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tagsecretsanta · 4 years

Text

From @MissSquidTracy

to @scattergraph

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Gordon liked to think of himself as the fashionista of the family.

Sure, his Hawaiian shirts sometimes drew attention of the unwanted kind, but the aquanaut was a firm believer in using clothing as a means of non-verbal communication. John was living proof of this theory.

Unfortunately, all of the freedom associated with self-expression went down the toilet with a resounding ‘flush’ when tradition dictated your attire, even if only for a day.

“Seriously, grandma?” Alan grouched, his bottom lip poking out to form his signature pout when he spied the Tracy matriarch descending the stairs with an armful of colourful sweaters.

“Zip it, kid,” Sally rasped, her tone offering no room for negotiation, “This year marks the tenth anniversary of the Tracy Christmas Album, and I’ll not have your attitude souring the occasion.”

Scott and Virgil shared a look of mutual disgust as Sally handed them two hideously baggy and itchy looking jumpers.

“Don’t you two start as well,” Sally warned, yanking a loose thread off the sleeve of John’s before tossing it towards the redhead, “Anyone caught sulking will be in the kitchen with me for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve just finished a fresh batch of liver and onion stuffing and could use a taste tester.”

Five jumpers were yanked over five heads in perfect unison.

A nod from Sally affirmed her satisfaction with her grandson’s new-found cooperation.

Gordon grimaced and scratched absently as the coarse fibres tickled the soft skin of his neck. Posing for the annual Christmas album photograph was a tradition that stretched right back to their days on the ranch, yet he found himself becoming more disillusioned with it the older he got. Maybe it was the discomfort of wearing an unnecessary extra layer in Tracy Island’s heat. Maybe it was the disappointment of no longer having snow to wake up to on Christmas morning. Maybe it was the absence of his parents, and for the last three years, at least one of his brothers.

“Who’s on the roster for today?” Kayo asked, striding into the room and wordlessly scooping up the one remaining jumper that was equally as ugly as the abominations adorning the torsos of her male colleagues.

In an effort to preserve the family element of the season, Scott had devised a strategy where just one member of International Rescue acted as the primary point of contact for any rescue calls that came through on Christmas Day, be them sea, earth or space based. Last year, Virgil had volunteered and been called to Nigeria to deal with a flash flood. The year before, Kayo had drawn the short straw and ended up assisting with the evacuation of a small town in Chile when a nearby volcano blew it’s top. The year before, Gordon had helped clear away the debris caused by a three-way semi collision on one of Australia’s busiest highways. The aquanaut had been instrumental in ensuring three hundred people made it home in time for Christmas, despite it coming at the expense of his own.

Fairness dictated that Virgil, Kayo and Gordon were exempt from being called upon this Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Accordingly, the honour of being ATD (available to deploy) fell to Scott, John, and Alan to hash out.

One quick round of rock, paper, scissors later, and Scott found himself wondering what brothers three and five would look like with their heads shaved.

“Alright, scoot in!” Sally ordered, returning with Alan’s tablet which she held aloft in an attempt to get a good angle, “Scott and John, you two stand at the back. Gordon and Virgil, you kneel in front of your brothers. Kayo and Alan, I need you both to sit at the front. We’re going for a tiered approach this year.”

A healthy amount of shuffling ensued as each Tracy (plus Kayo) moved into position and tried desperately to make himself/herself look decent. Scott yanked on the hem of his jumper in an attempt to cover up his belt. Virgil tried to hoist his up so that he wasn’t rocking the off the shoulder look. John scrubbed at his nose as the acrylic material began to trigger one of his many allergies. Gordon fanned his face with a hand as sweat began to bead across his forehead. Alan tugged fruitlessly on sleeves that fell woefully short of his wrists, and Kayo demanded that Virgil tell her honestly whether the shape of her jumper made her look fat.

Sally was firmly of the opinion that jumpers had to be vomit-inducingly ugly in order to be ‘festive’. The designs adorning each of the six knitted atrocities in front of her offered indisputable visual evidence of this belief.

Scott was brandishing a bright blue snowman, while Virgil sported a dark green reindeer (complete with light-up antlers). John was the unwilling wearer of an orange gingerbread man, and Gordon was proudly modelling a yellow penguin (complete with a squeezable beak that sang Jingle Bells if you so much as looked at it). Alan appeared indifferent to the red elf plastered across his chest, and Kayo was trying to make the best of her rapidly unravelling black turtledoves.

“Smile!” Sally sang, her finger poised, “On the count of three, everybody say cheese! One…two…three!”

“CHEESE!”

Click.

Flash.

The end result was less than impressive. Scott had blinked at precisely the wrong moment. The grin plastered across Virgil’s face was nothing short of horrifying. John’s eyes were almost as red as his hair. Gordon was shamelessly modelling a chunk of leftover spinach in his right canine. Alan had twisted his head to peer at Virgil at the last second and was a blond and red blur…

Unsurprisingly, Kayo was the only one who’d managed to look straight at the camera and smile like a normal person.

After reviewing her rather substandard snap and tutting in disapproval, Sally tightened her grip on the tablet and ushered her dispersing grandsons back into formation with a ‘shoo’ motion of her free hand, “Come on you lot, form up. Nobody leaves this room until we have a decent photo. How you boys can look so good in real life but so bad on canvas is beyond me. Your dad always said-“

The sudden departure of an elf wearing Tracy brought all dialogue to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry, grandma!” John yelled as he made a beeline for the stairs, the redness of his nose akin to Rudolph, “But this wool is giving me a nosebleed. You’ll have to take the next shot without me, or just make the one we have work. It might be for the best, as you know how Alan gets unforgivable gas whenever he’s forced to pose.”

The youngest Tracy let loose a honk of outrage, but was dutifully ignored as, one by one, his other brothers began to filter out of the lounge. Excuses of varying degrees of believability bounced off the walls as three more bodies scampered to freedom.

It took all of ten seconds for most of the lounge’s inhabitants to disperse, leaving Kayo and Alan alone with a somewhat disappointed looking Grandma Tracy.

“Oh well,” the Tracy matriarch sighed, reaching to pick up the blue snowman that had been ejected over the first floor bannister, “There’s always next year.”

Kayo smiled thinly and made a mental note to spend next Christmas with her father.

-x-

As well as being the family fashionista, Gordon was also a self-appointed expert in gift giving.

His affinity for making people smile helped tremendously, since it made the process of choosing something his recipient would find meaningful much easier. He wasn’t adverse to buying his brothers practical gifts that they could use in their everyday lives (the tea cosy he’d bought for John the Christmas of fifty four was still in active service), but he knew they had all of the utilitarian gadgets they could ever want or need, courtesy of Brains and their nine figure bank account.

Cue unicorn poo bath bombs, flamingo slippers, and personalised face cushions.

This year however, he’d outdone himself.

Unbeknownst to anyone outside of the family, Gordon was quite the expert on upcycling. He had a knack for seeing potential in things that other people had written off as trash (like Scott, for instance), and took great delight in working with his hands.

It had taken several days, but he’d finally managed to relocate one of their dad’s old hoverbikes from the ranch to Tracy Island. It had taken up most of the room inside Thunderbird Four’s dry tube station, however he’d managed to offload it in the hanger and perform the desired modifcations in the (relative) privacy of Four’s module.

Alan had stopped believing in Santa when he was seven. With Lucy dead and Jeff away for three quarters of the year, Scott had taken it upon himself to safeguard whatever remained of his youngest brother’s innocence. Every year on Christmas Eve, without fail, the eldest Tracy donned a red suit and beard and made a big (and often loud) show of depositing presents under the tree. Unfortunately, a rather heated debate one year over Santa’s handwriting (which looked suspiciously similar to Virgil’s), had culminated in the death of Alan’s wide-eyed belief.

Gordon had found the whole debacle rather heart-breaking. Sure, he’d been a year younger than Alan when he himself had stopped believing, but the process had been much gentler. He’d made the innocent mistake of asking John one year to help him with some basic calculations regarding the speed and size of Santa’s sleigh, however had ended up on the receiving end of a lecture from his redheaded brother on reindeer anatomy and wind resistance.

His belief had died peacefully in its sleep nine hours later.

Still, having a belief squished verbally was a lot less harsh than having it squished visually. Poor Alan.

Gordon smiled to himself as he inspected his handiwork. He’d outfitted the storage compartment on the back of the red hoverbike he’d abducted to look like the back end of a sleigh. He’d toyed with the idea of enlisting the help of a couple of real life reindeer (or ponies) to act as draught animals, but had decided against it after reviewing the vaccination and transport requirements.

Despite managing to complete the modifications inside Four’s module, Gordon had been forced to relocate his creation elsewhere when he and Virgil had been called away on an impromptu rescue involving a couple of unqualified divers. With his back against the wall, the aquanaut had picked the first alternative hiding place that had come into his head.

The roof.

As ridiculous as it sounded, the glass roof of Tracy Island’s lounge was anchored into numerous rocky outcroppings that, when utilised effectively, provided excellent cover. So long as nobody glanced up, of course.

A sigh of pride bubbled up Gordon’s diaphragm. He might not be able to reverse the damage caused by Virgil’s handwriting gaffe, but he could at least give his youngest brother a laugh and deliver his gifts in style instead.

So preoccupied was the aquanaut with buffing out an imaginary mark from the hoverbike’s bumper, that he failed to notice the Island’s automated weather system bark out the alarm for a storm warning.

Thankfully, John didn’t.

-x-

Scott had checked high and low.

And then high again, just to be sure.

The eldest Tracy was stumped. Gordon had somehow managed to vanish clean off the face of the earth.

Not that such a discovery would usually cause the eldest Tracy any concern (the aquanaut had a knack for evading capture), but Christmas lunch was due to be served any minute and they were one body short at the kitchen table.

“Gordon?” Scott called, shoving his head into the bathroom for what felt like the billionth time that hour. He’d tried calling the aquanaut’s phone, but had been sent to voicemail both times. His biometric tracker showed that he was still on the island, however couldn’t generate an exact location for him. EOS’s heat signature scans weren’t much better, courtesy of the wonky connection brought about by the oncoming storm.

“I’m stumped,” Scott huffed, admitting defeat with a bemused shrug, “He’s gone. I’ve checked the hanger, the changing rooms, his room, the bathroom, and the gym. Nothing. It’s like he’s poofed into thin air.”

Virgil opened his mouth to reply, however was cut off by the arrival of John, whose expression was an expert blend of concern and flippancy.

“I’ll give you three guesses as to his location,” the redhead began, “If you win, I’ll do your laundry for a week. If you lose, you have to eat my portion of grandma’s stuffing.”

Scott quickly did the math. It was a risk he was willing to take.

“Is he stuck inside his launch chute?”

“No.”

“Is he swimming in the lagoon?”

“No.”

“Is he hijacking Thunderbird One again?”

“No.”

….

“Well?” the eldest brother demanded, hands on hips. He had no interest in John drawing out his victory for any longer than necessary.

The redhead allowed a small smile to grace his face before gesturing with an index finger towards the ceiling.

Scott blinked as his blue gaze clapped onto a jean-clad butt scrabbling around atop the reinforced glass, oblivious to the small audience he’d amassed as he tried to evade the rapidly intensifying rain.

“The roof?” Scott honked, one hand fisting itself through his hair, “I take my eyes off him for two minutes, and he ends up on the roof?”

“Whoa, whoa!” a new voice piped up, it’s baritone depth failing to bring Scott any relief, “He’s where?!”

The eldest Tracy said nothing, opting instead to stab a finger upwards. Ever the cooperative one, Virgil cast his eyes in the desired direction, a small frown infecting his face as he did so.

“We should probably get him down,” the engineer announced, cringing when Gordon slipped on the now wet glass and starfished on his back, “He’s still wearing his Christmas jumper, and the blasted thing will short-circuit if it gets damp.”

A loud ‘thwack’ echoed around the lounge as Scott’s palm got itself well acquainted with his face.

-x-

John had never been one for big displays of emotion.

A polite smile or, in extreme cases, a shoulder pat were usually the preferred methods his brothers employed whenever they wanted to convey feelings of endearment towards him.

Christmas was an exception, however, and it was without a shred of his usual awkwardness that the redhead enveloped his fish brother in a tight hug, the scent of singed fabric tickling his nostrils.

Virgil’s extraction of their younger brother hadn’t quite been quick enough, and it was with a suitable amount of humility that Gordon shuffled back into the safety and dryness of the lounge, a thin trail of smoke rising from the beak of his thoroughly soaked penguin jumper.

“How bad was it?” John queried, biting his cheek to keep his humour in check as he took in the static strands of hair atop Gordon’s head. The aquanaut looked as if he’d just stuck his finger inside a plug socket which, on reflection, wasn’t as much of an inaccurate analogy as the redhead had originally thought.

Gordon ignored his space brother in favour of slowly shuffling towards the staircase, an involuntary yelp escaping when his traitorous jumper suddenly gave off a stray spark.

Virgil snorted and flicked a hand through his hair to rid it of the rainwater it had collected, “Nothing to worry about on the health side of things, but man John, you should have seen it. He nearly took off like a firework.”

The redhead quirked an unimpressed brow, “Serves him right for skipping over the electrical safety briefings I sent down last week. You’d think he’d have a better understanding of how water and electricity don’t mix, what with his ‘Bird being the only one kitted out for aquatic reconnaissance.”

A shrug was offered by Virgil in lieu of a response, “I’m sure all will be revealed once he’s properly earthed himself. Meanwhile, I’d better get that hoverbike down before it crashes through the roof and lands on someone’s head. Can you send Scott up to help? I could use a couple of his grapples.”

John threw his brother a mock salute before breezing off towards the kitchen, only to stop when he caught sight of a familiar blue outline on one of the sofas.

“Be there in a minute!” Scott mumbled, his cheeks bulging like an oversized hamster as he chomped his way through an indulgent looking doughnut.

John felt his gaze darken as he took stock of the stray sprinkles in the corner of his eldest brother’s mouth, “Where did you get those?”

Scott held a finger up as he swallowed, thumping his chest when a stubborn piece of dough got lodged, “Mainland, to make up for grandma’s sprout and salmon tart. Help yourself, there’s plenty left. I’ve only had three.”

The lack of control Scott had when confronted with unhealthy snacks never failed to amaze his brothers.

“You want to take it easy,” Virgil warned, motioning with one hand to his waistline, “Too many of those could send you to an early grave.”

Scott flicked his hand dismissively and reached for a fourth doughnut.

“Don’t care. I won’t be the one carrying the coffin.”

- FIN -

#thunderbirds are go #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #tag team secret santa #secret santa 2020 #MissSquidTracy

35 notes · View notes

rpbetter · 3 years

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Urgh. Okay, full disclosure, I haven't been on tumblr much over the last week or so, because I was one of the people that Raven initially called out after the COAR mess, and it was in the interest of my own mental health to fuck off for a while so I didn't stress myself out into oblivion. So I'm scrolling through most of this stuff for the first time, and talking to other people who were targeted. And pardon my French here, but I'm fucking disgusted at the lengths Raven has gone to assert themselves as a victim, how many people they've affected, and the waving around of something as serious as suicide for brownie points.

I have sympathy for people who overinterpret things in a strictly emotional and mental sense (actual reactions aside) because they lack the maturity. There's always a reason for that, and it's not their fault. And I have sympathy for people if they legitimately feel suicidal. That, too, isn't their fault. If I hadn't been blocked, I would've reported Raven in case their claims were true as well, because yeah, I don't mess around with that stuff either. But what's unacceptable is how Raven acted on those sentiments and behaved towards others, even after people tried to provide perspective. How Raven claimed to be done with the drama, but continued inciting it; how they claimed to be suicidal and had left tumblr, but wrote what amounts to a "fuck you" in their header and were still putzing around on their blog, and were apparently still editing their posts until as late as today; how they claimed to have deleted but only changed the url; how they weaponized all of this stuff and used it as a tool for guilt-tripping. Like, come on. It's okay if you're down in the dumps, but it's not okay to treat innocent people like garbage, and carpet bomb half the RPC. To me, it really feels like there was an intent to weaponize all of their hurt, offense, anger, and suicidal ideations, despite the possibility it did come from somewhere genuine, and that's so harmful to anyone who is actually struggling with depression.

Every time someone weaponizes mental illness in this way, it just makes people more and more apathetic the next time someone is genuinely just hurting, and saying they feel like they're at the end of their rope. And it makes people suspicious of whether those words are being used maliciously, or legitimately. That suspicion and that association is now there, unconscious or not. And every time this kind of stuff happens, the association gets stronger. What happens if Raven does this again? Some people will still report, but some people might just scoff and walk away - people who might've actually acted before. So in a way, that kind of behaviour impacts Raven as much as it impacts other people.

And you know what? They're not the only one dealing with serious shit. I've been suffering from MDD for the last fifteen years, and I've been in the process of changing medications and having little success for months. I've been going through hell offline. I have a shit list of people I want to yell at because they're dragging their feet on really important things I need to function; I'm constantly running a deficit on spoons. Until a week or so ago, roleplay was one of the only ways I could unwind. So for Raven to bully me by sticking that stupid post in my tags, because they needed to make a scene on COAR, which I was obviously going to comment on (like many other people), then to "like" an unsubstantiated callout about me and other innocent people related to that mess, it's only worsened my own mental health. It sounds melodramatic, but really. Someone else mentioned this too, but the fear of being in another callout, and the fear of that first callout somehow exploding, was in the back of my mind all week, despite being away from tumblr. So that was a little anxiety-inducing, much as I tried not to think about it.

And I'm debating whether to return now, or take more time off, and I have no idea what to do. Because that callout post is still in my blog's tag. I'm freaking out because I was planning on approaching some people to roleplay, which is something I rarely ever do, but now I'm concerned that I'll contact someone, they'll look at my tag to get an idea of my writing/partners/who I am, and see the callout post, and immediately dismiss me because even seeing the word "callout" on its own will send up red flags, by unconscious association with more impactful drama. And as long as that callout is up, these fears are going to be there.

That's just not fair.

And Raven's "apology" is completely unacceptable. Like you and others said, it doesn't reach anyone who needs to hear it, because they've all been blocked. I would fucking love an apology if it came from a place of honesty, but am I going to receive one? Probably not. And even for the followers who can still see that apology, it doesn't address anything. It isn't directed to anyone in particular. It doesn't mention the specific behaviours that were wrong on their part. And miss me with the "my intentions were good" part. No, they weren't; going around blocks and sticking shit in peoples' tags is vindictive and entirely intentional in all the worst ways, and shame on them for pretending otherwise, and by leading with such a poor example for many roleplayers, some of whom are in their teens. One of the people who tried to message Raven (they, too, were called out on Raven's blog) was speaking to a nineteen-year old who was completely clueless about the extent of the manipulation Raven was pulling. They thought all of it was normal and acceptable behaviour. That genuinely terrifies me. And while I imagine if Raven was genuinely apologetic, they would've gone to the callout blog and ask them to delete the callout post (attempt it, at the very least), somehow, I don't think that would've happened given all of their prior actions. God forbid something else is going on there.

Phew. Yeah, I'm angry. Maybe I'm just biased and tired. But honestly, I have a right to be. Raven's apology is a handwave, and they know it. It's a slap in the face to me, to you, and to everyone else who was involved in this clusterfuck. They're not the center of the universe. They affected real people, with real problems of their own. Anyways, I am so sorry for this, argh. Really had to get this out, and I didn't want to dump it on discord or somewhere else; I sure as heck didn't want to go to COAR with it. But hey, maybe people here will feel less alone if I added my own account to the mix. The more, the merrier? In a sense, anyways. Sometimes if you feel like you've been singled out, it's nice to know you're not actually the only person it's happened to.

Sorry for saving your reply for last, Anon. It's such an important one, I wanted to be properly thoughtful!

