#that’s YOUR fault and you’re being wilfully ignorant

[luvgods]

can’t stand blogs who refuse to acknowledge or face what’s happening in the world because ‘escapism’ do the 12k dead children in palestine get to escape? no? so then why should you

[aronarchy]

https://twitter.com/alexhaagaard/status/1644683930497368067

The thing about “therapy speak” and “conflict avoidance” that I feel like a lot of folks wilfully ignore is:

1. Some people are conflict avoidant because they’ve grown up being abused and they have learned that if you are honest with and critical of someone, they will punish you

2. People who act selfishly or abusively in relationships are never not surprised and confused when the person they have been victimizing or exploiting chooses to end the relationship

3. People who act selfishly in relationships are really really good at not noticing or understanding someone else’s efforts to be proactive about communicating and addressing problems in the relationship

4. In my experience, when someone is unwilling to be self-critical, there is literally no good way to communicate that they are doing something that harms you. If you try and do so in a way that is gentle and context-sensitive, they will avoid understanding it.

If you do it bluntly, they’re thunderstruck and you’re unnecessarily mean and not being sensitive enough to their position and it’s your fault things got this bad because you should have just communicated your needs better a long time ago when you weren’t feeling so hotheaded

That doesn’t mean that no one uses “therapy-speak” in a way that is harmful. Hell, I’ve been in relationships with people where the main thing they gained from therapy was a better vocabulary with which to justify whatever they want to themselves and others.

But we can’t have a conversation about this kind of thing without acknowledging that it is also a trauma response and a survival strategy. And it’s significant that people are willing to read into the motivations of the “therapy-speakers” but not the people complaining about them

I generally try and stay out of this discourse every time it comes around but I’m so sick of it. Most of the relationships in my life have been abusive or have involved people liking me only insofar as I meet their needs and do not inconvenience them with mine.

And when I try to set boundaries they ignore them or get upset with me and I end up apologizing for infringing on their comfort. And then I finally get to the end of my rope and set a hard boundary and then I’m being unfair.

But for some reason there’s never any room to talk about those dynamics and what they mean for building and being in community with others.

[mr-ig]

On Bogshed

Yes, the name. Yes. Unavoidable, so let's get it over with. No band has ever conquered the world, or even small parts of it, with a name like 'Bogshed'. Aware of that obstacle themselves, there's an entertaining anecdote, re-told in the notes accompanying a splendid 'Bog-set' reissue of their back catalogue on CD, in which the foursome head to the pub to thrash out a better moniker. After many hours and many pints, they manage nothing better than 'Tarty Lad'. They couldn't help themselves, that's the thing.

And they were widely reviled for it, more's the pity. I do wonder, in passing, if they'd have been quite so thoroughly sneered at if they'd hailed from somewhere less unfashionable (then, if not now) than Hebden Bridge, but they were frequently held up as a scapegoat for all that was wrong with mid-eighties indie: a miserable lack of ambition dressed up as bold independence, a dearth of skill masquerading as an artistic choice. They weren't helped in that by John Peel, who despite being an ardent admirer of the band, hung the word "shambling" around their necks. History insists on telling us that they'd have been long forgotten were it not for an appearance on the NME's C86 cassette.

None of that seems terribly fair, really. Along with Peel, and regardless of the C86 legend, and in spite of there now only being one member still alive, some of us have continued to remember Bogshed with huge fondness as the years have passed. They were an oddity then, they're an oddity now.

What they weren't, however, was wilfully obscure: the mis-labelling of their sound seems particularly frustrating given that, actually, it was remarkably easy to grasp if you bothered to try. Repetitive to the point of making the Fall sound like a free-jazz experiment, the beauty of the perfect Bogshed song is in establishing a simple and entirely logical riff, often led by Mike Bryson's chunky bass and then filled in with Mark McQuaid's spindly guitar before Tris King's drums pin it all to the floor, and then not changing it very much at all for three minutes. If you don't like the first ten seconds, there's nothing for you here. If, on the other hand, those seconds get your foot a-tapping, you're in for a right old treat, my friend.

Pretty much every Bogshed song is a joyous interlocking of those functional drum-bass-guitar parts, a firm-but-fun rhythm section which merrily barrels along underneath Phil Hartley's vocals. Those vocals are bold, sometimes squawky; they're distinguished from the post-punk crowd by a vague air of vaudeville, a whiff of end-of-the-pier entertainment. Even at his shoutiest, you knew that Hartley could be a crooner if he felt so inclined. The lyrics were odd, full of curious characters and surreal references, nostalgic and a bit parochial and occasionally somewhat bawdy, always loaded with Hartley's personality. Even when you didn't know what on earth he was banging on about, there was much to enjoy.

