, which is considered 'lesser' than the majority language (French, Russian, English etc); many people, like Gaelic speakers in Scotland or speakers of Basque in France, have faced historical persecution and have been denied opportunities for speaking their mother tongue. My mother was beaten and my grandparents denied jobs for being Gaelic speakers. They are white, and they have benefited from being white in lots of other ways - but their linguistic experience is light-years from Xiaomanyc's. 

It isn't 'white' to be surprised at a white person speaking another language - it's just ignorant. But the two ARE correlated, because who in modern America can afford to go through twenty one years and still be ignorant? People who have never had to learn a second language; people who have always had everybody adapt to THEIR linguistic needs, and not the other way around. People who have had all media, all books, centred around people who look like them and speak like them. And even in America, that's not just 'white' - that's specifically white (often middle class) English monolinguals.

I'm not saying everybody who doesn't speak a language should feel guilty for not learning one ( it's understandably not the priority for everyone - economic reasons, family, only so many hours in the day - there are plenty of reasons why language learning when you don’t have to is also not accessible to everyone).  But be aware of the double standards we have as a society towards other socially/racially/religiously disadvantaged groups versus white college grads. You can't demonise one whilst lauding the other. 

To all language YouTubers - do yourself a favour, and stop doing this. Your skills are impressive - that's enough. 

 tldr; clickbait titles like this rely on double standards and perpetuate harmful ideas - don't write them, and let your own language skills do the talking please.