I think that it is going to make some people feel less alone, and there is always some relief in sharing one's trials. That might be especially true when one has been unable to share them anywhere else. It's not like you can address this on your own blog right now, COAR is definitely not a safe place to do so, it's a very isolating feeling that is made worse for having done nothing.

Coming back and being required to wade through this shit was really damn disgusting to me as well, but at least in my case, I had neither been obliged to distance myself for the sake of mental health nor was I treated to the sickening display of drumming up ideas of victimization from someone who victimized me. What I experienced was just incredulity and disgust, I cannot imagine how incensing this must be for you, I am so very sorry. If it makes me angry having a degree of removal and watching in it real time? What you're experiencing...there really isn't a single word to adequately encapsulate that, I'm sure.

You've still expressed so many of the things I've thought and felt. I found all that initial behavior uncalled for, shameful, yet another display of what's actually wrong in the RPC, but it was increasingly upsetting to me the more I looked into it because it did feel a little (a lot) too reminiscent of the sort of bullying experienced in person. It's really something else to be viciously picked at by someone who keeps upping the game until such point as it begins to cause them trouble, then get to be painted the wrongdoer and punished in some way for it because they're presenting as a sympathetic victim. A more sympathetic victim than you, that's really what I mean, I'm just going to say it.

And that was already in swing by the time I got from the launch point to the smoking crater of then current events. I got to Raven's again after bouncing back and forth between their interactions with others, largely from COAR, yes, and the shit on the callout blog...to see...everyone else being blamed in increasingly drastic ways.

Because on tumblr, unlike reality, if you throw out enough times ahead of time that you have disorders people can get behind, you're more sympathetic, not less. So long as one has set that foundation and has others to broadcast it once convenient, any horrible action one undertakes is given a pass. Anyone disagreeing, anyone not tolerating the abuse, is in the wrong now. In the worst possible way, of course.

This whole thing began with incredibly unnecessary bullshit and every, I mean fucking every, further action taken was a new level of fucked up, but the trivializing of and damage done to the perception of mental health and differences is quite possibly the worst. Are those things that need any more of that? It's already such a problem! I already see suspicion and fatigue with this, every time it's given validation, it grows.

Even if I wasn't mentally ill, with one of the disorders that gets vilified even on tumblr, even if I were not autistic, even if I never knew a single person who suffered worse than I do from the the complications they won by way of being born, hadn't anyone I loved that took their lives, this would be extremely upsetting to me. Using the idea that "whatever I do, it's got to be acceptable because I am X" while not caring that anyone else is X, Y, and/or Z. Weaponizing it for bullying and sympathy simultaneously. Way too much. Incredibly gross and harmful, legitimately fucking problematic.

I want people to be taken seriously when they choose to speak of the boundaries their mental health requires, I want muns to be able to say that they are having a difficult time without it coming off (even to the rest of us with mental health conditions) as a ploy for attention/guilting for whatever action they desire be taken by partners, and I want people to take threats of oncoming, serious harm seriously. How are they to do this, when it is continually used as tool or weaponized against others? At very best, it becomes another thing to ignore and scroll by on the dash.

As we've all had the misfortune to experience or witness so recently, once it is weaponized, it's a problem of priority. I've said in damn near every message I've gotten that Raven isn't the only person involved here who has serious shit going on, but like the absurdity with trying to spin an accident as transphobia, or having the audacity to attempt speaking from a place of peace in a way that might benefit everyone, Raven included, resulting in a callout about being against ND people...it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter that any of us are neurodivergent, have serious chronic mental health complications, or are not cisgender. Raven was swinging that around like a flaming sword to drive off bigots real and imagined before we ever got their attention.

Attention they fucking asked for.

Reblogging that post from COAR was just like posting those rules. The intention was to get attention, and it was asked for with extreme hostility. I have no idea how that is coming off to anyone as simply them defending themselves. It was a great moment to either not out themselves as the person in the confession at all, not engage with it, quietly remove the post, or to reblog it and take responsibility in a meaningful way at that point. Can you imagine what a difference that would have made then? If Raven had chosen instead to reblog it and apologize for doing what they had. Just that. No shitty, snide little comments about how they're sorry, but still absolutely correct and here are five reasons why everything they've misconstrued won't be tolerated. Just an acknowledgment of wrongdoing, an apology for doing so, and awareness gained moving forward.

Their decision to interact with that post in the way they did wasn't just more of the same nonsense, it was actively upping the game. I don't really care if it was intentional bait or just continuing to let malicious impulse run free, it was used as bait. Everyone who interacted with that post was effectively consigning themselves to harassment, and if they happened to interact on literally any other topic that group held a passionately opposing opinion on, they were attacked for it. Curiously, it became necessary for them to be harassed by way of the callout blog, but that is getting a little close to off-topic, so, I'll leave it at that.

So, while I initially really wanted to have the appeal to Raven work because their expressions of regret that I was greatly on the fence about being genuine, I'd say those flags were accurate. I cannot believe that someone who took every opportunity to do the wrong thing is genuinely sorry. Sorry for themselves, absolutely, sorry for anything they did, not so much. This constant narrative I got of "they SAID they were sorry" and "they apologized again and again and took the posts down," including from Raven, is incredible. On that last one, they, yet again, couldn't actually address me.

Appropriate response: messaging me or reblogging that post (you know, the rules snippet I found right the hell there still, despite the claim of it being deleted and the final catalyst of me needing to say something after I saw that, nope, surely was not) with the acknowledgment of a single thing I said.

Extra appropriate response: ^ plus going to everyone who could still be located that they harmed with a genuine, individual, private apology.

Inappropriate response that was had: new post, shitty, childish tone like they at once wanted to argue with me and didn't want to drop the act, restating of this apology that had already been deleted and meant exactly shit while it existed, restating of how they deleted this post and couldn't control reblogs, ignoring that I literally reblogged the original copy from their blog.

Apology neither believed nor accepted. Just as it wouldn't be if my nephew came to my house, broke a bunch of my things, said he was sorry while throwing the pieces at my pet, then threw himself on the floor screaming that he said he was sorry when I told him to go have a time out.

(Yes, I absolutely did just make a comparison to a child, y'all can shit yourselves again. It's not my problem if you want to misconstrue "this person's actions are not befitting of an adult" as "Vespertine said autistic people are children!" Fucking miss me with that. I'm an autistic adult who pays my bills, apologizes, doesn't treat people like shit while trying to excuse it by being ND. You're offensive with that shit, and contributing to the negative perception people have of those on the spectrum. Be a good ally today! Don't valid that! Free ninety-nine offer!)

Again, sorry for yourself does not equal being sorry for what you've done. The former can contribute to the development of the latter, but as I said in a response yesterday, there has been no display of that beginning to transpire. I genuinely hope that will eventually be the case because that would be the best outcome, the only "best" outcome at this point. Even if it was two years from now, if it did happen, I certainly would not be kind to people refusing them any such growth in peace, and I hope that, by some distant chance, I get to prove that.

But...stating "my intentions were good" over any part of this is not remotely promising. When? Where? At what point? Oh, right, when you took it upon yourself to label a random mun you took issue with. That's when your intentions were good. Then, when you vehemently needed to defend that point by callouts and individual attacks under the guise of it definitely not being about your pride, no! It was the defense of everyone else! Defending the community by carpet-bombing it, yes. This is not a "the path to Hell is paved with good intentions" situation.

I am so disturbed about the nineteen-year-old mun, my god. I'm telling y'all, my anger and disgust almost reach what I think is a pinnacle, then there's something new like this.

I don't even subscribe to tumblr's ideology that anyone under twenty-five is an actual infant who needs be kept in a protective bubble and forgiven for all bad behavior with infinite kindness, nineteen-year-olds deserve the agency of the adultier adults they are becoming, but it is a transitional age. Especially today. Most socialization and formative ideas take place online, and by the time younger RPers are entering the adult sphere of RP here, they've already got some really unhealthy ideas. About themselves, about others. There is such a demand for rabidly performative action that gets internalized, it shouldn't be being heartily fed by people in the community they might look up to.

At that age, someone like Raven is going to be a person looked up to. They espouse all the right ideas, and it's an age in which aggressive interaction over those things is seen as amusing and correct, no matter how wrong the actions taken are or the basis upon which they are founded. When these people foster an environment of cruelty for questioning, of course, that is not going to be the natural response. The response is now going to be the requirement of being told otherwise with adequate proof.

I have suspected that many of the hateful anons I've gotten were from Raven's even younger followers who feel like it's normal, acceptable, and that everything they're being told by Raven's sales team over at the callout blog is absolutely true. Of course, they're now morally obligated to come harass me for the things they were told I did! I think it's likely that several of the anons people got were from actual minors, which is so many levels of scary and irresponsible. Really great example all around, yes!

Because whether it is one's intention or not, that is potentially exposing minors, or muns who are still close enough to be more negatively impacted, to who even knows what. As well as violating the rules of blogs who do not interact with minors for good reason, setting those blogs up for yet another callout for treating someone they didn't know was a minor the way they did or having "freak shit" on their blog. Setting up the other party to be treated with full hostility as an adult would be. Very cool, very responsible.

There is just so much here that is unacceptable, I don't think people who were not directly impacted or have never had a callout against them understand the results, and that is one more unacceptable thing you've been good enough to talk about.

Even while taking a break from the RPC, it affects you negatively. Wondering what you're coming back to, your blog is no longer a safe feeling space, and there's nothing you can do to "cultivate your blog" to change that. They've taken away the ability to simply block and avoid others, the thing that keeps all of us comfortable here as well as allowing that to be all of us no matter how disagreeable we might be to each other. Callouts negate adult behavior. Callouts mean that one doesn't know where more potential for harassment might be coming from, or how long we might have to be worried about that.

It would be a major concern for me as well about what putting myself out there to new writing partners might bring. What the success of that might be. It's incredibly unfair that they've made finding new people precarious and more unpleasant than it can be anyway. That puts all of the future of your RP here in question, and if you're like me, just dropping a muse, picking up another, and moving to a new URL isn't going to be a good choice for you. It isn't that simple if you dedicate time to a muse for a long period of time, when that's the case, that's the RP you want to do and have laid the groundwork for.

I don't know if it will help at all, but it has seemed to me, over the past several days, that there are fewer people in the RPC who are inclined to believe or support callouts than there once was. I was hoping that was the case, since there is always so much interaction on my posts against callout culture, but until this crap went down, I had no idea just how many people are not positive toward it. It has seemed to be that the people who are inclined to listen to callouts are just louder.

I've also noticed that those people have the same set of red flags, so maybe sharing that will help you or others?

They don't have simple, basic, reasonable Do Not Interacts. It isn't simply asking that minors don't interact because the mun is over eighteen, that muns writing a triggering topic not interact, or that sort of thing. No, it's URL dropping of specific muns, outright links to callouts or "receipts," and an accusatory tone about any topics or types of muns who shouldn't interact. Such as "nasty ass proshippers" or "pedo apologists shipping incest."

Their rules are reflective this as well. A statement cannot be made that they do not write, let's say, toxic ships and left at that. There will be some morality wank present about normalizing or romanticizing toxic/abusive relationships.

There are less assured flags, but literally, anything that stands out as an interest in RPC or fandom-based activism as opposed to an interest in writing, their muses, or even their friendships with a variety of muns. I don't mean a rounded-out interest in things, I really do mean a glaring predominance of buzzword-laden reblogs and PSA's while they've not written a reply, headcanon, or answered a meme in months.

I'm not saying any of that because I feel like you, or anyone else's, judgment is terrible or that you're oblivious to warning signs! It's just that when we've experienced bad situations, it can compromise our ability to see clearly. It becomes easy to see a potential threat everywhere, and maybe that seems contrary, but it's then easy to fail to see real threats from those we're blowing up. We question whether we're being just as judgmental as the people who wronged us, putting words in other muns' mouths and thoughts in place of their own as was done to us. While we still are afraid to be wrong in giving someone an in to ruining our time again.

So, please, don't feel like I'm questioning your intelligence or speaking from a place of ultimate knowledge, never making mistakes in such a choice! I just really hate that you, and many others, are going through this, and anything at all that I can think of that might help you move forward from this utter bullshit you've been through, I've got to try to grab it.

Because, Anon, like all those sharing their experiences these last few days, you sound like the kind of mun we need in the RPC.

You're someone willing to share with others for the benefit of others. You're being honest about your feelings of anger and even the hopeless sensation of whether it's even worth it to try to return, having your progress on and offline stomped on, while still maintaining a sort of fairness and calm that I know is not easy. Because that's the mature thing to do, it's the right thing, and unfortunately, those are usually the harder things to do as well.

You did the right thing in expressing your opinion and doing what people like Raven's group love to be on about, can only do through bullying: not tolerating it. I'd hate for the RPC to lose someone like you!

Just as your message matters to more people out there than myself, I have no doubt that your choice to not quietly allow this behavior mattered to more muns than you'll ever know. I'm sure that none of them would have wanted this result for you, but so many muns have experienced such toxic, bullying behavior over the years in which not a soul spoke up.

Many of you proved something very important with challenging Raven and the callouts blog, that unlike them, it isn't necessary for good people to even know each other to do the right thing. They have to dogpile and engage in cliquish behavior, what they do isn't coming from a place of inner ethics and strength, but what you all did? It's the opposite.

So, not only do I thank you again for sharing and providing the important support of simply not being alone to others, I thank you for being the example to the RPC that people dealing in callouts and generalized shaming cannot be, no matter their platform.

I hope that, whether you choose to remain, leave, or take a very long break, everything you've been dealing with starts to look up. I know it's easy to say things made hollow for their repetition and flippant use, like telling you not to let them win, or that their bullshit just isn't that important. So, I'm not going to say them.

It doesn't work that way when you're dealing with mental health concerns! You can logically know that this is just petty bullshit not worth being run out of something important to you, but that doesn't stop the worry, frustration, or depression. You can have all the determination in the world to hang in there, even the spite to back it up, but neither is a match for the things you cannot control coming from your brain. That is the cruelty of mental illness on the very best of days.

You have all of my respect, support, and genuine sympathy that this happened to you. No one should be allowed to continually and unapologetically go out of their way to throw a wrench into someone's hard-won progress. You did nothing to deserve this, and the people out there worth interacting with are going to be the same ones who will have no question of that.

Lastly, I also hope that some of the anons sharing their experiences have helped you feel less alone, or like you're not just irrationally upset. Please know that you're seen and supported as well! And that you are always welcome to talk more, vent, share successes here.

Thank you, Anon.

#vespertine #answered #anonymous #long post #drama cw #rp harassment #callout culture

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writingithink · 4 years

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Tangled Timelines Chapter 1 Rated: T Wordcount: 5,895 Summary: The Doctor and Rose have some news to share with Jackie, but the trip doesn't go quite as planned. Notes:Hello! This is my fic for the Classic Tropes Event. Mine was Fix-It Fic. This one is going to be a multi-chapter, with more tags added as I go. For those of you who have been reading the whole series, I actually plan to finish up the honeymoon fics (they've just been giving me grief). So those will come later, with edits to series order etc etc. If you haven't read the series, I think you should be okay? They're bonded. It was an accident. That should be all the info you really need. All of the thanks ever imaginable to @hey-there-juliet for betaing <33 All mistakes are most definitely mine (esp since I did a lot of glaring at this thing after it was beta'd). I own nothing.

Multiple trips to the TARDIS' library and seemingly endless cross-referencing all culminated in the moment the large tome slipped from the Doctor's hands and onto the bed. It knocked against Rose’s leg and his eyes automatically moved to her face - still asleep. Since their bonding, his wife had gotten used to him bringing various things into bed with them for when he inevitably got bored while she slept.

“And you couldn’t alert me to this, because …?” he whispered to his ship, voice flat and eyes wide as his brain struggled to assimilate everything he had just read.

There was no answer from the TARDIS, not even a hum of acknowledgement. It figured.

The Doctor scrubbed his hand across his face before leaving the bed, heading straight to the infirmary despite the fact that he was only wearing boxers and a vest. This time he didn’t ask his inconsiderate ship for any assistance, simply pulled up every single file on Rose Marion Tyler that existed, on the TARDIS or not. It only took seconds to hack into Earth hospital files, after all.

Not that they helped much, as the technology used in Rose’s time was appallingly primitive.

“Level five medical garbage,” he muttered to himself, zooming past all of her records. Vaccines, minor illnesses, nothing that gave him a good picture of Rose Marion Tyler before she stepped onto the TARDIS. Which, overall, was a good thing - it meant that she had never been so hurt that she needed a CAT scan or an MRI. It would have just been nice to have the data, what with his near obsessive compulsive desire to have the most complete picture of his wife’s biological history.

It’s as if no one had ever heard of voluntary medical data filing. But so be it. The TARDIS had more than enough base scans, starting from the first moment Rose set foot on the ship. This time he wasn’t going to cut corners like he had before, when he’d looked at just her telepathic centers and absolutely nothing else.

Thinking about the last time he and his wife had been in here, weeks ago, the Doctor opened a new screen to check the progress of the six-dimensional comprehensive deep scan results. They were nearly complete.

A feeling of dread lodged in his stomach.

They should have been finished ages ago. The fact that they weren’t -

He shook his head, wiping a hand down his face as he swiveled back to the primary view screen. The base scans should be able to offer him an explanation. Would. They would, because he needed to know exactly what was going on.

The TARDIS had automatically compiled all base scans since their last visit, and his previous parameters were still in place, focused solely on what in humans was called the pineal gland. The Doctor wasn’t sure that name quite applied for Rose’s brain anymore - Epiphysis Cerebri seemed like a much more accurate name for her telepathic center, which was still showing slow, incremental growth.

Fingers moving quickly, he navigated away and started gathering new information. Graphs of brain capacity and function, cellular activity and health, levels of all hormones and neurotransmitters and molecules with a special search for anything that wouldn’t normally be found in a 21st century Earth human.

Waiting for the TARDIS to compile all of these graphs felt like torture, even though it took a relatively short amount of time.

And then he had screens and screens of data all vying for his considerable attention and painting a picture that had his hearts going into overdrive, adrenaline throttling through his systems. Terror. Elation. Fear. Hope. All of his emotions were muddled and changing by the nanosecond. Panic was a constant, however.

All of it was so overpowering that the Doctor soon found himself actively fighting his traitorous body as it tried to enter a completely unnecessary healing trance, confused as it was by his sudden inability to keep control of processes that he generally had a tight grip on.

Two hands fell onto his shoulders, shocking him into jumping up, nearly crashing into the infirmary’s computational system. He whirled around to see the confused and frightened face of his bondmate.

“Doctor?” she asked, hesitating.

He wondered how long she had been trying to speak to him, both verbally and through their bond. Covering his face with both hands, he finally got his breathing back in order and his hearts-rate down.

“Sorry,” he finally managed, once he was capable of speech again, though the single word came out hoarse and scratchy.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Rose asked, still not moving, hands fisted at her sides.

Focusing on their connection, he could feel her overwhelming concern … for him. Well, it did make sense in the ironic way these things always tended to. Since she had been asleep when he left her, the Doctor hadn’t put any thought into shielding. All of his emotions must have barreled into her like a freight train. Couldn’t have possibly been a pleasant way to wake up.

Reluctantly he dropped his hands, palms sliding down his face slowly as he gave up their paltry defense.

“Nothing’s wrong per se,” he hedged, wincing as her mental disbelief permeated their link. “It- it’s more complicated than that. It’s-”

He didn’t know how to explain it. His normally ever-present gob seemed to be offline now that he desperately needed it. Telepathic communication seemed to also be out, as his brain was still in the process of resettling from the accidentally self-induced bulldozing of his basic systems.

“It’s what?”

As the Doctor took another deep breath, Rose looked around, seeming to just realize where they were. She must have raced through the TARDIS to get to him in her worry. He felt incredibly guilty.