Viewed from the right angle, ignoring the warts and the boils, their essential jauntiness, their geniality, was inescapable. There are very few songs in their catalogue which won't leave you feeling just a little merrier than when they began. Bogshed wrote pop songs for singing in the shower, played them as if people would shake a leg on the dancefloor. Not their fault - name aside - if nobody did either.

Of the box set contents, the disk of Peel sessions is of particular academic interest. As so often, the Maida Vale recordings appear to capture the band as they actually wanted to sound; the rest of their output captures how they could afford to sound. There must be hundreds of bands of whom that's true. The first session, from 1985, finds a band clearly indebted to the muscular sound of the Membranes, on whose label they released a clattering first EP, also included; each subsequent session refines it just a little, fencing off their own patch amid a scene crowded with potential rivals. The different elements become clearer, the intentions less febrile.

Elsewhere, the first album, "Step On It", continues to be a personal favourite, even if its production only seems to have got thinner over the years. Even the cheapest studio can't suck the life out of these wonderful songs entirely, though: the scurrying absurdity of "Fastest Legs", the preposterous glam strut of "Mechanical Nun", the seesaw saaandwiiich-baar lurch of "Adventure Of Dog". A particular soft spot has always been occupied by "Tommy Steele Record", with its gentle trundling bassline and nostalgic tales of chip papers and childhood bed times; no other band of that era would've come up with something so unapologetically warm, so lacking in devilment. It's just a charming song, and it appears to aspire no higher (or lower).

"Brutal", its 1987 follow-up, broadens the palette considerably, but too late to win the wider attention it deserved. There are moments of genuine darkness; there's a punkish anger at play too; Hartley has diversified his range of accents; the differences of opinion that'd make it their last record are pretty easy to spot. And yet there's still a lightness too: "Loaf" releases Hartley's inner crooner to curiously touching effect, "No To Lemon Mash" is knowingly and gleefully ridiculous even by their standards. When they stick with the tried and tested formula, they've rarely been better: "Excellent Girl" is a riotous hoedown of a song, while album opener "Raise The Girl", thrust forward by a relentless chin-jutting riff which just gets more and more insistent for four minutes, would surely have been an indie disco staple if it'd belonged to a cooler band. They never were that band, though. When push came to shove, I'm not sure that they really wanted to be. Not enough, anyway. All four of them came up with that name, none of the four came up with something more sensible to replace it. They were Bogshed, they lived in a cottage on a hillside, they made a jovial racket that you'd never mistake for anyone else. If you succumbed to their charms, you took them warts and boils and all. 

[starshipsofstarlord]

God is With You, Even as You’re Sinning

Pairing | Sam Winchester x reader

Summary | it was your first time not killing a monster, and in its place, taking the life of one of your own. Guilt entraps you, and it is up to Sam to break you out of your pitiful hypnosis.

Warnings | mentions of death, blood, angst, guilt, some smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, mentions of murder

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Fuck God. This was all his fault, everything was to be fair. He had left the world to continue on its own accord, the apocalypse threatening to spill over the planet and destroy it and all beauty that was lingering through the existence of humans.

They killed each other, and the creator of all could care less. It was his smallest problem, he didn’t mind that the murderer was succumbed to guilt, or how many restless nights that he or she endured. God was cruel, even if he held up a facade of being your ally, and trying his hardest as he supposed, to be your friend.

Your hands shook as you remembered the entailment of your mistake. It was a slip up, a vast and surreal experience that people usually learned from. But what were you supposed to do, not kill a human again? Yeah you had gotten that, after all, the initial deed had not at all been intentional.

There was the victim’s blood dried upon the outer layer of your skin, casting you in the perfect image of murderous intent. However, you had no thirst to kill, instead, your hunting of monsters, alike to many others partaking in a similar lifestyle, executed the mythical beasts to protect the human population.

It pained you truly, to know that you had killed a person. You hadn’t even spared the familiar body a second glance, and out of panic, you fled the scene, leaving the body of the city cleaner in the gutter, laying in the remnants of his friends’ and family’s waste, burying him in their crude excrement.