“It’s something that we would probably be much more comfortable discussing somewhere else,” he decided, scratching the hairs at the nape of his neck and looking down, shocked to realize that he was nearly naked. “Maybe after getting dressed. And a shower. Breakfast. Not in that order!”

Rose sighed and crossed her arms. The Doctor took a moment to notice her clothing, which consisted of a housecoat and slippers, but he couldn’t tell what she had on underneath (if anything).

“And then we’ll talk?” she questioned, both eyebrows raised, getting his mind back on track.

“Yes. Definitely. How does tea in the library sound?”

Her lips were pursed, but she eventually nodded.

“Good. Great! And I- I’m really, truly sorry for worrying you,” he sighed, finally moving forward and wrapping his arms around his impossible wife. It took a few moments before Rose relaxed into the embrace.

“This is about me, isn’t it?” she whispered after a few long, silent moments.

“Shh,” he scolded. “Shower first. Shower, clothes, food, then talking.”

Procrastination really is just a different type of running, and no one knew that better than the Doctor. He also knew that he wasn’t fooling Rose for a moment. Their bond was still wide open, the contents of their impending discussion only hidden due to the fact that it was all categorized in his mind as ‘scientific information’, and therefore held back by one of the many barriers he kept permanently in place so that he wouldn’t inundate his bondmate with headache inducing amounts of information.

“Alright then,” she conceded, “let’s get going.”

The Doctor took her hand as she pulled away, allowing himself to be led through his time ship. In his current, nebulous state he doubted he’d be able to find their room if he tried. He was just grateful that Rose understood that his desire to put off this conversation didn’t mean he wanted to be separated from her in the slightest.

It was funny, sometimes, to imagine that all of the effort he had previously put into studiously trying to not overwhelm her with just how much he wanted to almost always be in her presence had been completely inverted now that all of their cards were forever on the table.

They got into the shower together and he began to wash his wife’s hair as if on auto-pilot, only refocusing on the present moment when feelings of relaxation and contentment began to pierce through the veil of unpleasant emotions tangled across their shared minds. Once the shampoo rinsed away, the Doctor couldn’t stop himself from cupping her face and pulling her into a relatively chaste kiss. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince himself that everything would all truly be alright (for once). Because one thing that had been clear while looking through her scans was that Rose was perfectly healthy. Her life wasn’t threatened in the slightest.

Things were just … different.

Before he was quite ready, they had finished showering, were both fully clothed, somehow tea and toast had been made (though he barely remembered being in the galley), and they had reached the library. Rose immediately sat down on the sofa, a fire already crackling away in the grate. He followed her, taking a large gulp of his beverage the moment he sat down. For all of the time he had spent trying to organize his thoughts, they were still less than refined.

The problem was, despite being bonded and therefore having an intimate knowledge of her thought processes, the Doctor still couldn’t predict how she would react to any of what he’d discovered in the hours his wife had spent sleeping. And despite the fact that she wasn’t actually saying anything, he did know that she was growing more and more impatient by the second.

“Sooo,” he began, hoping that the rest of the words would just happen, as it were, “this is cozy, innit?”

Obviously it didn’t work.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” she suggested.

“Oh, blimey, alright then. Well, billions of years ago, a cataclysmic explosion of a singularity caused what you could refer to as the Big Bang, Event One, or even just ‘creation’. It resulted in a very compact, tiny universe that was very dense and very hot, riddled with dimension pockets and full of space-time anomalies that are now considered exceedingly rare. These were the beginnings of the Dark Times, of which not much is known - time travel so far back was-”

“Doctor,” Rose interrupted, “does this have anything to do with what has you so upset? The, erm, results?”

“Ah, well, no … not as such. I mean, it’s tangentially related to absolutely everything, of course, but it … right, sorry.” He took another sip of tea, followed by a deep breath. The beginning, but not that beginning. “I finally tracked it down. Old texts, ancient, that had descriptions of telepathic marriage bonds. Took ages to find one that sounded right, though. Apparently most ancient Gallifreyans needed to have the assistance of an experienced telepath who specialized in this kind of thing in order to join their minds. Knew that couldn’t be right, so I kept on digging and when I-”

The words were flowing out now, faster than he could keep track of and for once he was aware of just how irrelevant they were. With a huff he stood up and began to pace in front of the fire, hoping that the movement would help.

“Very old, very rare, very specific. That’s what our bond is. There isn’t even a translation for what they called it, the word would be absolutely meaningless to anyone else, anyone who hasn’t experienced it for themselves. It’s the specificity, though, that made me realize that there was much more at work than just your growing telepathic abilities. When I went to the infirmary, it was really a toss up - either I was right or I was wrong and hadn’t found the proper information yet.”

“But you weren’t wrong, were you?” She bit her bottom lip, eyes tracking him as he moved back and forth across the sitting area that for once seemed much too small.

“No,” the Doctor sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “The 6D scans will probably be ready later today, but I didn’t need those. Just different graphs of your base scans to measure different things. The thing is,” he nearly shouted, “if I hadn’t been about to regenerate, and then freshly regenerated, and then unpardonably distracted, I should have done this all ages ago! Quick as I could after I’d taken the Vortex out of you.”

“Think we were a bit busy savin’ the Universe to bother with all that,” Rose pointed out, comfort and understanding passing over to him through their link, along with a few spikes of irritation and general chastisement for pointlessly blaming himself for something yet again.

“And what’s my excuse for after all that?” he drawled, unwilling to let her absolve him for this appalling negligence of her health and well-being. What kind of doctor was he, if he couldn’t be arsed to take adequate care of the woman he loved?

“Maybe, I dunno, the fact that I felt absolutely fine? That we were busy navigating all your new quirks and preferences while still saving planets? Anyway, you still haven’t even told me what’s going on.”

The Doctor scrunched up his face as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. She was right, obviously. Somehow he was still managing to procrastinate. His teeth ground slightly as he set his jaw and made his way back to the couch.

“You have a large amount of artron energy,” he began. “More than just background radiation. Way more. I would say life threatening amounts, except you also are absolutely riddled with huon particles. Also deadly.”

“Huon particles?”

“Eradicated by the Time Lords near the end of the dark times - oh, look at that, it all came back ‘round, sort of.”

“But you just said they were deadly,” Rose frowned. “Why does it sound like they’re a good thing? I mean, your people obviously had a reason for gettin’ rid of ‘em all. How’re they even there?”

Oh, his magnificent, brilliant, fantastic bondmate - always asking the right questions. A small smile lighted her face as she caught the thought.

“See, the TARDIS is connected to the Vortex, which goes all the way back - remnants of huon particles exist in her heart, which you opened up and used to merge with her, a whole fifth dimension running through the both of you. The huon particles are stabilizing the artron energy - it’s feeding them instead of overtly impacting the rest of your body. So in this case, this one case, the reemergence of deadly particles from the dawn of time is a good thing. Even so, that wouldn’t be enough, except you didn’t just merge with the Vortex alone but with the TARDIS. The TARDIS emits chronon particles, and one of the key differences between Time Lords and non-Time Lord Gallifreyans is that our bodies are surrounded by a bio-plasmic field of chronon energy, allowing us to bond with a TARDIS.”

“Oh. Right, that’s why when you were sick the TARDIS wasn’t working properly. Couldn’t translate for us.”

“Yes, yes, exactly.” The Doctor got back to his feet, the need to pace outweighing his desire to remain close to his wife. “Now, the thing about having a surrounding field is that it can, er, leach on to others. Infect them. Not in a bad way. It’s what provides me with protection from the time stream, helps with cell rejuvenation, etcetera. So actually, if a bit of it didn’t migrate away to those I’m close with, I’d never be able to bring anyone along on the TARDIS with me. Too dangerous. Thing is, you have your own now, not just an echo of mine. Which makes sense. You two became one, of course she would bond with you as well. Thing is, to do that - your DNA, Rose. Becoming Bad Wolf. It’s given you symbiotic chronon nuclei.”

“And what’s that, then? Something to do with the chronon particles?”

“In a sense. It’s only viewable with a temporal reading, which the TARDIS base scans do automatically, because that’s what’s normal for me. She doesn’t change protocols just because the other person she’s scanning happens to be human. I’ve mentioned before that I have TNA. Triple helix instead of double, yes?”

Rose nodded, taking a wary sip of her tea.

“Well, it’s actually a bit more complicated than that. Properly, temporally scanned it’s actually four strands. That symbiotic chronon nuclei is the physical, quasi-symbiotic link between the TARDIS and I. Now you have one too.”

“So wait, I’ve got four strands of DNA now? And we didn’t even notice?” Her mug clattered onto the table as she deposited it and stood quickly.

“No, no, no, just the three. No TNA. But this is where things get complicated.”

“You mean there’s more ?” she screeched, going paler than she already had been, thoughts becoming a whirl of panic. “Isn’t it complicated enough?!”

“Weeeeeell, let’s go back to that third strand I’ve got, yeah? It’s pretty much, and by pretty much I mean almost the sole reason, that regeneration is possible. Stores all the information for past and future incarnations, as well as other things,” he explained, waving his hands around, “and as far as I understood it, that’s what allowed for a Gallifreyan’s self-replicating biogenic molecules.”

“Your what?”

“Remember the nanogenes?” he asked, finally walking back to her in order to weave their fingers together.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Gallifreyan bodies have something like that. Biological nanites. Not only do they allow for regeneration, but on a daily basis they repair and prune any damaged or malformed cells. Hence why we age so slowly. I’ll look just like this for hundreds of years yet.”

She nodded slowly. “And lemme guess, I’ve got those too, somehow.”

“Yes. Though wired differently than mine, You’re still human , Rose. Just … with genetic modifications. Powerful genetic modifications. Obviously meant to keep you alive, because really, thinking about it properly, you shouldn’t have survived the trip back to the gamestation, much less been able to accomplish everything you did. A symbiotic self-renewing cell structure is really the obvious solution to the problem, and if you did have TNA like I do, the gigantic surge of artron energy would have triggered a regeneration, just like it did for me. But your body doesn’t work that way, so it just- just healed the damage, no mess, no fuss.”

“And they’re still there now, healing stuff?”

The Doctor nodded.

“So what does it all mean, then, exactly? Without all of the science babble.”

“Without it?” He winced at the way his voice nearly squeaked.

“As little of it as you can get away with,” Rose conceded, the smidge of laughter in her voice doing wonders for his frayed nerves.

“Alright. Well, your cell death is almost non-existent. Your brain activity, in addition to the new telepathic adjustments, has increased in both capacity and function. You likely haven’t noticed because you haven’t tried to stretch things more than average, and why would you? Despite all of these changes, it’s not like you really knew about them or have had any sort of training on how to incorporate them aside from our telepathy lessons. With the way you’re connected to the TARDIS, you could probably learn to sense time. That’s what allows for most of my time senses, by the way.”

“Doctor, less babble,” his wife helpfully reminded him.

“Right, yes, well,” he swallowed audibly, “the main thing is … you’re not going to age at the same rate as everyone else you know. Everyone human, that is. There’s no way for me to be certain how long your life might be, since our timelines are too tightly wound together.”

“They are?”

“Of course they are.” At this, the Doctor finally smiled, wrapping his arms around her. “That’s the thing, the crucial thing, about the bond. Why I needed to check the scans to make sure. It exists not just because we love each other, not just because we have compatible minds, but because our timelines were able to be synced. Literally able to be together forever, however long forever might be. This connection we have, it’s not the kind that can be forced, it can only happen spontaneously. In fact, from what I’ve read, the existence of this form of bond is exactly why the practice of making less deep and all encompassing ones came into being. Others who weren’t as, as destined for each other, for lack of a better word, wanted the same kind of intimacy. And of course it fell out of favor, not just because of Gallifrey’s abandonment of emotional ties in general, but because of the pain associated with losing a partner you’ve permanently telepathically merged with.”

“So that, us … we won’t have that?”

“I can’t view my own timeline and I can’t view yours, but I do know that they’re so tightly twined that you can’t tell the two apart. I can feel it, and maybe someday you will be able to on your own, but for now I can always show you,” he offered.

“I- I’d like that, but …” Rose trailed off, biting her lip and looking away.

“What?”

“’S just, you were so, so upset earlier. And it’s definitely a lot to take in, but, I mean, doesn’t it all seem like a good thing?” she asked, turning back toward him, eyes locking with his and broadcasting her pained confusion just as adequately as the bond itself was.

“For me? Of course it is, and the selfish part of me has never been more happy. But Rose, you have to understand that I wasn’t trying to be dramatic that night, outside of the chippy, when I said that my lifespan was a curse. You’re going to outlive everyone you know and love, aside from me. You won’t age at the same rate that they do. And I know that it’s expected for children to outlive their parents, but you’re going to spend far longer without your mother than with her. This … it was never something I wanted for you, the pain of so many goodbyes.”

Rose shut her eyes before burrowing her head into his chest, holding him tighter. For a long time they were silent, though the Doctor could hear her racing thoughts as she tried to process all of the information he had shoved at her in such a short period of time. He was content to just hold her, rubbing a soothing arm up and down her back until a singular thought rang out across their bond that had her gasping and him groaning.

We have to tell mum.

The Doctor spun around the console in a whirlwind, Rose clinging to the jumpseat. He could feel her trepidation as they landed, her worry about her mother’s reaction to their news. So he wasn’t surprised in the slightest at her shock upon opening the TARDIS' door and finding them very much not on Earth.

“Think your driving’s a bit more off than usual,” she noted vaguely as he finally stepped away from the console to grab his jacket.

“Is it really?” He gave her a look of wide eyed bewilderment, just as his thoughts inevitably revealed that he had had no intention of making the trip to Jackie’s - yet.

Rose crossed her arms, giving him an unconvincing glare as the Doctor finally met her at the door and stuck his head outside.

“Ah, perfect!” he exclaimed. “Right where I wanted to be.”

“Oh, really? And where’s that then?” his wife asked, finally stepping out of their ship and having a look around. There were rows and rows of stalls and booths as far as the eye could see.

“It’s a bazaar. On an asteroid. Moves around every four cycles to a different asteroid in a different sector. Used to just be a handful of merchants and artisans and performing artists, a sort of circus, if you will, only without the mistreated animals and exploited people. Was called Mz’trak’s Marvelous Moving Menagerie - gotta love that alliteration, absolutely amazing. But as you can see, it grew. Doesn’t have a name now. Too much going on. Still, organized enough to make it’s trip across the quadrant. They span galaxies, Rose Tyler! This is the place to go to find anything you could possibly imagine!”

“Okay,” she said slowly, drawing out the word as she turned back to face him. “And what, exactly, are we lookin’ for that’s so important that you’re putting off visiting mum?”

“Oh, right, see, about that - I thought, maybe, just maaaybe, you’d be able to find something for her here. To, erm, soften the blow, as it were. Butter her up a bit.” Make her less likely to regenerate me, he didn’t say, but he didn’t have to. The thought was pretty much blaring on a loop that his bondmate was unlikely to miss.

“Seriously?! Doctor, if you hide away again and force me to have this talk all on my own, I swear-”

“No, no, I won’t! We’ll do this together, I promise!” he hastened. No need to have two angry Tylers on his hands.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re so afraid of her,” Rose said with a roll of her eyes before taking his hand and beginning to walk through the market.

Normally she buzzed up to nearly every stall, wanting to see as many strange and novel alien things as possible, but this time his wife was quickly passing them by, categorizing everything in their immediate vicinity as ‘too alien’. Admittedly, the Doctor hadn’t given that much consideration when he decided that a gift for his mother-in-law would be a good plan.

“It’s a premonition I have, really,” he told her, “that your mum will be the death of me. Unlikely, I’ll give you that, but you never know. Sometimes these things have merit. I was once very good at that kind of thing, seeing the future. Well, not really. More like an unconscious tracking of future timelines that seems like a form of prescience but is really-”

“You are so full of it,” Rose laughed. “But speaking of past yous, I’m not going to regenerate, am I?”

While the Doctor had thought that he’d been very clear in the library earlier, perhaps he hadn’t explained very well. Too much ‘science babble’, probably.

“Nope,” he assured her, popping the ‘p’ and giving her one of his best grins.

“So Bad Wolf didn’t make me into a Time Lord. Just …”

“Bad Wolf didn’t do any such thing,” he frowned. “If you want, I can show you the second by second time stamps of the scans the TARDIS took of you during all that - constant state of danger, there’s hundreds of them. But no, the TARDIS did all of that herself so that you two could become Bad Wolf. If you recall, our ship is a multidimensional alien being that even I don’t completely understand. And she likes you. A lot. Didn’t want you to die.”

He stopped himself, barely, from continuing on (again) about how he should have realized this all ages ago. There was really no point to it, just his wounded ego. Plus, who had time for brooding, anyway?

“Sure she doesn’t just like you a lot?” his wife asked with a smirk. “Y’know, making sure the girl her pilot likes so much has a matching lifespan?”

The Doctor abruptly stopped his near-skipping and pulled Rose into his arms with a growl.

“Oh, I much more than like you, Rose Tyler.”

“That so?” his cheeky wife asked him with a tongue touched grin.

Minx, he chastised telepathically, his mouth now busy as he dipped her into a snog that was likely inappropriate for public, but for once she wasn’t complaining.

“Also,” he added, after breaking the kiss so that she could catch her breath, “it would be Time Lady, you know. And that is a little complicated, now that I think about it. Because you’re not Gallifreyan, but not all Gallifreyan’s are Time Lords or Time Ladies. Then again, you have the bit of genetic jiggery pokery that makes a Gallifreyan a Time, er-”

“Let’s just go with Time Lord, yeah?”

“It’s a hypothetical political correctness jumble,” he muttered with a grimace.

“So I’m a bit like a human Time Lady? Kind of?”

“Kind of. Eh. Doesn’t really matter, though, does it?”

Rose had gone back to scanning the booths, but was quick to turn her sharp gaze back to him. “How could it not matter?”

“Well, I mean, you’re still Rose Tyler. Doesn’t matter to me, what kind of species you call yourself. The important thing is that you’re you, and I get to keep you.”

And the Doctor could tell that she didn’t exactly agree with him, all of the ramifications of this still buzzing around in her head and the impending talk with Jackie making her permanently anxious. But still, she smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Finally some stalls came up that looked promising and his bondmate began looking at things in earnest. As he watched her flit about, the thought began to really settle in. They would be able to stay together, not just for the very short human forever that he had struggled to come to terms with, but for his forever.

The weight of the Universe on his shoulders had never felt lighter.

It suddenly did seem a little bit ridiculous, all of his worries about Jackie’s reaction. At least when it came to him . Over 900 years old, he could (probably) take it. If anything, he was more concerned for Rose. If (or really, it was more likely to be when) her mother reacted poorly, she would undoubtedly be hurt.

Flashes of their ‘marriage announcement’ briefly passed through his mind.

This time, though, he would be there for her. Absolutely no swanning off or hiding or cowering of any sort. Well, minimal cowering. Can’t set the bar too high, knowing he was about to get a smack (even if none of it was actually his fault). It would all be worth it in the end, being able to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved.

“Do you think mum would like this?” Rose asked, interrupting his chaotic stream of thought.

“What’s that?” The Doctor walked closer to the booth, finally taking notice of his surroundings instead of blindly following his wife. “Oh! These are all made of bazoolium! That’s brilliant!” he exclaimed, touching a large piece that was either intended to be abstract art or a Raqkle Bear about to attack, unsurprised by the neutral temperature. After all there was no weather to speak of on the asteroid.

“Yeah, he was just tellin’ me that they could predict the weather,” she said, gesturing toward the shopkeeper. The Doctor barely spared him a glance before investigating the ones that were combined with wind chimes, surprised when the chimes were actually made of bazoolium as well.

“They’re not incredibly unlike the barometers you lot have, only much more accurate. The truly impressive part is the fact that this property is naturally occurring in the mineral. Plus there’s really not much interpreting to it - if it’s hot, you’ll have a nice sunshine-y day, and if it’s cold there’ll be rain. Or snow, I suppose. But all you have to do is touch it. Definitely simple enough for Jackie to get use of-”

He winced when Rose telepathically zapped him, which he really should have seen coming.

After apologizing, the Doctor (for the most part) kept his mouth shut as she selected a small one that looked as un-alien as possible, something that any of Jackie’s friends would look at and think was some random tchotchke, just a thing and then think nothing of it. As soon as she finished her purchase, he took her hand and reluctantly headed back the way they came.

In a private corner of his mind he had come up with thousands of different ideas for putting this next trip off, but eventually discarded every single one of them (even if some were astonishingly brilliant). His wife wanted to get this over with, so that’s what they were going to do.

If anything, he regretted putting all of their efforts into getting her mother some bauble to put her in a good mood when they should have also been coming up with a plan for distracting her after this ‘talk’.

“Distracting her? How would we possibly distract her?” Rose wondered aloud.

The Doctor felt strangely giddy, knowing that she’d been paying attention to him over the bond. They were starting to get pretty good at not constantly acknowledging all of the thoughts that were projected without real intent, so much so that he sometimes wondered if his wife was listening most of the time. His thoughts were very interesting, after all, so he wasn’t sure how she could ignore them if she wasn’t just tuning it all out.

She rolled her eyes, making it clear that she’d caught all of that as well.

“I don’t know,” he went on, “I’m not sure what would hold her attention, aside from gossip and telly. Maybe we should nip into the future, get some Eastenders DVDs. Or some tabloids. Then again, I doubt your mother could keep her future knowledge a secret and next thing you know, we’ll have a paradox on our hands. Can’t have that.”

Rose laughed as they entered the TARDIS.

“Dunno if it’s really much of a distraction, but I do have some laundry I’ve been meaning to bring over.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “I refuse to believe your mother actually enjoys doing your laundry. There’s a perfectly good laundry room in the TARDIS. You don’t even have to do much of anything. Just put your clothes down the chute and she’ll do all the rest, even the folding.” And yes, he had told her all of this before, on multiple occasions - every time she had laundry to bring back, in fact.

So the Doctor wasn’t surprised when she said, “It makes her feel useful. She likes doing mum stuff for me.”

She said something along those lines every time. This time, however, his responding ‘fine’ was telepathic, rather than verbal as he began piloting them into the Vortex and she disappeared down the corridor to gather said laundry.

Since he was going to have to wait until Rose was finished before flying them to Jackie’s (let it not be said that he can’t learn a lesson) he almost followed her to their room. But just as he moved away from the console, he sensed that his bondmate could use some privacy while she got her thoughts in order, trying to decide exactly what she was going to say to her mum, not wanting to get into absolutely everything.

So he sat down on the jumpseat, kicked his feet onto the console, and focused on sending soothing emotions over their bond. Eventually, Rose reappeared with her giant red duffle, looking plenty nervous but definitely less so than she’d been before.

“Ready?” he asked, hopping back to his feet.

“No,” she sighed, dropping the bag onto the newly vacated seat before flashing him a wary grin. “Let’s go.”

#dw fanfiction #ficandchips #ten x rose #timepetals #tenrose #dw classic trope event #fandom: doctor who #pairing: rose x doctor #my fic #fic: tangled timelines

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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@elfysparkles88

#listen it's a universal problem#I love my mans Scott#everyone is always bagging on him WHY#Scott Summers#X-Men

Its because Scott Summers is inevitably compared and contrasted with those around him, and he has the great misfortune of running in the same circles as an all-star line up of like....just the absolutely most Ridiculous People to Ever Ridick.

We’re talking about a guy whose dad was abducted by aliens and from there went on to decide, welp, guess I gotta become a space pirate now, jaunty earring and all, no, shhh, shh, no, there are no alternatives, I gotta, no, I said no - SHUT IT, I SAID I GOTTA BE A SPACE PIRATE NOW ITS THE ONLY WAY. Oh btw, meet my fianceé. She’s an alien mercenary who is a little like a skunk but don’t call her that to her face or she’ll shoot you in yours. How’s that for swoonworthy, am I right, son?

We’re talking about a guy whose own son was a literal sixty year old Grumpy Old Man overburdened with world-weariness, wildly unnecessary shoulderpads and arthritic joints when Scott was barely hitting his third decade. With said son now randomly being a moody sixteen year old again, with a pet sentient sword he talks lovingly to, because apparently Nathan Summer’s take on teenage rebellion was to act out by being all LOL Fuck Time Travel Paradoxes and then rebelliously zooming around the space/time continuum while blasting a soundtrack of MCR probably, until he finally got a bead on his older self and shot himself in the face while being like “its not that I’m angry with you, I’m just disappointed” and look this is the part where your eyes are gonna wanna just glaze over so your brain can have a break, shhh, shh, don’t ask questions, just let it be, it happened, its a thing.

We’re talking about a guy whose brother rode a merry-go-round of “Am I a good guy this week or am I a bad guy because Reasons or sometimes Brainwashing or sometimes I Don’t Even Fucking Know, Look Don’t @ Me Bro, I Just Fucking Work Here, I’m Not In The Loop” for most of his twenties until dying in a fiery explosion only to inexplicably return years later as a coma patient who finally woke up one day and said “Whoa, just got back from tripping around the multiverse and boy do I have stories cuz apparently I’m the Nexus of All Realities, so hah, SUCK IT, big brother, and yes that is TOO a thing, shut up, LET ME HAVE THIS. Oh and also btw don’t spend a lot on your wedding gift for me and Lorna because I’m gonna leave her at the altar once I realize that I’m actually more in love with the random nurse lady who changed my bed pans while I was in a coma having a romantic rendezvouz with her in Paris in my brain courtesy of her psychic eight-year old kid trying to play matchmaker for her cuz like, she doesn’t date much apparently but its whatever, this is FINE, I have no objections. Ugh why are you looking at me like that Scott, no, I don’t need to “talk” with someone about everything I’ve ‘been through,’ ugh I’m HAPPY you asshole, god, why don’t you ever want me to just be HAPPY ugh you just have to control EVERYTHING with your over-bearing BS like “I am concerned your decision-making processes might be affected by all the people tampering with your decision-making processes over the years” like umm DID I ASK? No? I didn’t think so? YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD, SCOTT, UGH THAT DOES IT, IM RUNNING AWAY TO BE A SUPERVILLAIN AGAIN AND THIS TIME ITS TOTALLY YOUR FAULT, YOU’LL BE SORRY WHEN I CRY HAVOK AND LET LOOSE THE DOGS OF WAR THIS TIME FOR SURE, AND OMG FOR THE LAST TIME I KNOOOOOOW THAT’S NOT HOW ITS SPELLED, ITS ABOUT THE AESTHETIC SCOTT, ITS CALLED HAVING A SENSE OF STYLE, UGH, LET ME LIIIIIIIIIIIVE.”

We’re talking about a guy whose other little brother randomly showed up and started killing people one day being like “hahaha surprise, bet you all forgot about me, PS, I’m REALLY FUCKING MAD AT YOU ALL FOR FORGETTING ABOUT ME” because the world’s most powerful telepath made everyone forget about him and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day they all had once and this is fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine, this is normal. As is the way his newly discovered slash remembered slash resurrected slash recently returned from spending the last decade fucking around as a disembodied energy ghost on a rock up in Earth’s orbit little brother then decided the Earth just wasn’t big enough for the both of them, the both of them in this case meaning both him, singular, and his Angst, as a wholly separate and towering entity in its own right. So instead he fucked off to space and decided to conquer a vast alien empire and spend the next several years being their god-emperor or whatever until he got bored with that. And also he kinda sorta killed their dad for a bit but whatever, its fine, he got better, and then he also kinda sorta died for a bit himself but whatever, its fine, he got better, and there was that whole interstellar war between himself and the Inhumans but whatever that wasn’t even his FAULT, Scott, THEY STARTED IT, god, do you ever stop JUDGING ME AND MY LIFE CHOICES and PS I’m still mad at you for killing Xavier, you fucking asshole, not because you did it but because like, you KNOW I wanted to do it, I had a whole fucking villain monologue moment about it and everything, you were literally there, UGH WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HAVE NICE THINGS?!?! YOU ARE THE ENEMY OF FUN AND JOY AND HEY MAYBE YOU WERE THE REAL VILLAIN ALL ALONG, DID YOU EVER THINK OF THAT? HUH? MR. I’M THE BOSS, WAIT WHO’S THE BOSS? OH YEAH STILL ME, SCOTT, I’M THE BOSS, YOU GOTTA STOP BEING A SPACE EMPEROR GABE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T BE THE BOSS, ONLY I AM ALLOWED TO BE THE BOSS BECAUSE I’M THE BOSS AND I SAID SO AND YOU GOTTA DO WHAT I SAY OR I’LL TELL DAD.”

And that’s not even getting into how we’re also talking about a guy who basically ended up divorcing his first wife and suing for sole custody on the grounds of “Well, your Honor, she tried to sacrifice our son on a literal demonic altar in order to summon Hell to Earth to destroy everything just to get back at me after I left her. Yes, your Honor, I understand that is in fact Asshole Behavior, but there were extenuating circumtances, you see, the woman I left her for was my first love before her who I thought was dead. And also, she was literally my wife before my wife was. No, I don’t mean I was married before Maddie, I mean Jean was kinda pretty much already Maddie before Maddie was Maddie. Its this whole clone thing. Look, I’m just saying it was a complicated situation and I know I have my part to play in it, but I still stand by my conviction that trying to sell out our entire planet and species to the legions of Hell while using the innocent blood of our ten month old as the Golden Ticket to the Chocolate Factory was still a little over the top and not really the right way to handle it either. Also, I contend that I can provide a better home environment at the moment than someone who is insisting on being addressed as The Goblin Queen because what even is that, honestly, Your Honor, and also, she also brainwashed my brother into trying to kill me on her behalf, which to be fair does happen about every other month anyway, but still, like. Dick move, you know?”

And we’re also talking about a guy whose second wife who was kinda sorta his first wife but only in that It Ain’t Bigamy If Its A Clone Thing way....like, I mean. Its kinda hard NOT to come across as the bland one in the relationship when your second wife occasionally moonlights as the AirBnb of choice for a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction who is pretty infamous for the ragers she hosts every time she pops into town for a visit, all smiles and (literal) sunbeams (of scorching lethality) and “Lol hey hot stuff, remember me?” As if someone who ate an alien civilization’s sun the last time she hit a Mood is like....really in danger of ever being “New phone, who dis?”ed. But that is neither here nor there, much like the sentients of Alpha Centauri Bumfuckville after she went all Goodnight Sun, Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Solar System on their corner of the galactic neighborhood, because.....tbh I don’t think she ever actually said “why” there. Its one of those things where if you don’t already KNOW why a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction has decided its nighty-night time for this particular zipcode.....like.....that’s not really something you just ASK, y’know? Its....tacky, probably. Also, low on the self-preservation instincts, probably.

Plus we’re talking about a guy whose second marriage to Yet Another Woman It Probably Should Have Registered As A Bad Idea To PIss Off Like This ended in like....so, okay, this was a bit more His Bad than even Round One was, courtesy of a “Groundbreaking. Revolutionary. Show-stopping” reinterpretation of what was up until this point te much more ambiguous and metaphorically named “Mental Affair” concept. Though it must be said, Scotty always has skewed a bit more towards the literal minded in his personal approach to things, so, y’know. That tracks. But regardless, the pattern remains consistent here, as once again, its not always easy to register on peoples’ radar as anything other than the Plus One when your newest paramour prides herself on being both the entire planning committee AND star attraction of Victoria’s Secret (assuming that said Secret is Secret Aims at World Domination) Presents: A Renaissance Faire. But in an evil and also kinky way. Except now with sixty percent less evil on account of how Emma’s reformed these days, but not a hundred percent less evil because she’s not like, REFORMED reformed, cuz that would be boring, eww, could you imagine, no, you couldn’t, because she won’t let you and she can do that, she’s that good at telepathy and that bad at boundaries. Still the same amount of kinky as before though, but like. That’s just about Strong Branding. After all, at the end of the day Emma Frost is above all else, a good businesswoman.

But yes, she is also a big fan of the Aesthetic, with that aesthetic being Her Whims On Steroids because like they say, go big or go home, and Emma Frost does not believe in going home when she can simply acquire your home instead. Hate the game, not the player. She didn’t make the rules, she just came to win. Point being, its hard to follow up an act like Jean-Who-Is-Sometimes-Phoenix-And-Sometimes-Dark-Phoenix-And-Oh-Hell-She-Cant-Even-Keep-Track-So-How-Could-Anyone-Else-Really, but say what you will about Emma’s wardrobe, she’s more concerned with clothing herself in unapologetic take no prisoners ambition, and as such, her being the follow-up to Scott’s epic romance with his childhood sweetheart turned literal cosmic embodiment of fire and passion, like.....this was never a big checkmark in the con side of a pro and con list for Emma. It was more like oh, yes, hello there, Challenge Absolutely Fucking Accepted.

Which, y’know, all the points to House Frost for showing spine and boy howdy, that’s a spine alright.....but at the same time, going head to head with someone who is classified as a galactic threat when people are deliberately low-balling her, like, for no other reason than you’re bored and your manicure appointment isn’t for another couple hours.....like that’s the kind of thing where it has to be pointed out that there were possibly alternative options worth considering somewhere in between ‘having no spine’ and ‘spiting cosmic entity who can kill you with her brain by stealing her man and saying come at me bro because like....my spine, let me show you it.”

But again, just to reiterate the premise here.....our thesis here today is that Scott Summers Gets a Bad Rap For Being Bland or Boring or Not Standing Out, But In Reality The Issue Is Just That All The People He Knows Are Truly Ridiculous People.

In other words, Scott Summers is no more the Everyman of the X-Men than any of his Truly Ridiculous Friends and Family.

Because an actual everyman would have bounced out of that madhouse way the fuck back in Chapter One: In Which Things Just Got Ridiculous.

Cut to Scott Summers, in contrast: *looks around, purses lips, weighs options* Nah. This is fine.

See also:

His daughter, who didn’t so much arrive after the traditional nine months of waiting and preparing for a bundle of bouncing baby joy but instead just like...plopped back into the past as a full grown woman hailing from a dystopian future she was hellbent on preventing by any means necessary, even if that means had Scott frantically shouting RACHEL NO as she screamed RACHEL YES and sprinted straight at someone like Selene (a villain who has survived 17,000 years of pissing people off and making enemies of actual, literal gods) while thinking “oh yeah, I got this.”

(To be fair, she probably DID have it, or would have, if Logan hadn’t chosen that moment of all moments to have his once-centennial contemplation of “Wait, what if....murder is...NOT good?” Never underestimate the daughter of a cosmic goddess.)

Or see also also:

Scott’s original classmates, including Doctor Hank “I’m not an over-archiever, I’m just stress-eating because its lunchtime and I’ve only revolutionized two whole fields of scientific study so far today,” McCoy, Warren “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, hate me because I’m a billionaire, wait no, I’m just kidding don’t hate me at all hahaha I’m too sexy” Worthington III, and Bobby “I may look cute and unassuming and like my only priority in life is video games but sike, I too am a potentially cosmic level immortal being of nigh-unlimited power or at least I will be whenever I get around to tapping that potential like I’m currently tapping xy up down A + BBA like a boss, now shhh, don’t interrupt me while I’m kicking ass at Mario Kart I said I’ll GET TO THAT LATER, ugh, JEEZ, my priorities are FINE, Scott, like get off my back already, you’re not even my real dad” Drake.

In conclusion:

Scott Summers is valid, and there may be legions drinking his Hatorade, but make no mistake, its not that he’s Less Than, its that every single person in his social circle is just that damn Extra.

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johobi · 4 years

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(1/6) Anyone who reads your work and also writes KNOWS why it takes a long time - why it takes so much from you. Your word choice is precise and evocative. It flows effortlessly and that kind of flow takes not just innate linguistic talent, but the willingness to rework and redo and reread. It takes minutes that bleed into hours on just a small section because there is just *something* not quite right.

As I have already expressed to you through DMs, you have somehow perfectly encapsulated everything I aim to achieve with my writing when I’m toiling over it for ages. TT OH how those small sections can sometimes take hours. I’ve never felt so innately understood!!!

(2/7) I reread Dig Deep last night (for the 5th time) and I am just in awe of how you crafted it. The story is superior, but the *way* you told it was simply masterful - down to the innate cadence the words take on when you read them in your head. You are descriptive without being verbose. The reader is never jarred away by an awkward transition or a repetitive word choice.

Being overly verbose is my BIGGEST fear. And so is being overly simplistic. It’s so hard trying to strike a balance between the two. I’m so glad the fruits of my efforts pay off... even in a story like Dig Deep, which initially was meant to be nothing more than a freaky Hallowe’en drabble. I scour every line for unnecessary repetition (though I also love to utilise it for impact sometimes).

(3/7) It is vivid and visceral and even good writers cannot always achieve that - because it takes more than just being talented - it takes so much time and an almost undefinable instinct for knowing when something feels right (or if you’re a crazed perfectionist - and you probably are - it almost never feels right, but it at least feels better).

I can easily believe that you are also a writer because you articulate this struggle so well. In a way I wouldn’t be able to without thinking over it for ages. I am definitely a crazed perfectionist. I don’t even understand my standards or what qualifies as ‘good enough’, it’s such a nebulous thing. The goal posts are always moving, which is why sometimes it’s easier to be satisfied, and sometimes it is harder. ‘It at least feels better’. YUP. That’s what I have to settle with and try and move on.

(4/8) Writing like this is an emotionally and mentally exhausting process that takes a considerable toll. I can’t believe you do it for free. I love to compliment writers, because - as a writer - I know that they have earned it. But it is not enough to simply compliment a catalogue like yours.

It takes such a toll sometimes. I do it for free because I wouldn’t do it at all if I was paid - I can’t do pressure. I’m my happiest when there’s no-one to cater to but myself, or I’d plumb up completely.

(5/8)Your writing ... if I were to hazard a guess - comes from a mind that has read hundreds of books from so many different genres and authors. I could be wrong about all this of course. Perhaps you simply take a deep breath and all this exquisiteness just flows out (and if that’s true then you’re a bloomin savant and someone needs to be documenting you for science and history). I don’t think I am wrong though.

It’s incredibly flattering that that is your perception of me! I actually don’t read at all. I think I read, like, one book in all of 2018 and that’s the last one I can remember. I read quite a bit as a child, but eventually began to enjoy my entertainment through ‘easier’ mediums. I say easier because it takes me a lot to focus and digest words. I’ve always suspected I have some form of ADHD or something, because it’s difficult for me to sit down and settle with any one thing at a time. Or maybe it’s my Gemini moon lol. I’ve played a ton of wordy, flowery fantasy video games though, and I suspect that’s where I’ve picked up a lot of my more archaic style.

(6/8) When I say your work is worth the wait - I know good and well that your work IS the wait. It is every moment you spend rebuilding your energy from the last endeavor. It is every hour you’ll spend writing, and reworking, and spontaneously changing or adding up to entire plot points and storylines because they came to you when you were already eyeball deep in the narrative. You work is worth far more than any amount of time we wait for it.

Way to gut me with that first line. ; ; oh man. Again, you UNDERSTAND ME SO WELL. It is literally a case of rebuilding my energy between each project. I tend to write in long, productive bursts, 2-3k here and there, and I’ll do that for a few days in a row. But only after weeks, maybe months, of nothing but conceptualising. I can’t explain why I need that long a break but I don’t think I need to to you. You get it. ;;

(7/8) I know from reading your blog, that you have been facing some challenges lately and my heart goes out to you. I hope my words have lifted your spirits a little. I’ve wanted to tell you this for awhile, but it is easy to be intimidated by someone with your talent and following. Sometimes I feel like a child just hoping someone will play with me on the playground when I put myself out there... I think that is why so many people give praise or ask questions on anon.