The thought alone, and the sight that was engrained in the peripheral of your mind had you feeling sick. Slowly, you plodded down the steps of the bunker’s entrance, surely leaving footprints trademarked in all kinds of grotesque evidence.

Without much care for what lay heavily inside, you dropped your duffel from your shoulder, allowing it to fall on the ground with a disgruntled clatter. Nothing meant anything anymore, not if you were indeed a real killer. Whilst some monsters had weaselled their way into society, ending their pathetic attempts at normality was different than taking away the life of an innocent and mortal bystander.

Often, with the darker and crueler species, there were reasons as to why they pretended to be of human birth. Mostly, it was so that they could feed from the naive flock, or kill for their own amusement. Either way, none of their reasons were good.

But now, you thought of yourself as no different than them. A creature that needed to be put down for their crimes. Filing, you breathed in, only inhaling the various moulds of putridity that was weaved into your hair, and stuck to your skin like a face mask.

“Should I call you Cassie now?” At the joke, a laugh from the speaker was triggered. He was quite amused with the sight of you, and thus, you sneered at the tall man, hating him a little bit more than usual.

“Your pop culture references aren’t appreciated Winchester, it’s more Dean’s street.” Shoving past him, his high shoulder floundered back at the harsh and ignorant impact, an expression of offence covering his stupid face. Like a fawn, he tumbled after you, watching as you walked sullenly into the kitchen, yanking the door to the fridge open, and extracting one of his brother’s store bought beers.

“I’m going to guess the hunt went bad.” Sam speculated, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, and staring expectedly down at where you popped the cap off the bottle recklessly with your teeth. He almost winced at the sight, but he wished to keep this arrogant demeanour up with you, it was a natural desire to piss you off, and he’d be pissed at himself if he let it slip out of simple pity.

“Guess correct. Well done, you’ve won a trip to Hawaii.” You waved your free hand mockingly in the air, as the other raised the liquor to your mouth, allowing you to wilfully gulp the bitter liquid down. At his presence that remained nursing over you, you cocked a brow, leaning forwards as you expectedly looked back at the moose. “Just leave me alone Sam, I’m not in the mood for putting up with your bullshit.”

He, however, seemed not to be phased by you wanting to be left alone, and instead, quickly snatched the poison out of your hand, leaving you throughly prepared to keep him right in the balls. “What the fuck?” You all but screamed at the not so jolly giant. In turn, he crossed his arms across his chest, placing the bottle down on the island.

“I could ask you the same y/n.” His tone was dominantly serious, causing you to cower back into your shroud of guilty conscience. “Tell me what happened on that hunt, of which i told you that you shouldn’t have went on alone, since you wouldn’t have been able to handle it solo.”

You felt demeaned by his words, they sparked an anger out from the firm pit of your stomach. But you knew deep down, he was getting through to you, which was something that you had not managed to even do by yourself. Air heavily passed through and out of your nostrils, as acidic tears pooled in your eyes; a crack was falling down your walls, and out of all people, it was Sam Winchester whom had caused it.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone alone, but you know what, I thought of what a Winchester would do. And then I remembered, I am sure as hell not a Winchester and I don’t have a brother anymore! Not now, he didn’t even know who I was earlier, didn’t even recognise a single genetically identical hair on my head as he watched me parade through the town, the very one that I ran away from when he was a baby and I was seven, wanting to hunt a monster. Yet, i didn’t kill a damn monster Sam, I murdered my brother because you’ve been right all along, I’m not fit for this job. I am a mess, so congratulations, you finally have got me to admit the one thing that you keep reminding me of.”

“Y/n...” Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, he felt the waves of shock ripple through his body. Never so freely had you been vulnerable around him, and here you were now, with very visible tears cascading down your utterly torn face. He understood it was an accident, and the times that he and Dean had tried to kill each other under supernatural circumstances had him wondering what if.

Shaking your grime tethered head at the sound of his cracked voice, you stormed past him, and immediately raced towards the shower room, finding to your luck, which had been non existent during the rest of the day, the halls were barren of life. Walking through the door, you tore your ruined clothes off, chucking them upon the floor without much acknowledgement, before you went under the warm spray of the shower head, trying to calm yourself.

To rid your skin of its evidential accessories, you had to scrub your skin until it was immediately raw. Everything within you ached, as you flicked back to the memory of the clueless expression that had been worn by your blood brother. It was probably a good thing that he didn’t know who you were, or else, he’d have known that his own sister murdered him due to her incompetence to listen to others.

Now, you were not even sure what were your tears, and what droplets of water belonged to the shower itself. For over an hour, you basked int eh warmth that seemed unable to cure your cold blooded system, turning the spritz off, and covering your body in a fluffy towel, that you were sure belonged to someone else, but right now, you could care less about who owned what.

As you reached the door to your bedroom, you found it to be preached slightly open, and as you pushed it the rest of the way, you saw Sam sat on the corner of your bed. You held your arms around yourself, insecure on the fact that beneath the stolen towel, you were nothing more than you. A wolf in sheep’s skin.

“Can I help you?” You bitterly asked, your eyes still burning from your own faulted loss. Sam breathed in, his eyes trailing up to your face, that was naked from any gruesome cosmetics or make up. The bareness to your completion illustrated an aura of innocence, and evidence that you were the same as him - human.

“That’s my towel.” The male hunter laughed, in hopes of changing the previous and well wounded subjected to ensure that you felt better. But what was he kidding, nothing could fill the void that you had dug in your own heart, nothing was closer than the bond between siblings, even if you were considered as strangers.

“Take it back then.” Too exhausted from your gruelling day, you dropped the material, your confident action making his eyes go wide, as he tried to look away from your exposed skin to respect your boundaries. It was impossible though not to allow his hazel hues to slip up the trunks of your thighs, up to- no, that was wrong, very wrong.

You had just lost your brother, not to mention, by your own hand, and he was prone to checking out your freelancing body, taking in every curve and twisted scar that was prominent to his speculating eyes. His eyes dropped to the discarded towel, which he had purposely left on the heating rail for later use, and then, they switched back towards you.

He stood, walking behind you as you looked through comfort clothes within your dresser. A light touch of his hand brushed your hair away from your neck, as he breathed a sweet hoax of hot air upon your scare. Sam was relieved that you didn’t reject the contact, and instead, pressed his lips upon the flesh, finding succession whence you hummed deliriously to yourself.

This interaction had been inevitable for a long time, but now no longer were the suspected intentions for such an exchange to be to release well endorsed frustrations. No, he was going to clear your mind for some sensual moments, and make your pretty little head forget for a moment that you had pained yourself in the worst of ways.

Turning, you laced your hands through his chocolate locks, massaging his scalp as you pulled him closer so that your lips could endure a rougher clasp against his. There was no passion, behind each contribution there was a spur of hunger, he grasped your ass cheeks, pulling you up to be sat upon the top of your heavy dresser.

Obliging his command, you spread your legs so that he could stand between their partition, his hands now running up the windows of your thighs. For a while, the pair of you did nothing more than make out, and cup a feel here and there, but soon after, Sam dropped to his lanky knees, leaving kisses in the wake of his descent.

His thumb and forefinger spread your fluttering folds, watching as your slit squirmed for attention. Sam licked his lips at the sight, running his middle finger up the expanse, until he came to your yearning entrance. Slowly, after making sure you were wet enough, Sam slipped his digit inside, you wiggling your hips to adjust to the thrust of his one finger.

To add to the sensations that were overriding your body, he moved his mouth to closer proximity, smelling the divine aroma that pulsed out of you. It was far too addictive to not get a taste, and thus,he pulled his finger out, sucking off your juices contently.

But that small sample just wasn’t enough, which encouraged him to dive face first into your pussy - literally. His long tongue teased your folds, slurping at the lips, and then switching to your clit to heighten the stimulation. He kept up a rhythm, using it as a pattern to push you closer to that edge, and he was surely certain that you were enjoying his oral work as you ground your face against him, moaning at his succulent administrations.

“Sam.” Oh god, was it pleasant to hear his own name fall out your mouth in such an erotic manner. It was far different from the way that you usually used it to snide at him, though, the thought of your regular treatment of him aided only to spur his lustful actions on. He wanted you to cum, for your juices to run down his face in waterfalls, looking as though someone had tried to drown him.

His work would not be complete until you found it difficult to even pronounce his short name. Digging his tongue in the hood of your clit, tracing around the protective area, his fingers returned to their earlier placement, and he quickened their pace until he could hear a satisfying squelch in the air.

Rapid sounds of parted moans raked from your mouth, your chest sticking out as you breasts heaved with your heavy breathing. It was noticeable that you were close, not just from that, but you were squeezing the circulation out of his fingers. “Fuck.” Left you in the form of a squeal, as you pussy wept its juices.