They did more than lift my spirits, they invigorated me!!! I know it’s easier said than done but please don’t ever feel intimidated by me. I’m quiet ‘n’ self-conscious and pretty damn awkward lol. I am so, so grateful to you for taking the time to pour your observations out to me. You nailed every. single. one. It’s almost spooky. I FEEL SEEN! Hah. And I will play with you any time, lovely Viola. x

(8/8) It makes it easier to engage if you aren’t afraid of rejection. The more I read your posts, the more you seemed like someone who is truly down to earth and sweet... So I determined to tell you how much I genuinely admire both your ability and the art it produces. Thank you for sharing it with this community. Sincerely, Viola (P.S Sorry for the awkward numbering. I kept having to break it down into successively smaller pieces to fit the word count 🙈)

And I genuinely admire your courage and intuition. You have a way with words that is uncommon. When I said to you that I cannot wait to read your own works, I meant it. I feel we probably have similar styles, just from reading your words here. You’re a natural.

Thanks again, Viola. I was overcome with joy when I read these. I hope you have the greatest of days. xxx

#what a RIDE #you read me for filth #can't believe how perceptive you are #jo asks #ladyartemesia

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lloftvlly · 5 years

Text

D̶̦̦̞̮̞̱́̕ę̷͕̑t̶̫̃͋̇̓̚o̵̞̔͆̒x̵͎͋́ — [ Prologue ]

FIC MASTERPOST:

⇛ Since there’s no after ending for Saeran yet and the wait is killing me I decided in the meantime to type my own. Also, because I’ve been wanting to get back into writing fanfiction.

DISCLAIMER: All rights to Saeran Choi and the Mystic Messenger universe belongs to Cheritz and I’m merely borrowing their beautiful universe and characters for writing.

— The timeline may not truly match up with Saeran’s good ending but with this story, I wanted to dive into his physical and mental healing process more.

Saeran Choi x MC // MysMe // [ pt. 1/? ]

It’s only been five days since the news about the prime minister's illegitimate sons were made public by C&R’s intelligence unit and the RFA. So naturally, things have been eventful,... let alone the fact that Saeyoung was still missing.

Of course, it didn’t come as a surprise that the media and authorities wanted to pry out more information out of all of you, but mostly Searan. He did what he was capable of doing, in his condition. But unnecessary stress was something you had to avoid as best as you could because he was still unstable, not only his mind but also his body. Even though Saeran would tell you over and over how you saved him, you knew you still had a long way to go, to heal him from his past. So far you’ve merely gotten him out of a toxic environment but there was still plenty to do before you could consider him to be saved.

All the drugs he was taking and was forced to take, while he was in Magenta were still running through his veins.. it took time for them all to leave his bloodstream. Even if he wanted to be back to normal, that wasn’t his choice to make, but his body’s. Initially, he didn’t show many withdrawal symptoms right after leaving Magenta, maybe because there was too much going on and he had focused on different things, but as time passed his symptoms worsened. And even though Saeran had taken control over the darkness in his heart and mind, for the most part, he still had moments of it taking over him.

Of course, you had considered to let him stay in a medical facility but he was strictly against it. You think he was too scared of being locked away under the care of strangers; after all, for the first time in his life, he actually was allowed to be free and make his own decisions. So who really could blame him for not wanting to be in a restrictive place once more, even if it was with good intentions. And his decision was to stay here in this hideout with you under the condition that he got regularly visited by a private doctor and a therapist which Jumin had organized for Saeran and which would keep your location confidential.

It wasn’t easy of course. There were triggers you still learned about, that would cause him to break down or yell at you. Years of brainwashing wouldn’t be gone as fast, no matter how much love and patience you showed to your boyfriend. He also still had a hard time talking about his brother without him showing physical signs of struggling.

Some moments he would still fight his darkness, others he would almost give in and let his demons take over and the shadows of his past consume him. But he would fight so hard not to ever hurt you again. He was terrified of the thought that he’d fall back into the dark character he showed to you in the days you were locked in your room at Magenta. You both knew that side of him wasn’t completely gone, even if for the most part.

Some days, when he suffered severe pain from his body trying to rid of the remaining poison in his blood he would also fall into desperation and beg for more of the elixir to end his pain. At times like this, you had to get help to restrain him and keep him from running back to seek out the Mint Eye for his dose. Jumin then sent over security guards to keep Saeran from running off when you weren’t able to keep him inside. And once Saeran would come back to his senses, he would thank you for it,... no matter how much he had cursed out you and the security guards during his desperation for the drug.

So clearly, you still had a long way to go. But together you had managed so much, so you would get through this too.

And as curious as the public was about Saeran and Saeyoung, it wasn’t the time now for him to constantly be under the pressure to give answers to all the people seeking them. Even if the vast majority were on his side, first he had to get healthier, only then he could properly decide if he even wanted to give more of his side to the media and public.

The ad department at C&R also advised Saeran to get healthy first before taking any other further steps. And Jumin, together with all his connections and the intelligence unit made sure to advise you in what was the best way to deal with all of the other concerns. It was such a good feeling that Saeran already trusted Jumin as much as you all in the RFA would. It sure couldn’t have been easy for him to trust anyone ever again, so this was something you considered to be the first step of healing.

And that brought you here. In a somewhat safe cocoon, the RFA provided for you until Saeran was better.

You’ve been staying in Saeran’s secret hideout for most of the time. Jumin would have even sent you off to a private island, but you decided it was better to stay where the rest of the RFA was in reach and where you would have a hospital nearby in case of a medical emergency. And neither the authorities nor the media would be able to find you here either. Jumin eventually agreed this was good enough. Until things settled down he advised you to stay here where you wouldn’t have to deal with unnecessary stress. The third option would have been Saeyoung’s place, but being that he was abducted from there, it just didn’t feel safe enough... Even if the security system was better there than anywhere else and even if the twins' father was behind bars, you couldn’t take chances. Saeran didn’t only have fans but also enemies out there after all. Even if they were smaller in number.

Sometimes members of the RFA would drop by to make sure you were fine. Even though you also made sure to show up in the chatroom regularly to update everyone, mostly on Saeran’s condition.

It broke your heart every time you weren’t able to give good news about his recovery… some days it felt like he was getting worse rather than getting better. But from what Jaehee had researched about recovering from long drug abuse, it would naturally get worse before it could get better, so you kept on holding onto the hope that soon things would look up. .

...

Not in this night, however … just like the nights before, you’ve been staying right next to Saeran who kept throwing himself from one side of the bed to the other, squirming in pain and groaning as his whole body was shaking. He seemed slightly better in the morning but now was back to having strong withdrawal syndromes.

❝Saeran… are you cold? Should I get another blanket?❞ you asked worried while reaching out to place your hand on his forehead. He was burning up again.

❝... No, I‘m so hot, my body is on fire❞ His voice was hoarse and trembling as he threw the blanket aside and wrapped his arms around his own body as if he tried to keep himself from shaking, or if he had to hold onto his dear life this way. His shirt was drenched in sweat even though you made sure he changed into a fresh one barely an hour ago.

It was heartbreaking that you couldn’t do anything to end his pain.. again … but you had to stay strong for both of you. If you had shown too much concern, it wouldn’t help either of you. Saeran needed you to stay positive in order to lead you both to a brighter future.

❝Here, maybe this is gonna cool you off a bit.❞ You reached for the washcloth in the bucket next to the bed, wrang out some of the water and gently placed the cloth on his forehead. A small sigh escaped his lips, causing you to smile ever so slightly. The cold cloth must have given him a small amount of relief.

❝You should drink too … you need to stay hydrated now. It’s important.❞ you grabbed the bottled water and opened it for him before bringing it to the boy's lips. He opened enough for you to gently tip the bottle and help him take a few small sips. But like usual, he wouldn’t drink a lot. It was like his body refused water and food for the past few days. And if you got him to eat, it wouldn’t take long for him to throw it all up again.

You put the bottle down on the nightstand when Saeran started coughing and quickly apologized. ❝I‘m sorry... I made you choke!❞

He shook his head but continued coughing painfully. ❝It’s not that... it’s just...I think I‘m going to be sick again...❞

❝Should I bring you to the bathroom?❞ You didn’t wait for his answer and instead already stood up to reach for his arms. It was a stupid question anyway, obviously, he was feeling sick.

As Saeran leaned with his whole weight on you while you pretty much dragged him with his arm around your shoulder to the bathroom, you recalled the story which Saeyoung told you over the phone during one of your calls while you were at Magenta. The story was about a mother that was able to lift a car her child was trapped under. Because you weren’t naturally strong at all.. kind of weak actually. But in the past days, you had been taking care of Saeran like that, you showed unusual physical and mental strength because of your love for him. Just like this mother with her child, you would turn into a superhero when it came to taking care of the one you loved, as silly as it may sound...And Saeran was far from the weight of a whole car... kind of light actually... concerning light.

You knew Saeran hated when you saw him like that. But there was no way you’d leave him on his own when, once again, he purged the little food and water he had today. Before all this, you could hardly watch anyone being sick. But if it was for Saeran, although it broke your heart to see him in pain, you had no issue sticking right next to him, rubbing his back and whispering words of comfort until he could stop throwing up. You patiently waited for him to cough up, what looked to be only white foam by the end after he had emptied everything he had kept in his stomach until now.

After you were sure he was done you grabbed a fresh towel with some water on it and sat down next to him on the floor. You turned his face towards you as he was weakly resting against the bowl, truly looking miserable. He was still shaking and even paler than usual. The dark circles under his eyes were also more visible than ever. It hurt to see him like that but all you could do was try to make him feel at least somewhat more comfortable.

❝You’ll never get stronger again if you keep throwing up all your food❞ you scolded gently while tapping his mouth with the towel.

❝I hate when...❞

You interrupted him ❝… I see you like that, I know. But if I‘m not here who’s to say you won’t collapse like the other day? I don’t want you to bump your pretty head again.❞ You reached out to brush the fringe off his forehead where it was sticking to his skin. On the side of his forehead was a visible mark from the other day when he bumped his head on the edge of the bathrooms cupboard after passing out from pain and malnutrition. You had only left him alone for five minutes and this happened, so now you couldn’t allow yourself to leave him on his own unless you were sure he was perfectly stable. You still felt guilty you let it come to this.

❝I‘m disgusting.. you shouldn’t touch me.❞ Saeran grabbed your wrist weakly to pull your arm down.

❝You can’t be disgusting, no matter how hard you try❞ you countered and playfully stuck out your tongue, causing your boyfriend to quietly chuckle. It’s been some time since you heard his laugh.. even though it sounded weak now, it made you feel better. ❝But since you insist.. maybe you should take a bath. It might do you good... and relax your muscles since your whole body is tense.❞

❝You don’t need to make up excuses to get me to take a bath. I know I must reek with all the toxins leaving my pores.❞

❝Yeah, you kinda do stink, actually.❞ you jokingly held your nose and received a weak push from Saeran whose lips curled into a timid smile.

❝For that, you’ll have to wash my back.❞

You grinned ❝I don’t mind washing all of you.❞ although you tried to be blunt you felt your cheeks getting warm. Maybe Saeran was blushing too, or maybe the fever caused his cheeks to turn red again. But him averting his eyes and scratching the back of his head told you he was also flustered about your words.

❝I— I will take your word for it.❞ he eventually said, and you could tell he tried to sound bold as well, but instead, he stumbled over his words and stuttered, causing you to secretly chuckle into the palm of your hand.

— tbc

#mystic messenger #saeran choi #mysme #saeran x mc #fanfiction #writing #f;detox

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wakasagayhime · 6 years

Text

very long, very personal post

tldr, im still not drawing but here’s a detailed account of everything that’s happened in case anyone is confused or misinformed

alright. let me start out by saying i’m not going back to art just yet. it still hurts to do anything art related and i’m still trying to find a way to heal from all of this. i need some kind of professional help first, and i don’t know how long it’ll take afterwards for me to begin feeling like myself again. i don’t even know if i’ll be able to get any kind of professional help at the moment; my university’s counseling center told me, in short, that i’m so mentally ill that their services would not be enough for me and i’d have to look elsewhere (which is reasonable, tbh, they’re almost always completely booked so it’s difficult to actually even talk to someone there in the first place, i only got to talk to them to begin with because i nearly killed myself one night after having the most intense panic attack of my life where i felt like i was actually in the process of dying) and as if that weren’t enough, if you follow me on twitter you’d know that my mom finally left my stepdad, but this means that we no longer really have a home to call our own and are now living with some of my mom’s friends. on the bright side, miso is a lot freer and gets to explore the house as he pleases, but on the downside money is tight and my mom is trying her best to find a place to live while working two jobs and trying to help pay for my tuition. long story short, i want some kind of professional help badly, but all the bullshit that’s been happening in my life makes that difficult.

anyway, i understand that i’ve worried a lot of people through all of this, and i’m sorry. i truly, genuinely am sorry for everything that’s been going on. i blame a lot of it on myself not being strong enough. if i were stronger, i wouldn’t care about some stupid internet trolls, or some random grown man in florida stalking all my social media. if i were stronger, i could take my life back. i wouldn’t feel the need to constantly contemplate suicide, or to torture my own body by starving because of my physical form feeling like the only thing i have left to be in control of. if i had only been stronger, like my old stupidly foolish overconfident 16 year old self who got into fucking STEVEN UNIVERSE DISCOURSE of all things, maybe i wouldn’t care. even when it first happened to me, after the initial shock and hiatus, i was pretty much back to normal almost instantly. but this kind of trauma is sneaky and will gradually eat away at you more and more while you pretend to be ok, and then eventually you reach a breaking point and it’s taken over your life. that’s why i’m still obsessing over that day two years later. that’s why i can’t be left alone on december 13th this year, or else i know for a fact i will harm myself in some way. (don’t worry about that though, burger is going to hang out with me that day and i’ll be fine.) still, even though i keep telling myself my past self was stronger, i do know that she really wasn’t. she was still struggling with depression, anxiety, and self harm issues. maybe it just manifested differently for a while. maybe she felt unstoppable at some point in time because she finally found a girlfriend and got a cat. i got into so many fights that weren’t worth my time or energy at all, and part of me wishes i could be that confident again, but i also know that was my downfall to begin with.

i have followers who haven’t been around for longer than a year or maybe less than two, so i might as well give everyone a true, thorough rundown of what happened leading up to that day, the day of, and after.

i’m sure a lot of you who are worried about me at the moment have seen the recent callout for colboh and his involvement in what happened. i’ll be honest--i don’t know the full extent of his involvement, and i want to believe his foolishness ends at not leaving artists who have blocked him alone and uploading their shit to booru sites when they explicitly state not to. so let’s just start there. i honestly don’t remember if it was before or after i first blocked him, but he uploaded one of my NSFW drawings to danbooru when i first shared my NSFW blog. (PROTIP: if you’re a minor, don’t share your NSFW art with anyone. don’t care if you’re 17, i was about to turn 17 myself. it will bite you in the ass. as such, some of this is my fault.) i quickly contacted danbooru asking them to delete it, and they did--but that artwork subsequently ended up on gelbooru as well, and i was unsuccessful in my efforts to remove my art from there.

fast forward to december 13th, 2016. it was a normal morning. i was getting ready for school, but also being dumb and lazing around in bed browsing tumblr. i saw a post from a blog that shares Funny 4chan Screencaps. my art was in it. the art was of a very muscular yuugi, a drawing i was proud of, especially in how much gay energy i thought it radiated--but this drawing was being used in one of those typical “here’s a touhou, i wanna fuck her! am i right guys? let’s talk about how badly we want to fuck her” threads. seeing my art used for this was appalling. my first mistake was reblogging the post and saying how it was wrong, and how my art shouldn’t ever be used for such a purpose. my second mistake was making a text post AND tweets expressing my disgust at the situation, thinking no one who frequented /jp/ would ever see, sure that it would be a big waste of their time to concern themselves with some random dumb “”sjw”” artist. i also probably shouldn’t have specifically called them “gross neckbeards,” in doing so i absolutely struck a nerve with basement dwellers everywhere. i got to school and during my second period class, suddenly felt a strange urge to look at /jp/. why i did that, i still don’t really know. maybe i was expecting hate. maybe i was trying to see if they used my art for something gross again. i don’t know. either way, that moment changed everything forever. i saw the screencap of my tweets posted for everyone in their circlejerk to see. even worse--i looked in the thread, and someone had also posted the NSFW art colboh had uploaded to danbooru, mocking it and calling me a hypocrite for drawing two girls having sex while also saying i don’t like my art being used for those kinds of threads. this is what truly ignited the amount of hate i saw directed towards me in the threads. i got called a bitch, a drama whore, got told to kill myself, and in one reply etched into my mind forever, someone said something along the lines of “we should all call her local gang and have them rape her, she just needs a good dicking.” there were multiple threads, too; i don’t know how many, but there was another one about me after the first one was deleted, in which someone edited a typical fat balding NTR hentai doujin style man into art i made of kagerou nosebleeding at wakasagihime. more disparaging comments were made. in both threads, people expressed their hatred and dislike of my art, some calling it garbage, some just saying it’s “bad,” etc. some people said the threads were unnecessary and rude, but they were a kind few in a cesspool of violence.

i don’t know who started these threads. i can’t assume anything about anyone, but whoever did this was definitely looking through all my social media out of bitterness and hatred, or perhaps even following me on both my tumblr and twitter considering the timing of the threads immediately after i complained. it eats at me that i most likely will never know who did this to me. i’ll never know who hated me so much that they decided to completely destroy my self esteem. if whoever it is who did all of this is reading this and feels any ounce of remorse, i’m begging them to reveal themselves and why they did it, but i know the chances of that happening are incredibly slim. someone, i can’t remember who, maybe it was queenly, told me they hope someday i reach a point where i don’t have to worry about that because i won’t care in general, but i still don’t know if i’ll ever reach a point where i stop caring about all of this.

like i mentioned earlier, after this all first happened, i was destroyed. the next day, my school’s GSA happened to have a vote for whose art would be on the club t-shirts, mine or someone else’s. mine lost. i broke down completely--anywhere i went, i wasn’t good enough, not for anyone. for days, there was a constant feeling of horror and fear in my chest, something i’ve only ever felt so intensely when one of these threads resurfaces or i suddenly relive my trauma due to other things triggering me. i took a hiatus that lasted a few weeks, i believe i came back sometime before the new year. i thought i was ok, and i pretended like i could go back to being myself. but as time went on, and i continued living with the weight of that day on my back, i became weaker and weaker. i stopped drawing as frequently as i used to. my final year of high school started and i ended up falling into such a deep depression that i constantly skipped school and eventually attempted suicide in november 2017. the suicide note i wrote cites that day as being one of the main things leading me to my decision, telling whoever did this to me that i hoped in my passing they’d have to live knowing what they did to me. my attempt only failed because i swore to take every pill left in the bottle and there were only four pills. had it been full, i’m not really sure what would have happened. i was sent to a mental institute afterwards for a week. being there was the absolute definition of hell. i was alone. i cried myself to sleep every night. they claimed to be a place where people were improved and got help, but i did not get any help at all. they basically imprisoned me for trying to kill myself. when i got out, i was only glad to be alive because i just wanted to be able to talk to my friends, my family, and my girlfriend again. it still shocks me that i was able to graduate from high school considering how much school i skipped before and after my suicide attempt.