Sam was quick to lap everything that left you up, once more, tasting those that clung to his fingers. He went back in for another taste, but you tightly grouped his hair, pulling him away from your sopping cunt. “Need you to fuck me Sam, now.”

In an instant, the hunter stood, working precariously on undoing the buckle of his belt, and pushing all material that covered his lower half to the bottom of his thighs. He read already hard, and oozing precum. You swept your finger across the tip of his dick, bringing it to your lips to taste his foreshadowing seed.

Sam huffed at the sight,picking his prick up in one hand, and jerking himself a couple of times. And then, he aligned himself with you, rubbing his cock around your wet crevice a couple of times, slapping his tip teasingly against your puffy clit.

“Want my cock baby?” He asked, smirking as he watched you nod your head repeatedly. With that being all the confirmation that he needed, he pushed into you,feeling even more turned on as he heard you mewl, and watched the ecstatic expression cross your face as his dick fit inside of you all the way.

He grasped your hips, pulling out once before pushing in again. He repeated the action, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head at how tight you were. This would make you forget the cruel method of god, his story was not as epic as he though, for his characters were screwing against his will, basking in a distraction rather than the regretful pain that seethed in your trodden heart.

Another thrust had your nails clasping onto Sam’s covered back, biting onto his shoulder through the plaid, as you held back the tears that were trying to creep out of your blissful eyes. A few grunts left Sam, as his pace increased, and with every thrust, which only served to fuel him further, the dresser smashed into the wall behind it, most likely leaving a decent dent within the historical architecture.

“Gonna cum.” You told him, dragging him in for another tongue filled kiss as your cunt pooled around him, coating his cock in the honey from your delicious pot. He soon followed after, and for a moment, he remained against you, allowing you to bask in the comfort of his strange presence.

And then he pulled out, watching as his distraction dripped from your entrance, trailing down your thigh in a white streak. An orgasm smile was pulled onto your face, but it was certain to not last long for when you returned to the reality that laid waiting for you to return.

Sam stepped closer again, moving his fingers towards your cunt, and pushed his seed back inside of you, watching as your puffy pussy lips swallows any part of him that it could get. He would distract you for as long as he could, and then, deal with the inevitable.

[kim-ruzek]

Iris

Summary: And it’s those memories that she has kept on replaying on repeat in her mind ever since that day, because Adam is right, because she should’ve known, that she should’ve known his heart.

And instead she accused him of cold-blooded murder.

Or; a night at karaoke at Molly's makes Kim realise just how much she loves Adam.

Season 8 au/fix-it. Adam and Kim decided to give their relationship another go after 8x5, no Makayla, but 8x10 still happened how it did, causing them to break up.

Warnings: mentions to canon miscarriage and deaths and shootings.

Word Count: 7.8k

Read on AO3

Notes: This started as a light hearted funny idea just because I wanted to do a fic about Adam singing. The I talked to Cíara and it spiraled. Title from Iris by goo goo dolls (thanks to @fighterkimburgess for suggesting this song as what Adam sings at karaoke).

Enjoy!!

“Burgess!” Kim was so, so close to being out of the door when the desk Sargent spotted her. She inwardly cursed herself for not being quick enough, turning around with a smile on her face.

“Yes, Sarge?” Her voice was sweet but she knew that Trudy wasn’t having any of it.

“You going to the karaoke at Molly’s tonight?” Trudy gave her a look that told her there was only one right answer.

“Ah...hm, I... can’t.” Still, Kim tried to give the wrong answer.

“You’re going. Your trashy television shows will be there tomorrow.” Platt told her firmly, leaving no room for protest. No matter how much she wanted to. Not for the first time, Kim cursed that Trudy and Mouch are co-owners of the bar, even if she knew that Trudy would still make her go just as firmly even if she wasn’t.

It had been one of those cases in Intelligence. Gruelling and tiring and the kind of cases that makes you second guess your faith in humanity. And fifty-one had just come off the third tough shift in a row themselves and so Herrmann had the marvellous idea of a Karaoke night, something his co owners supported.

‘Just a bit of fun’, Herrmann had pitched as he spread the word. He only had a day to plan and tell them about it, but that was okay, depending it was for fifty one and intelligence, not the greater public.