sometime before that school year ended, i became extremely upset one afternoon and decided to run away from home. i had what happened to me and what was said about me that day running through my head. i tweeted that i hoped maybe in running away i’d end up being raped like they wanted, like how i deserved. someone who i considered a friend replied to this with, “fuck you.” after all of this was taken care of and i was safe at home, i responded that i was sorry, that i wasn’t thinking right when i made the tweet. she responded that i was, and blocked me. i tried to explain that i said what i did because of the threads about me on /jp/ and the one response threatening rape, but this was disregarded and, seemingly, ignored. a few days later, the former friend in question started sending me anon hate on tumblr, asking me why i want attention so badly, accusing me of making light of actual rape victims by saying such a thing. i explained myself, but to no avail. i blocked her on tumblr, and left it at that. but then, at the end of the school year, when i was proud of myself for finally getting through high school without killing myself or failing or anything, i stumbled upon the second thread. the date the thread was created lined up exactly with the time between me running away from home and me receiving anon hate. she can try to act like she didn’t make the thread all she wants, but i’m not an idiot. the replies were also eerily similar--people in the replies remembered me, a year and a half after the original thread. some replies mentioned me having attempted suicide months before. some mentioned my NSFW art again. i had a massive breakdown and nearly drowned myself in the pond down the road. it was a wet, rainy night, and i sat on a bench by the pond sobbing loudly, trying to find some way to want to keep living. but i couldn’t. i might have gone through with it if it hadn’t been for burger coming and talking to me and giving me a ride home.

entering college, i thought things would be easier. in a way, they are. i have more freedom with classes. this semester, i attended almost all of my classes, almost every day, just with the exception of me being sick some days and me accidentally oversleeping once, and then one day when i just didn’t feel like it. but things continued to get worse for me--i developed an eating disorder for many reasons, one being the time i spent a year prior depressed caused me to gain a significant amount of weight, and the other being i had sworn off self harm in the form of cutting. i found that i was able to get the same gratification from starving myself. at one point, it turned into a game of sorts, where i tried to see how long i could go without eating anything. my record was a little over 72 hours. being constantly hungry or in pain this way felt like something i deserved in a way, but also something to distract me from the pain of realizing i was losing my love for art. i was in denial about it for months. i tried to keep drawing, but everything i drew upset me, saddened me, and even angered me. i looked at anything i made and only felt disgust. it was the one thing i used to love doing more than anything, and now i only felt shame.

in november, i acknowledged this and decided to quit for good. recently, i discovered colboh had uploaded more of my NSFW art to gelbooru, even though i specifically stated on my blog to never upload my NSFW art to image sharing sites, specifically right after he uploaded my art the first time. by the time i found this, i had already sworn off art for good, but looking at the comments on my art on gelbooru (and rule 34--i guess they’re connected upload-wise like danbooru?) filled me with so much sadness and shame, not because they criticized my art, but because they said horrible things about my depiction of kagerou. for those who don’t know, i headcanon kagerou as a trans woman, and one thing i do not regret about my time as an artist is how that depiction has helped numerous trans women feel good about themselves and their bodies. seeing so many disgusting comments deliberately misgendering her and making other transphobic remarks hurt me on a completely new level. my trans friends have been such a source of strength for me through all of this and seeing that made me feel disgusted, especially with myself. i felt like i had failed them. i had made so many trans women happy, only to see a man i blocked two years ago had uploaded my art to porn sites, tagging it with dehumanizing words like “f*ta” that i specifically tell people never to refer to my art with, displaying that art for the exact same crowds of people that ruined everything december 13th 2016 to continue to pick apart. one comment even told me to kill myself, effectively bringing back every memory of that day.

speaking of that, another thing i want to touch on now that i’m up to speed with the details of everything that’s happened related to the original threads two years ago, is kagerou. i’m positive you all know that i really love kagerou imaizumi, and that she’s my favorite touhou character. it’s embarrassing to say, but she’s brought me so much comfort through all of this. sometimes if i’m sad, i’ll imagine her giving me a big hug, or i’ll look at cute pictures i have saved of her, or something along those lines. it’s pretty cringy for a fictional character to make me happy, i know, but i’ve grown so attached to her and she really means a lot to me. and another thing that made me want to swear off art is because she’s loved by so many others that i don’t think my depictions of her do her any good. i’m constantly compared to other artists, and it’s never good. even in the threads, i’m told i should be more like those other artists and these things wouldn’t happen to me. i am not allowed to love kagerou imaizumi. i draw her as a hairy trans lesbian, and that disgusts people. hell, the fact that i draw lesbians in general disgusts people, which sure fucking sucks because i constantly hate myself for not being attracted to men and being able to draw happy lesbians made me feel better about myself. but i’ve ruined kagerou for so many people, especially with my stupid kagewaka bullshit. maybe that’s why those artists unfollowed me. maybe it’s a combination of that and my constant breakdowns becoming far too annoying. i think all the popular artists who used to like me and then unfollowed/softblocked me are really glad to see that i’ve given up. and that’s something else that saddens me too--even as an artist, in my own community of touhou artists, i often feel like i’m lesser, and that i don’t belong. maybe it’s because i’m so foolishly outspoken about my opinions that they dislike me. maybe it’s because i’m a woman, and a lesbian at that. i don’t really know why they hate me so much. i wish i could belong somewhere.

and i think that’s what it all boils down to in the end. i’ve lost all sense of belonging. when i was 14 and people started noticing my art for the first time, i finally felt like i had something. like i belonged somewhere. after being bullied through middle school and having to deal with abusive friends and an abusive dad, it meant the world to me that i finally had something. but it didn’t last long at all. it all came crashing down, not just because of others, but because of me. i was the one who was cocky, getting into fights that weren’t worth it. i was the one who provoked people and made them hate me. i was the one who complained about /jp/ posting my art in their threads. i know people want to believe that i’m a saint, but i’m not. i have myself to blame too. i at least want everyone to understand this, above all else. there was so much i could have done differently to prevent this all from happening, but i didn’t. i was stupid and naive. i was a massive fucking idiot, and now look where i am. i lost everything. i thought i had friends, i lost them. i thought i loved art, i lost that. i thought other really talented nice people liked me, i even lost that. all i have now is an empty shell of my former self. i don’t know what to do with it. i don’t know how i’m going to rebuild myself. it’s so painful to have to keep living like this. i don’t know if there’s any fixing me at this point. i’ve lost so much, i feel permanently broken.

but despite all of that, despite everything i’ve been through, i still receive so much love and support from my followers and friends and it means so much to me. it means the world to me and has kept me going through all of this. knowing that people care about me and want to see me get better and improve makes me want to try to fix myself even if i am broken beyond repair. i just want to thank you all for being that source of strength for me. these past few years have been so hard for me and time and time again i still get love and encouragement from so many people. from the bottom of my heart, thank you. there is nothing more precious to me than those moments when i feel like i do truly belong, when i feel loved, when i feel like i’m not alone after all. for those moments, i’ll keep trying. even if these threads keep continuing and breaking me further, i’ll keep trying. even if every last artist in this fandom comes to hate me and my shitty art, i’ll keep trying. it’s still painful to draw right now and i have a long way to go before i can share art with anyone again, but for you all, i’m going to keep trying my best. at the end of the day, i know everyone’s encouragement and love is worth far more than hate threads urging me to kill myself.

i’m sorry how long and personal and unnecessary this is, but i felt like i had to set things straight. if you read all of this, i applaud you. if you just kinda skimmed through to read the last paragraph, i also appreciate it. again, thank you.

#glub glub #suicide //#self harm //#disordered eating //#rape //

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inky-imagines · 6 years

Text

Foresthuntermajrach’s OC Special

Apologies for the long wait, @foresthuntermajrach!

I mean to post this when I came back, but I didn’t like it and rewrote it. And then I rewrote the rewrite. And the one after that and the one after and- you get the picture.

This OC Special has given me no end of grief, but I’ve finally finished it and I’m pretty happy with it tbh. I hope you will be too!

Just a few notes:

I do mention Ophelia’s Angina in this, and though I did my research before and during the writing process, I might’ve made some mistakes. If I have, I apologise! Please let me know so I can educate myself and rewrite it accordingly.

Also, this is kinda taking place in a coffee shop AU where Ophelia and Dake are on the precipitate of dating.

Enough blathering, I really hope you enjoy this!

Length Warning: Nearly 2000 words, so it’s most of this is below the cut.

Edit: I’m a little frantic cuz of personal reasons rn, so I might not have edited this properly. If you see anything that looks really out of place or just plain wrong, please let me know. =)

He’d just had to get the lunch shift today, hadn’t he?

Nothing good ever happened on the lunch shift, and he always avoided it like the plague, unashamedly using his connection to the cafe’s owner to take the slot an hour after it.

Not today.

A replacement had been needed to fill the slot after the original barista had fallen ill and Dake’d been unfortunate enough to completely available.

The second he’d started the shift he knew it was going to be a bad one. The espresso machine malfunctioned, they ran of milk, most of the customers were small tippers with big attitudes and his co-worker had fucked off at the height of the rush.

To top it all off, he was now stuck arguing with yet another customer who wouldn’t understand they’d ordered the wrong thing.

“It’s daylight robbery!”

“Ma’am,” He sighed for the felt like - and possibly was - the twentieth time. “You ordered a macchiato, not an expresso. The prices are-”

The woman, best described as a soccer mom, scowled at him, hands on her hips.

“Don’t you tell me what I ordered. I know what I ordered.” She jabbed a perfectly manicured nail at him.

“I don’t think you do.” The words slipped out by mistake, but Dake couldn’t find it in him to care as she turned a vivid red, spluttering angrily.

“How dare you! I won’t let you speak to me like that! Where’s your manager? I’ll-”

He tuned her out, turning his attention to the clock hanging on the wall behind the bitchy customer.

An hour, give or take. Only 60 minutes until the one person who could possibly make this shift better arrived. At least he hoped so.

Usually, Ophelia would come in for her usual coffee and a pastry – always non-sweet, she hated those – and a quick chat, but, unlike him, Ophelia’s schedule varied greatly and it wasn’t uncommon that they missed each other.

‘I should really ask for her number at some point,’ He mused, reluctantly dragging his attention back to Soccer mom. ‘Make plans to meet outside of the café or something.’

He tuned in just in time to catch ‘-orsohelpmegod, you will be sorry!’ and immediately dismissed it, preparing himself for would undoubtedly be a exhausting fight.

“You’ve made a small mistake, miss,” He said, barely concealing his irritation, “What you ordered was a macchiato which we price differently from double espressos.If you’d like, I’m more than happy to replace your order with a double espresso; I’ll even give you a discount.”

‘Anything to get you off my back,’ He added mentally, hoping that his proposal appealed to her.

It didn’t.

She ballooned, almost bellowing –and thus attracting open stares from the other customers, “I won’t have you tell me, a Harvard graduate, that I made a mistake when you’re at fault. I’ll have you fired!”

“I doubt you can.” He replied blandly, dimly acknowledging the chiming storefront.

“Please.” She sneered, “Do you believe the management would keep something like you if I were to complain?”

“I’d imagine they would,” The approaching customer purred, the familiar voice perking Dake up, “He is the owner’s nephew after all.”

“’Phe.” Dake grinned, dragging a hand through his locks in an attempt to straighten them out.

The girl waved at him, smiling, before facing the older woman, her face a mask of faux-politeness.

The woman looked a little off-balance, clearly unaware of Dake’s diplomatic immunity, before scowling at the teens. “So that’s why you’re acting like that. You think your uncle will protect you when I tell him what you’ve done?”

Ophelia glanced at Dake quizzically and got a tired look in response.

“She ordered a Macchiato, but wants to be charged for a double espresso.”

“Because that’s what I ordered.”

“You ordered a double espresso with some steamed milk and foam.” He corrected.

“That’s a macchiato.” Ophelia deadpanned.

The woman frowned, shaking her head. “No it’s-“

“Siri, what’s a macchiato?”

Ophelia’s phone dinged before intoning, “Caffè macchiato, sometimes called espresso macchiato, is an espresso coffee drink with a small amount of milk, usually foamed.”

“Huh, what do you know?” Ophelia smirked at the now paling woman, “Three against one, lady. You lose.”

The soccer mom ballooned once more and Dake scowled, standing straight. It was one thing for him to be yelled at and deranged – It was a unfortunate part of the job – but he wasn’t about to let this two-bit bitch attack Ophelia.

His worry was unnecessary though; she knew how to handle herself.

With a pointed look around the café, Ophelia asked, “Are you really going to cause even more of a disruption, lady? You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

Soccer mom froze, looking around her as if suddenly aware of the other witnesses of her little tantrum. After spluttering for a moment, she slammed the money on the table, turned on her heel and stomped her way out of the café, taking her macchiato with her.

“Oh thank god.” Dake collapsed against the counter the second she was out of sight, forehead resting on the cool wood.

“Never been called that before, but okay.” Ophelia’s following laugh made Dake chuckle himself, lifting his head up just in time to see her slide onto one of the stools.

“Seriously though, I appreciate the save. I don’t much longer I could’ve put up with that.”

“I don’t know how you put up with that.” She said, resting her arms on the table, “She was upset because of what? A 50p difference?”

“30p.” He corrected, laughing at her disgusted face.

“But never mind her. You’re early today.” He propped himself up on an elbow, “Something happen at school?”

“Ugh,” She groaned, dropping her bag beside her, “I don’t want to talk about that. So let’s talk about you.”

Then she frowned, peering at his face. “You look exhausted. You alright?”

He smiled gently at her, patting her hand resting on the table, before winking. “I am now you’re here.”

“You’re so cheesy.” She snorted, turning her hand to entangle it with his.

“And you’re grate.”

She paused for a moment then snorting, trying to conceal a laugh.

“Dake, no. That’s too corny.”

“Really? And here I thought I had a kernel of talent.”

Torn between being laughing and groaning at his awful puns, Ophelia rocked in her chair, a hand stifling her amusement. Dake doesn’t bother doing that, openly laughing along with her.

“Seriously though,” She managed as her giggles subsided, “Are you okay?”

He sighed, standing a little straighter. “Yeah, today’s just been a bit rough.”

“That lady?”

“Amongst other things.”

He grinned at her, “Now you spill. What happened?”

Ophelia’s expression darkened immediately, wiping his mirth right off his face.

“Nothing good, I’m guessing.” He kept his voice light, but he was concerned when she didn’t answer immediately.

Ophelia didn’t really do quiet. She wasn’t loud and rambunctious, but she didn’t keep things to herself, her outspoken nature rarely failing to make itself known whenever she was displeased. Which left…

“You had an attack?” The fear in his voice made her sit straight, waving her hands in dismissal.

“What? No, no, no, Dake, I’m fine.” She scowled, glancing away, “It’s just… We got a substitute gym teacher today.”

“They haven’t touched you, have they?”

“Let me finish, will you?” She smiled briefly at his concern, before continuing. “They were… leery about me and decided to dismiss me from gym on the grounds that I was ‘medically unfit’ for it.”

Dake frowned, tilting his head. “Isn’t your school’s gym for basketball or something? No offence, but I think that’s a little too intensive for you.”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing, “I know that. The school created a specialized class plan for me so I don’t skip gym.”

“Did they know that?”

“First thing I said when we met; they said it was fine.”

Dake frowned, crossing his arms. ”So, what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe they simply were humouring me, or they changed their minds and thought I was too fragile for 15 minutes of exercise. Either way,” Her voice and eyes dropped, cheeks flushed red with anger and embarrassment. “I don’t like being made out to be an invalid.”

“Ophelia…”Dake faltered, unsure of what to say.

Seeing Ophelia down always threw him off kilter, whether it was because of the surge of his emotions or the sight of the fireball’s downtrodden look, he didn’t know. But it was frustrating that at times like this his silver tongue failed him and he couldn’t verbalise his empathy.

A glance around the workspace, done in a vain effort to inspire some kind of response, proved fortuitous when his eye landed on something he’d been preparing to treat the girl to for a while.

He pushed himself off the table, shooting her a smile before busying himself in the small kitchen space.

“Dake? What’re you doing?”

“You look like you could do with a pick-me-up,” He grinned at her over his shoulder, “I’m making you one.”

She looked a little surprised, tilting her head. “Oh? What did you have in mind? Jasmine? Maybe rosehip?“

“No tea today.” He hummed, “I thought you might like to try coffee for once.”

Ophelia frowned, slumping back in her chair. “Dake, I can’t consume caffeine. Angina, remember?”

“No caffeine present, and no,” He held up a hand to pause her next argument, “It’s not decaf.”

The irritated look melted off her face, replaced by an avid curiosity. “What kind of coffee is it?”

“Dandelion & Chicory Root Coffee.” He said, holding up a packet of roasted dandelion roots. “I suggested it should be added to the menu for both the health nuts and the cute caffeine intolerant girls.”

He winked at her making Ophelia roll her eyes, but didn’t stop a smile spreading across on her face.

“Charming.” She leant forward once more, watching as he made the coffee, “And it definitely has no caffeine?”

“Yep,” He said, pouring the brew into her preferred mug before placing it before her. “Didn’t add cream or sugar. Figured you’d like it black.”

“Don’t we all?” She reached the hot beverage but jolted back when he slapped his forehead.

“Wait a sec, I forgot something.” He disappeared into the storage at the back, but only for a moment, returning with a slice of apple pie.

“You’re eerily prepared.” Ophelia said, raising an eyebrow at him.

He just smirked, placing the slice down and leaning back. “Bon Appétit.”

Dake held his breath as she took her first sip, studying her face for any sign of revulsion.

“Well?”

“It’s-“ She twisted her face, before smiling. “good. I like it. Very bitter though.”

“It’s coffee, what were you expecting?” He chuckled. Then more quietly, “Feeling better?”

Surprise flickered on her face before morphing into a softer look, the warmth in her eyes unmistakable.

“Much. Thanks, Dake.”

The look filled him with a sense of both joy and bashfulness forcing him to duck his head to the red of his face.

“It’s nothing.” He scuffed his feet then glanced up at Ophelia with a quirked grin. “You’d do the same for me.”

“I would.” She agreed, sipping her coffee, “And I’ll repay the favour someday.”

“Could do it be today.” He suggested, earning a confused look. “Currently, I’m kinda unhappy.”

The confusion on her face cleared as he slid a pen and pad to her with a wink. “A certain 8 digit number of yours would cheer me right up.”

#mcl #dakota #dake #oc special #this is just mindless fluff #im sorry #jk im happy with this #not so happy with the ending though #but am i ever?#sweet crush #amor sucre

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awkwardlyamusing-blog · 5 years

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Brooke Houts: 5 Fast Facts You Need to Know

New Post has been published on http://doggietrainingclasses.com/brooke-houts-5-fast-facts-you-need-to-know/

Brooke Houts: 5 Fast Facts You Need to Know

On left: Brooke Houts’ IMDB headshot. On right: a screenshot of Houts with her Doberman, Sphinx.

Brooke Houts is a YouTuber and actress who has come under fire for raw footage of a video she was making with her Doberman, Sphinx, in which she appears to hit him and then spit on him.

Houts has since given a statement on the backlash and accidental video upload, in which she said in part, “I want to clarify that I am NOT a dog abuser or animal abuser in any way, shape, or form.”

An LAPD media representative confirmed to The Verge that the Animal Cruelty unit has launched an investigation. The rep said, “Our Animal Cruelty Task Force has received numerous complaints about the video you’re speaking of and we are currently looking into the matter.”

The controversy began when Houts accidentally uploaded a video of raw footage on August 6, which shows her smacking her dog, pinning him to the ground and shouting “NO!”

The video was quickly taken down and replaced with the more polished cut, but many had already seen it by the time she took it down. You can still see the footage in the video under fact #1. She has also now taken down the edited version of the plastic wrap prank video.

Here’s what you need to know about Houts:

1. READ: Houts’ Full Statement on the Controversial Footage

In a tweet on August 6, Houts addressed the controversy head on, via a series of screenshots of a statement she appeared to write on the Notes app. She also wrote the same statement in a comment on the YouTube video (as seen below) where the uncut footage originate from. The statement reads,

Anything I say isn’t going to make those who believe I’m a bad person stop believing that, and I’m aware of this. I apologize to anyone who has been effected negatively by the footage. First off, I want to address the uncut footage. On the day in particular that the video was filmed, and actually this past week, things in my outside life have been less than exceptional. I am not going to play the “victim card” or anything of that sort, but I do want to point out that I am rarely as upset as what was shown in the footage. The bubbly, happy-go-lucky Brooke that you often see in my videos is typically an accurate representation of me, but it’s obvious that I’m playing up my mood in this video when I’m clearly actually frustrated.

That being said, this does NOT justify me yelling at my dog in the way that I did, and I’m fully aware of that. Should I have gotten as angry as I did in the video? No. Should I have raised my voice and yelled at him? No. However, when my 75 lb. Doberman is jumping up in my face with his mouth open, I do, as a dog parent, have to show him that this behavior is unacceptable. But I want to make it known, REGARDLESS of what my dog does, I should not have acted that way towards him.

I want to clarify that I am NOT a dog abuser or animal abuser in any way, shape, or form. Anyone who has witnessed or heard true animal abuse will be able to clearly see that. My dog, in no way, shape, or form was hurt by any action that I displayed in this video. I know people are going to say “you don’t know how he really feels” and this is true. But if he was audibly and physically in pain, it would be a different story. I also did NOT spit on my dog, but I understand how it could look like I did. Did I get in his face and take unnecessary actions towards him? Yes I did, and that was not the way I should’ve handled the situation. Did I spit on my dog? No.

My family and I are in the process of getting him training. The training that I have been looking at for him is VERY expensive, because it’d have to be 1-on-1 with a trainer. Ever since he was attacked at the dog park, he isn’t okay with being around other dogs. He sticks to me like velcro if he is in the presence of another dog, even a little chihuahua. I just can’t see him getting what he needs from a group training environment. That being said, I know I personally can learn more effective techniques to get his energy out and keep him disciplined as well.

Anyone who knows me personally knows I have an immense love for animals, including my own. I would never do anything to purposefully physically or mentally harm any animal. Again, I should NOT have yelled at him or have been as physically aggressive as I was, and I’m fully aware of that. He was not hurt, nor has he ever been purposefully hurt by me. I know I’ll be in many future situations where he’s being physical, but I will not respond this way again.

Family or friends that have spent any amount of time with Sphinx and me know that we have a trusting, loving relationship. All he wants to do is be by my side, cuddle with me, and be around me, which I love. My love for him is exponential and infinite, and I do everything I can in my day-to-day life to ensure that he is living as happily as he can. I’m sorry that my actions in that particular moment did not reflect that.

About my twitter- I deactivated my account earlier in the day. When I went to open it, I was met with an excess of notifications of people telling me I’m messed up, a bad person, that I’m going to hell, that I belong in jail, etc. For my own mental health, and no other reason besides that, I didn’t think it was necessary for me to be reading those comments at that time. Lastly, I don’t want to make this statement seem like it’s me defending myself, because that is not my goal. I do want to point out what ACTUALLY happened though. My intent by explaining the situation is to give those of you who are rightfully angry with me the explanation that you deserve. I am getting my dog into training, and I’m looking at ways to improve how I personally train him at home. I am sorry that you guys had to watch that footage and were upset by it, and I’m sorry to my dog for raising my voice and acting aggressively.

In my heart and from the words of the people that spend the most time with me, I know that I am a great dog mom (but not perfect), that I spoil him in the best ways, that he gets all the treats he could ever want, and that the Amazon Prime mailman is probably tired of delivering packages of dog toys to my house. Again, this does not make my actions in the footage okay, but I’m just explaining what my day-to-day life is really like, whether you believe me or not.

On a serious note, I love you guys, and I want to THANK YOU for pointing out things that you think are wrong and discussing them, because the world needs more of that. I hope you give me the chance to prove that these statements about myself do align with my actions. All my love, Brooke Houts

2. Houts’ YouTube Channel Has 339,000 Subscribers & She Often Features Her Doberman in Videos

Houts has a popular YouTube channel; she boasts over 339,000 subscribers, and routinely uploads videos. The video she was filming that led to the alleged dog abuse, “Plastic wrap prank on my doberman!,” was taken down on August 7. The video had over 138,000 views. The caption for the video read, “Hey guys! Me & me favorite dog ever are here to bring you a plastic wrap prank lol, this is probably the shortest video to ever go up on my channel but I hope you like it!!! Let us know if you wanna see more pranks 🐶🖤”

Many users have since commented on that video, condemning her behavior with her dog. One user wrote, “I have seen a few of your videos with Sphinx and from the beginning I’ve felt that you don’t understand what the breed needs. But I’ve tried to not be judgmental beforehand since you sometimes have mentioned that you do train him. But then I saw the video where you show how you train him.”

Another user wrote, “Imagine beating your dog for trying to show love and affection 😒”

This makes my blood BOIL. How dare you blame this on “training” your dog. @brookehouts. You are disgusting. You deserve both your channel taken down, and your beautiful puppy be given to a deserving home you monster. pic.twitter.com/DaoRdkbsj1

— Mister Preda (@MisterPreda) August 7, 2019

Other well-known YouTubers have even weighed in. Andrea Russett, an actress and YouTube personality, tweeted, “dogs give, give & give an unconfidtional love asking nothing but the same in return. the way u reacted to ur dog simply being a dog was unacceptable & hard to watch. i hope you learn and grow from this, because no animal should ever be in a home where it’s being treated that way.”

Mister Preda, another influencer and YouTube personality, tweeted, “This makes my blood BOIL. How dare you blame this on “training” your dog. @brookehouts You are disgusting. You deserve both your channel taken down, and your beautiful puppy be given to a deserving home you monster.”

Similarly, Ethan Nestor (a video game commentator, vlogger, and former video editor) tweeted, “this is such a bullshit apology. ‘I will not respond this way again.’ yes you will! I guarantee this is the way you’ve always scolded your dog, so why would that change. Stop acting like this was a one time thing. This dog needs a better home and you need help for anger issues.”

Logan Paul posted a Twitter thread on the controversy, writing in part, “…this video of that girl hitting & spitting on her dog is remarkably grotesque, and irks me for many reasons… im terrified by the on-camera personality shift she puts on when she’s ‘performing’ … one thing ive always tried to do is be authentic, sometimes too authentic, and i’d bet an unhealthy amount of creators wear a mask just as ugly”

3. One of Houts’ Most Viewed Videos Involves Her Kissing Her Apparent Ex-Boyfriend

Houts’ videos tend to run the gamut, in terms of content. But one of her most popular video (which has garnered over 3.3 million views) is “KISSING MY EX-BOYFRIEND (Extreme Ex-Boyfriend Tag).” You can watch the video above.

Many of Houts’ videos revolve around Sphinx, too. Another of her most popular videos follows a “day in the life” of Sphinx:

In the video, Houts brushes Sphinx’s teeth, walks him (and defends the collar she uses for Sphinx), washes him, and more.

Houts has had a YouTube account since 2014. Her “About Me” section reads, “HEY my name is Brooke Houts and if you’re reading this congratulations you can read. Since you’re already here, I heard that it’s strongly advised by all medical personnel that you hit the subscribe button (also the notification bell doesn’t hurt either) or else SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN I DON’T KNOW I’M BAD AT LYING JUST SUBSCRIBE OKAY IT’S FREE AND FUN”

4. Houts Is LA-Based, & Affiliates Herself With MOSAIC

Though Houts has since turned her Instagram account private, her bio does offer some information about the YouTuber. She’s based in LA, for example, and affiliates herself with MOSAIC, a church in Los Angeles with six locations across the city.

Houts’ Twitter bio reads, “Subscibe to my stupid channel already.” She has over 6,000 followers on Twitter and over 26,000 followers on Instagram. Her most recent tweet as of August 7 reads, “Thank you to everyone who’s being kind and understanding. I really appreciate it”

‌IMDB

Houts also appears to be an aspiring actress, as she uploaded a video called “What it’s really like being an actress in LA” in May. In the video, Houts drives around Los Angeles with a friend, makes a green juice, and talks about why she loves the makeup brand Glossier.

Houts does have an IMDB account. Her one IMDB acting credit is for a television series called Interracial.

5. Houts’ Dog, Sphinx, Has His Own Instagram Account

Though Houts’ has made her own Instagram account private to all non-followers, her dog, Sphinx, still has a public Instagram account. Users have since flooded his comments with attacks on Houts.

“Nice dog but sh*t owner,” one user commented.

Many others have tagged the ASPCA. One user did that and wrote, “@aspca please help this poor dog, and when you do spit and push the owner on the ground. Then say you are just in a bad mood that day.”

READ NEXT: ‘Sesame Place Sallie’ Tells Muslim Woman to ‘Go Back to Where You Came From’

Source link Train Your Dog

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carafinn · 8 years

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We Were Emergencies (1/3)

pairing: Kyoutani Kentarou/ Yahaba Shigeru word count: ~4k summary: As if life as a superhero isn't hard enough already: there's a new vigilante in town going by the name of Mad Dog, and he seems to have a penchant for apprehending serial killers and sending Yahaba into ever deeper depths of work related despair. This does not bode well for anybody.

also on ao3.

“Fuck off,” the Mad Dog says, and spits a thick wad of blood onto the ground. Amidst the dim glow of moonlight Yahaba can briefly make out blond hair and dark, feral eyes. The corner of his mouth is still dripping blood. Yahaba realises, with no small measure of surprise, that the Mad Dog can’t be any older than he is.

Yahaba, through sheer force of stubbornness alone, refuses to back down or look afraid. Refuses.

So many dumb ways to die.

“You’re -” Yahaba struggles to think of a phrase to complete the sentence. The Mad Dog. The vigilante hero. The reason why I’ve been having the worst tension headache of my life for the past three weeks. “You’re injured.”

“I’ve got some pretty shit news for you,” Futakuchi tells Yahaba, by way of greeting, because obviously it being a Monday morning isn’t depressing enough in itself. Not that Yahaba has anything against Monday mornings; it just happens that the team always has their mortality meetings on Mondays and, shit, if there’s anything in the world that can make sitting around discussing what went wrong during rescue missions, and how many people died as a consequence, even more depressing, Yahaba cannot think of it. Not a single thing, and it isn’t even for the lack of trying. “Would you like me to break it to you right now or would you prefer to take the depressing news along with your morning coffee?”

“‘Good morning, Yahaba, how was your weekend?’” Yahaba says, in a long-suffering tone. ‘“Well it was pretty crappy, given the number of last minute clean-up missions that cropped up, but it’s very kind of you, Futakuchi, I appreciate your asking after my well-being.” “Of course, I actually have some bad news right now but I wouldn’t dream of blindsiding you after such a horrible weekend-”’

“Don’t bother, he did the same thing to me the moment I came to office,” comes Watari’s half-amused, half-bemused voice from the adjacent cubicle, and Yahaba almost lets out an indignant hey! at how Watari had cut off his Oscar-worthy monologue. “And it really is bad news. Apparently there’s a new vigilante on the loose in our area.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” What can be more depressing than a mortality meeting on Monday? he’d asked the heavens, naively. Well, at least Yahaba’s found an answer to his own question.

Vigilantes are a rescue team’s worst nightmare. The thing is, Yahaba doesn’t mind being in a team that specialises in cleaning up after other heroes, even if he has superpowers himself. He doesn’t care that his job ranks right at the bottom of the superhero hierarchy, that people call his team the clean-up crew. He doesn’t mind relinquishing the spotlight – and the accompanying fame and fortune – to others, or the fact that he’ll spend his whole career in the background, rescuing defeated heroes and dealing with the messy aftermaths of glorious fights. People often laud heroes for their bravery, cheer them on from the side lines and revere them from afar. What they often forget, and it is so easy to forget, is that it doesn’t just end there.

It isn’t enough that the criminal or rogue has been apprehended; it isn’t even enough that the victim has been saved. Somebody’s got to make sure that the (frequently injured, more frequently deeply traumatised) victim is well taken care of; that no other passer-by has been inadvertently harmed in the process; that there should be no rubble lying around that poses immediate danger to anybody. It’s utterly mundane; insipid, even, but no less important for that.

Most heroes are conscientious about keeping collateral damage to a minimum, although the more hot-headed ones tend to cause more carnage than is absolutely necessary. The amount of damage dealt is dependent on the nature of the power, too; there was a period of time when Yahaba spent a lot of time cleaning up, quite literally, after a hero whose primary ability consisted drawing up sewage from the drains and using them to power toxic explosions… it had been a truly dark period in his life.

In any case. Vigilante heroes (heroes not officially registered and regulated under the Central Bureau) are the worst, because if history is of any guide, everything they did tended to degenerate into a lot of senseless violence. Also, because they don’t report back to the Bureau, their activities are notoriously difficult to track and trace, which means that the clean-up crew will almost always arrive too late to the crime scene.

Yahaba makes his way to the kitchen pantry, scoops two heaping tablespoons of instant coffee into his cup, and hovers his hand in mid-air as he engages in a mental debate as to whether he should make his coffee extra strong today, because clearly he is going to need it. His poor heart, though.

“My intel tells me that guy’s real strong, too,” comes Futakuchi’s gleeful voice from outside the pantry. Is he getting a kick out of Yahaba’s misery? He’s definitely getting a kick out of Yahaba’s misery. “We’re talking Iwaizumi level strong. And he doesn’t give a shit about the petty criminals; goes exclusively after the serial murderers.”

Yahaba glares at his cup of coffee, thinks better of it, and then scoops in another two heaping tablespoons for good measure. Fuck his heart; here’s to hoping that the caffeine overdose will kill him before the overworking does.

While it’s true that Futakuchi might be given to occasional bouts of sadism, the fact remains that there is nobody better at gathering information in the most timely and efficient manner possible than he does. This is something that has, in the grand scheme of things, cut down on precious rescue time and prevented a lot of unnecessary injuries and death. The ability that is formally registered under his profile in the Bureau is “expert hacker”, but Yahaba knows that his genius lies not just in extracting information but also in processing them in the most logical and thorough manner possible. it’s hard to figure out where Futakuchi’s superpower ends and his natural, scary perceptiveness begins.

His information, while sometimes delivered in the most sadistic manner possible, is almost never inaccurate.

This, Yahaba will reflect later, is precisely the problem.

It’s Tuesday evening, and Yahaba is in the supermarket, picking out turnips for dinner. A very harmless, normal, civilian activity. He waits in the queue for 20 minutes because it’s Tuesday evening and everyone’s grabbing groceries on the way home from work, and of course his phone has to buzz right before he gets to check out his vegetables.

“There’s been a murder attempt, and the vigilante’s involved this time. Took out the murderer before anyone else got to intervene but there’s a lot of collateral damage,” comes Nametu’s voice from the other end of the line.

“Location?” Yahaba asks, deftly making his way through the crowd while thinking sadly about the turnip soup that he will never get to drink. Another voice in his head, sounding suspiciously like Watari, tells him that he’s being unnecessarily dramatic.

“I’ll get Futakuchi to send it to you, and the fastest route you can take.”

“Got it, boss.”

It’s an abandoned shopping mall that is, thankfully, only a five minute bike journey from Yahaba’s current location. Briefly, Yahaba wonders if the vigilante guy had chosen an abandoned building to prevent innocent civilians from getting involved, but retracts the thought almost instantly. There’s no way a vigilante hero would be that considerate, and besides, Futakuchi did say a lot of collateral damage.

Watari’s already at the scene by the time Yahaba makes it to the abandoned building, or what used to be a building, because the entire thing has been reduced to a rubble and torn brutally apart, down to every. Last. Brick.

Atop the mountain of rubble is the perpetrator, who is alive but who, by the looks of it, would much rather not be. Yahaba almost feels sorry for him before he realises that the guy in front of him is, in fact, a notorious serial killer whose penchant for killing his victims by slicing their necks open has made Yahaba violently ill on several depressing clean-up missions. If Futakuchi’s intel is to be trusted, they’ve even got a code name for him back in the underground world. The Slasher.

“Unbelievable,” Watari mumbles, mostly to himself. Yahaba doesn’t know if the statement is meant to address the pile of rubble, or the fact that the vigilante had managed to find and beat up someone who’d managed to elude capture for the past year. Watari turns to him. “The vigilante still nearby?”

Part of Yahaba’s superpower is the ability to sense if other superpowers are nearby; a hero’s (or criminal’s) presence is directly proportional to how strong he is. A guy capable of knocking out the Slasher and a whole building in the process, Yahaba would be able to pick him up from ten miles away. He shakes his head.

“There’s no way we’re gonna find him right now,” Yahaba says. He supposes it’s for the best; if they’d been caught in the crossfire they’d probably be soup by now. Yahaba scans the surroundings: there doesn’t seem to be any innocent civilians lurking around, but they’re going to have to check to make sure. And the Slasher definitely needs medical help. And the building.

“We’re gonna need backup,” Yahaba tells Nametsu grimly. “You’re not going to believe this…”

As it turns out, the vigilante guy actually has some sort of notorious, pseudo-celebrity status even in the underground world, and an equally ridiculous nickname to go with it. The Mad Dog.

“He’s fucking batshit insane,” says the Slasher, looking terrified and slightly crazed, voice cracking at the end for added emphasis. Yahaba thinks it’s really rich coming from someone who gets a kick from slashing open the necks of young women, but catches Nametsu’s forbidding glance and resists the urge to drive his fist into the guy’s face. Right. Yahaba has an unfortunate track record of ending interrogations prematurely because of the bad temper of his; according to Nametsu, he’s one more violent outburst away from getting barred from interrogations altogether. “He… he makes fissures and splits the ground like it’s made of cake.”

That explains the rubble. Across the table, Ennoshita looks thoughtful. And also disturbingly calm, given the context of this conversation, but that’s precisely why Ennoshita’s in charge of interrogations. Ennoshita’s a hypnotist, but he’s gotten so good at the job that he doesn’t even need to invoke his powers most of the time. It’s uncanny, really. All he does is slap on this dazed, mellow expression, and wala! - manages to wheedle out every last bit of information out of the most tight lipped of criminals, before they can realise that they’ve divulged everything ranging from their syndicate’s deepest darkest secrets to the horoscopes of their great-grandaunts.

Between Ennoshita and Futakuchi, Yahaba privately thinks that they’ve enough power to bring the whole country down to its knees. Not that Yahaba is ever going to admit it.

“So he attacks by manipulating the surroundings?”

The Slasher shakes his head. “Fucker uses the ground manipulating thing to trap you. Then he attacks you with his fists. And his teeth. Like a fucking animal.”

This explains a lot of things. For instance, the Mad Dog nickname. And also, the numerous, harrowing looking bite marks on the Slasher’s arms.

“Interesting,” Ennoshita says, eyes gleaming as he leans forward. “Do you happen to know anything more about his background?”

“Not a damn clue,” Slasher tells him. “He appeared a few weeks ago outta nowhere. Thought it was a joke when I got the news, but… fuck, shoulda ran away when I got the tip.”

The guy is giving the Slasher a run for his money. This cannot bode well for anybody.

“...or killed a few more women,” the Slasher continues, ugly features twisting into a perverted smile, and Yahaba’s just about to lunge forward, fuck the rules, but he’s too late to it. Nametsu, who was standing behind Yahaba, reaches out and knocks the guy cold in a single, clean blow with her bare fists.

“Yahaba,” Nametsu turns and addresses him in a chiding tone. “What did we say about resorting to violence in interrogations?”

This isn’t even in the realm of the pot calling the kettle black anymore. This is the pot calling the kettle a pot.

“You can continue the interrogation tomorrow,” Nametsu tells Ennoshita, before making her way out of the room serenely, leaving everyone to gape at her. The underground world might not be ready for the Mad Dog, but they sure as hell will never be ready for Mai Nametsu.

Yahaba gets exactly two and a half days of peace before the Mad Dog strikes again. Retirement cannot come fast enough.

This time it’s Minatoya Soetsu, the boss of one of the biggest syndicates in the city that deals with human trafficking, and he’s been tied against a random tree in one of the forest patches at the outskirts of the city. Or what used to be a forest; unfortunately, every other tree in the vicinity seems to have been uprooted, so it’s less forest and more barren wasteland.

Yahaba is starting to notice a trend.

When Minatoya finally comes to three days later, he gets sent for a gruelling round of interrogations with Ennoshita as per department protocol. It goes pretty smoothly, mostly because the guy recognises that he’s fucked and has nothing to lose, and if divulging more information about the syndicate means that it’ll lighten his sentence, then he’s happy to roll with it.

It goes smoothly, that is, until Ennoshita wraps up the conversation with, “So, about the circumstances of your capture.”

Minatoya freezes. He darts his eye around the room with an expression horribly reminiscent of a trapped animal, as if expecting someone to leap out from the ceiling and shout “Surprise!!!” before beating him into a pulp. Privately, Yahaba thinks it’s a rather befitting expression, given Minatoya’s track record of trafficking kidnapped children.

“We need you to tell us about the Mad Dog,” Ennoshita says, and that’s when Minatoya loses it. He starts to laugh.

He’s still laughing, ten minutes later, when he’s escorted out of the room by a disturbed looking Watari.

This continues for two months; not a single week passes where the Mad Dog won’t stir up some sort of trouble; by then, Yahaba’s already resigned to cleaning up after the guy forever with no hopes of capturing him. Not that there’s any real impetus to: the thing is, there’s a definite trend in the way the Mad Dog operates. He’s always by himself, never there at the crime scene, only deals with the shadiest of villains, and he never, ever gets innocent civilians involved.

The sheer amount of architectural damage, though. Yahaba's never known Nametsu to be anything but ridiculously self-possessed, but there had been a few moments where she'd almost, very narrowly, lost it, courtesy of her ever-growing budget-related despair.

“I don’t understand,” Futakuchi says despairingly, for the fifth time in a single hour, during which he’d tried and failed to retrieve any information regarding the Mad Dog. It drives him mad, it does, when Futakuchi doesn’t understand. “What’s he doing this for? Because it sure as hell isn’t fame or money. Why’d he appear now? Where’d he come from? It’s been two months, so why can’t we capture him?”

Yahaba’s only answer is to shrug and spoon ever-increasing amounts of shitty tasting instant coffee into his mug.

Because there is no god, Yahaba’s beeper goes off on Sunday, at four in the morning. The saddest part about the entire affair isn’t even that Yahaba has to drag himself out of bed; the saddest part is that Yahaba is already out of bed, and is, in fact, already in the midst of a clean-up mission. There’s been a fight between three heroes and a pyromaniac at one of the bars in the heart of the city, involving a lot of fire, explosion, and the general idiocy of drunken men.

The heroes are lying in a pool of their own blood, the pyromaniac is nowhere to be found, there are no fatalities but a lot of people have been injured, and the fire is still raging on.

“We’ve a report from a civilian,” Nametsu tells him wearily from the other end of the receiver. “Construction site three miles away from where you are. There’s been a fire and we need you to investigate it; I suspect the Mad Dog’s involved. Bring someone along with you.”

“Got it,” Yahaba tells him, and looks at the scene. Practically the whole team is there, minus Futakuchi who’s back in the base. Ennoshita’s using his hypnosis to help calm down hysterical civilians. Shirabu’s definitely needed at the scene; they need his power to help put out the fire, and he’s barely making progress because fuckers thought it was a good idea to set off a fire in the middle of a bar. Watari’s nowhere to be seen, probably tending to injuries or retrieving people who are still trapped in the fire.

Yahaba curses inwardly, hops onto his motorbike, and makes his way to the construction site alone. If Futakuchi’s intel is to be trusted – and Yahaba can count, on one hand, the number of times Futakuchi’s intel has actually failed them – then it’s probably the doing of the Mad Dog again. Which, given Mad Dog’s track record, means that there perpetrator will be knocked out cold and draped across the ground like an offering on the plate, there will be minimal civilian involvement, the Mad Dog will be gone, and he would’ve left the site annihilated in his wake.

Which means that Yahaba will probably be safe, even if he’s going over alone.

As it happens, he is deliciously wrong.

The first thing Yahaba sees when he reaches the construction site is the pyromaniac that’d been responsible for the fire at the bar, lying on the ground in a semi-conscious state while making pained, groaning noises. Yahaba doesn’t see the second thing so much as he senses it; it’s one of his abilities, after all. Another Super’s lurking nearby, his aura so overwhelming that Yahaba can only arrive at one conclusion.

Mad Dog’s at the scene; he’s hidden amongst the rubble a few hundred metres away from where Yahaba’s standing, to be exact.

Strange; it isn’t like the Mad Dog to lurk around after he nabs his prey and destroys whatever can be destroyed. And the construction site’s layout is complex enough that he’d probably be able to slip away without getting noticed, even if someone else were around (barring, of course, his knowledge of Yahaba’s sensing abilities.) That leaves two explanations: one, he’s injured and can’t run. Two, he’s lying in wait to ambush Yahaba.

The wisest course of action, Yahaba reflects, would be to grab the pyromaniac’s body, and run the hell for his life.

As it happens, Yahaba does not make the best life choices. If he did, he would be sleeping in bed, on a Sunday morning, because that was what normal people with regular nine-to-five jobs did. Not chasing after half-crazed lunatics with a penchant for destroying everything on sight and biting their enemies to death.

Slowly, Yahaba makes his way towards the general direction of the Mad Dog. He’s about twenty metres away from the other guy when the Mad Dog jumps up from behind a piece of rubble.

Yahaba, through sheer force of stubbornness alone, refuses to back down or look afraid. Refuses.

So many dumb ways to die.

Mad Dog’s hands are angled in a grotesque manner, there’s a cut across his left flank that’s still oozing blood, and a gaping wound on his thigh wide enough that Yahaba can see the tendons underneath it.

“Fuck off,” Mad Dog snarls, and scrunches his face up, as if bracing himself for something. Then he blinks, surprised. On his face the expression looks strange; it makes him look younger than he already is.

“You can’t use your power on me,” Yahaba tells him. Nullification is Yahaba’s trump card, the second ability of his, and probably an important contributing factor as to how he’s managed to stay alive so far despite his disastrous decision-making skills. (The other important factors include Watari, Futakuchi��s intel, and the fact that if he kicked his bucket prematurely the entire team will never forgive him, and will probably take turns to spit on his grave.) “I can stop people from using their powers within a certain radius.”

Mad Dog stares at him for an uncomfortably long time. Slowly, his expression gives way to a disturbing smile. “Then I’m just gonna have to do it the hard way.”

Mad Dog lunges forward, with a speed that should not be possible given the state of his grievous injuries. Luckily, Yahaba’s hand-to-hand combat is nothing to scoff at, and he narrowly dodges the punch by a hair’s breadth.

If the hit had landed, Yahaba would probably have ended up concussed into the next century.

“I’m not here to fight,” Yahaba says, desperately, which is the truth. “Or to capture you.” Which is less truthful, but sometimes Yahaba’s not beneath lying a little to save his ass from pissed-off vigilantes determined to pummel him to death.

Mad Dog glares at him suspiciously. Fair enough.

“Look, can we take care of your injuries first?” By the looks of the surroundings the guy must’ve lost a good litre or two of blood. Yahaba wonders if he’s still standing upright through sheer willpower alone.

Mad Dog’s look of suspicion morphs into flat-out disbelief. “You wanna nurse me? The fuck for?”

“Because you’re injured?” Yahaba wishes Ennoshita were here instead. Or Watari. Hell, anyone else in the team would be better at diplomacy than he. Expect maybe Futakuchi, who’d probably get his head bitten off three sentences into the conversation.

“You lured the guy out here,” Yahaba says, slowly, and he’s not even sure what he’s trying to prove, “So that you could deal with him alone, away from the civilians.”

Mad Dog studies Yahaba, expressionless, for a good ten seconds. Then he lets out a raspy laugh and lunges forward before Yahaba can react; it’s way too late for Yahaba to dodge, so he shuts his eyes and braces for the impact, but Mad Dog grabs his shoulder and flings him out of the way, out of line from a blast of fire.

Yahaba whips his head in time to see the pyromaniac spitting out another fireball from behind a scaffold a hundred metres away; he’s too far away for Yahaba to nullify his abilities. Yahaba curses inwardly. The guy must’ve come to while Yahaba was distracted, and now they’re going to burn into a crisp.

Getting roasted to death by a crazy pyromaniac because he got distracted arguing with a crazy dog-guy ranks pretty high up in Yahaba’s list of Dumb Ways To Die. The top five, in fact.

He is so going to have his grave spat at.

“Stop your nullification!” Mad Dog snaps at Yahaba. “I need my powers-”

“I already did,” Yahaba shoots back. No point keeping his cool now, what with the fact that they’re going to die and all.

With that, Mad Dog lets out a bloodcurdling howl, plants his palms onto the ground, and splits the ground between them and the pyromaniac cleanly. It doesn’t stop there; the sheer impact of the ground fissuring sends a shower of scaffolding onto the pyromaniac, who gets buried in ten seconds flat.

Yahaba’s poor head is still reeling from the aftershocks of the quake when he realises that he’s miraculously unscathed from the general chaos surrounding him. That’s when he realised: Mad Dog’s made sure that the ground directly around Yahaba - and the ground supporting the scaffold above his head - has remained intact, something that must’ve required a ridiculous degree of skill. Yahaba turns around, opens his mouth to speak to Mad Dog, but the other guy is already sprinting away at incredible speed. Even then, and even in the dark, Yahaba can tell that he’s favouring one leg over the other.

“Wait,” Yahaba yells, but of course Mad Dog doesn’t hear him. Or even if he does, like hell he’s going to stop for Yahaba.

As always: Yahaba’s left alone, amidst the dark of the night, in the aftermath.

#my fics #kyouhaba #haikyuu!!#kyoutani kentarou #yahaba shigeru

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explore-travelschool · 7 years

Text

A Letter to Parents

Dear parents,

I would like to ask you to think again about what it means to be a parent.

For the last six years, I have been taking students traveling around the world, across different continents, various climatic zones, in all sorts of unpredictable situations and circumstances, thus I have been able to observe a few patterns of behavior and the outcomes of these behaviors. These observations must be shared with you.

You are all good parents, and wish the best for your child. However, with the intention of protecting and taking the best care possible of your child, it is also very common that at the same time the child is being robbed of the basic tools that he/she needs to function properly in the world they live in. Taking care and protecting your child should be in order to make them healthy and strong, but all too often, you are actually unintentionally doing the opposite. This leads to, in some cases, serious issues that can be easily avoided. My goal here is to share them with you.

Below are some topics that really require some attention and consideration, so please, take them onboard, or at least, give them some thought:

1. Being Overly in Love with Medicines & Doctors

Over-reliance on medicine is a bad thing. Bad for the body’s natural defense functions and, actually, bad for human existence altogether. Doctor visits for colds? Band-Aids and disinfectant for minor grazes? Injections for a cat scratch? Seriously? In most cases, this is absolutely unnecessary and even unhealthy.

Suggestion: Let the body have a work out. A machine rusts if it is not used, why should the body be treated any different? Let the body heal alone when it can, and save the doctor and medicine for when they are really needed.

2. Promotion of Diarrhea through Over-cleanliness

One observation it that when hygiene standards are always high, particularly coupled with a habit of not drinking water (Korean kids in particular) means more frequent cases of diarrhea. For Chinese kids, having been brought up without eating and drinking iced things contributes to various stomach-related issues too.

Suggestion: Strengthen the stomach from a young age. No need to be too careful - the rest of the world eats and drinks cold things and it has never spelt the end of civilizations. Keep the body clean and hydrated, the environment hygienic, but never disconnect from nature for ‘cleanliness’ reasons. I have heard kids say “grass is dirty”, and be afraid to walk barefoot on the beach! From a physical or psychological point of view, this is not healthy, at all! In fact, it makes me sad for them.

3. Attack on the Immune System

The world is full of good, natural bacteria, so let us coexist. Coupled with doctors, medicines, injections, anti-bacterial this and that (let me remind you, hospitals and companies all love to earn your money), and a disconnection from the natural environment amounts to a full-on bombardment against our bodies natural functions to keep us in good health. Sand, soil, trees, water, mud – this is not filth. It is nature, and we are part of nature, whether you like it or not.

Suggestion: Get involved with nature. Soil and trees all have antibodies that promote good health, good skin, relieve allergies, calm the mind and strengthen the immune system - just to name a few of the benefits. Being outdoors, meanwhile allows for physical exercise and the promotion of general health and wellbeing. This is all natural medication and the kids are just not getting enough of it. Remember, babies naturally put anything and everything into their mouths – this is for a reason! So, let the kids get outdoors and enjoy the world they live in meanwhile getting the health benefits out of it.

4. Spending More Days with Fevers and Colds than in the Sun and the Sand

With the aim of avoiding getting sick, we sometimes do things that, in the long term, can promote weakness. I grew up, as well as many Korean kids, exposed to the cold (often in shorts and t-shirts in winter), and you know what? It never hurt us, in fact, I believe it had positive effects. It means when we suddenly do get cold, our body knows how to heat themselves – this means that we may be less prone to getting sick in these circumstances when the temperature drops.

Suggestion: You do not always need to make your kids wear and carry so many layers of clothes. When the kids are out travelling and playing without access to all these extra clothes, they are more likely to get a cold or a fever. Let the body learn to warm itself, take care of itself and encourage physical activity rather than coating them in clothes. The kids often just sweat in these layers of clothes anyway, and then seek water to replace this sweat (and often hot water in places where it is often not available). What a burden this is! It is a bit tiring for people, isn’t it? Fighting natural processes, and running around in circles when it is often entirely unnecessary. Let’s promote strong bodies for our kids, not weak ones.

5. Over-helping and Sheltering: Obstructing the Kids from Growing Up

Helping is an action we promote that is perceived as kind and desirable. But too much of it directed at your kid is actually a disservice and a hindrance to their growth. Yes, kids make mistakes (all humans do), but that is okay. Through our mistakes we accumulate knowledge, skills and experience, and it is how we grow up and develop ourselves, making us mature and wiser. Sheltering kids from difficulties is even worse, because finally, when they do (and they will!) come across difficulties, they do not know how to react to or deal with them. Overprotection, in fact, can almost be a bit cruel, because it can lead forms of physical, mental, emotional weakness and therefore a lack of confidence – the worst things to do to them. It is vital to let kids face difficulties and gain confidence through experience.

Suggestion: Be there when needed. Be a rock for the child to fall back on. Give them guidance and support when required, but don’t do everything for them. This can be hard to balance, but it is also useful to remember that kids are much more adaptable and resilient than we realize, and often, they love a challenge and enjoy doing things by themselves. Everyone likes to feel they are achieving things.

6. Over-feeding and Creating Greedy or Fussy Eaters

Too much extra bodyweight is not good for us, not good for our hearts, joints, bones, stamina, confidence and our day-to-day activities. Let’s admit it, being overweight is not ideal. And on the opposite end of the scale, fussy eaters also suffer. Needy people suffer. It is not an easy life living like this. So why would we want to promote this in the people we cherish the most? Greed and complaining… bad habits! Not good, not good, at all…

Suggestion: Eat well, but don’t overfeed your kids or allow them to be greedy at the table. It is not a sign of wealth anymore, it is a sign of irresponsibility. And for the fussy eaters, don’t let them pick and choose what they eat, but explain to them to value and benefits of a range of food, and tell them how much their body loves and cherishes the good nutrition and lifestyle choices you give them. Once again, let’s promote health and wellbeing, strength rather than weakness. Strength, confidence, adaptability, being easy-going, being down-to-earth - these are characteristics that people appreciate and admire. Let our kids be this way too; let them become someone to respect and admire.

7. Bogging the Kid down with Equipment

Worrying about which shoes to wear for climbing up a small hill? I would call this fanaticism. I would say this is being disconnected from reality. We were not born with shoes on, so all we need two feet to climb a hill. To be frank, we can climb the Himalayas in a pair of flip-flips, unless it is below zero degrees. Teaching the kid to be materialistic is not something to be proud of. Teaching the kid to be reliant on equipment rather than their own body is not in the child’s interest. Shoes is just one example of many many…

Suggestion: Rather than loading them up with equipment (much of it of questionable use), equip them with the creativity and skills to think of a way of solving the lack of equipment. Equipment eventually breaks, but skills stay with you a lifetime. And please understand, kids are smart, skillful and resilient little creatures. To be able to rely on your body and brain rather than any sort of equipment is one of the best gifts you could give your child!

8. Not allowing or forgetting that kids ought to be kids

Example 1. ‘A kid who has acquired good balance and body coordination skills does not fall out of a train.’ Physical activity, and play, and a little bit of danger – this is nature’s way of building safety skills in kids. One who has not played is more likely to hurt themselves or come across trouble because they do not understand their body or their limits. From young, a child must learn how to act or respond in the face of danger. Enough said!

Example 2. ‘A thirteen-year-old, who hates studying, joins a trip to visit Oxford University.’ Come on, seriously… it is not normal and it is just unreasonable. First, promote the love of life before trying to encourage a love of learning. If your kid loves life, values learning and looks forward to their future, well maybe they might enjoy or benefit from a trip to Oxford. Sorry to break your heart, but seeing Oxford University will not make suddenly make someone fall in love with studying. And, let’s face it, not every kid is made for this sort of stuff, and that is okay. Kids should be encouraged to follow their natural interests and walk the path of life that they were born for. If you block the road of one person, you are in fact blocking the road of all humanity – we need each other’s skills and much respect difference and diversity. Every person’s strengths are valuable we need each and every one of us to do the things we love and believe in. Happiness and meaning – this is real success. Let’s encourage these rather than just grades and materialism – these things have been held too high for too long already and it is not having the greatest effect on society. We all know this. Fortunately, I do feel that this is beginning to change, but I am writing this to you because of the existing need to encourage more of it. Please, be the change, don’t be just another follower! Society has enough slaves.

Suggestion: Let the kids play as they learn so much through playing. Kittens, puppies, and children alike, all love to play – and for a great reason. Give them room to move, room to create, think and make decisions. This helps to foster the skills and experience to make wiser decisions in the future. Give them room to fall and fail and the room to get back up by themselves. What we discover by ourselves are the things we value the most. Set them meaningful challenges, let them solve problems and get a sense of achievement and success. Let them build interest and passion in their lives. Kids need stimulation, they need to feel alive, let them get a taste of what life is all about to encourage a healthy path into the future. After all, what will they do with their knowledge, grades and certificates if they are not living a balanced life?

I could go on, but these are a few of the more pressing issues.

But, now, I am going to get straight to the point, and mention that a lot of the kids’ issues are caused by the parents. For me, working with the kids is meaningful and rewarding, but sometimes it is not easy to mop up the messes – time and time again I have come across these situations and sometimes it can be beyond belief. Kids are often the reflection of the parents, so I recommend giving these ideas some thought. No matter how guilty you may feel enforcing these suggestions, I would like to remind you: no one ever regrets becoming a strong person. So please, let your child become one. The earlier you start the better. Less delays and excuses from parents will help, and would certainly be of help to me, because the kids really need it. And the best thing is they will love you for it! Remember, letting go is the deepest form of love. And to love them was the goal in the first place.

Yours truly,

Kel

(Kel Squire, Teacher and Leader of Explore Backpacker’s School)

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