It’s a good idea, and definitely would be good to raise and rebuild morale; it had taken quite the hit in their first responders family, understandably, with everything going on. Logically, Kim knows this. She can respect and acknowledge that it’s a good idea and something that Herrmann should do for all of them, but that doesn’t stop her from really, really not wanting to go.

It’s nothing, really, about Molly’s or Herrmann, or Trudy. Nothing personal, anyway. Lately, Kim hasn’t felt much like socialising—never mind doing karaoke—and going out tonight, dressing up and having to force herself to be around everyone, it sounds like her own personal hell.

Well, not everyone, just the one person; just Adam.

As far as Kim’s concerned the worst part of work hasn’t been the case. It has nothing to do with the gang war and the children who were caught up in it, as tough as those cases always are. It has nothing to do with the spike of fentanyl in the drugs and the many lives it’s taken. It’s because of Adam.

It’s always, Kim thinks, because of Adam.

The last eight years of her life, it’s always been because of Adam. Not work being unbearable, but anything happening in her life. Her day starts and ends with Adam, it always has, even when it doesn’t.

Even in those moments in her life where Adam is so far from her thoughts. Even when she’s sharing a bed with other men. Even when she hates—no, never hate. Not for him, anyway; herself perhaps, but never him—him.

Even when the only time in the day she thinks of him is because they’re working together. Even when all those thoughts are purely professional.

It’s always Adam.

There’s something about him, from that moment he called her over in Molly’s, that was forever imprinted onto her. His very essence wrapping around her soul, becoming just as part of her as her blood is.

Her air. It’s a thought she’s had so many times before, that he’s her air. That she never breathes as clearly as she does when she’s with him, when his arms are around her. And that air never quite stops coming to her like it does when he’s gone.

It’s a thought that she wishes—wishes so hard—that she had told him that.

Told him it before... Well before that day. Before those words came out if her mouth, never to be unheard, to break what was already barely put together, the cracks of the numerous previous breaks still so clear.

Maybe then things would’ve gone differently; maybe then she wouldn’t be suffocating.

Kim knows that’s not fair. Telling Adam that he’s her air would’ve done nothing to prevent this from happening, from this becoming her life. Adam, after all, is not the reason she’s suffocating, drowning in the water of her own tears—she, herself, is.

She was the one who didn’t think. She was the one who let her own fears, worries and anxieties rule her mind, her heart and her mouth. She was the one who broken, who had marred herself, who had darkened her own soul, spirit and heart.

It was all Kim, she knows this. God knows she’s had many lonely, cold nights to realise that, to let the knowledge sink into her.

Adam is her... Well, her everything. It’s something she’s recently truly came to terms with; that she’s finally understood, more than she ever thought was possible, the old adage of you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

Many nights Kim has laid in bed, staring up at her ceiling, realising she’d give up just about everything just to touch him again, to have him touch her.

To have him let her back in, to let her come close, to let her be in the warmth of his sun.

And it’s those same many nights that Kim has realised that she could give up everything and anything, but that there’s not enough in the world to ever make that possible. That because she was selfish, because she didn’t try to acknowledge how broken she was inside, Kim lost him.

Kim hurt him in the worst way, and there’s no undo button for life. No way to reverse and undo the damage that had been done, especially when it’s just one more scar on top of so many others.

What did you do?

Those words have gone around and around in Kim’s head since she said them, since she saw the hurt in Adam’s eyes, since she saw the video evidence and since he shut that door in her face.

Kim could dissect exactly why she said that—she has, in fact, in those lonely cold nights—but the whys, they don’t matter. All that matters is the aftermath, the impact of her words. That in the moment, she doubted who Adam is, and forever shattered their relationship.

It’s something Kim never should’ve said.

Not because it’s hurtful and untrue to him, well, not just because of that. But because it’s always been Adam, ever since eight years ago, even before she fell completely and utterly head over heels in love with him.

Kim has always known who Adam is. She’s one of the first people ever to, and she saw who he is without him even needing to try hard to show her. Because she understood him, because she saw him on a level it’s taken others years too.

Because she saw him on a level that others still haven’t.

If she tried, Kim doesn’t know if she could pick just one favourite moment in all her years of knowing Adam. There’s so much good, even when things were anything but. But those first moments of their relationship, when they were still so young and blissfully unaware about what awaited them, those never fail to put a smile on her face.

And Kim can’t say just how many times she’s replayed the first moment she just got something about Adam, instinctively, and he had clearly not expected that and just looked at her with awe and adoration.

Or how many times she replayed telling him that he can be himself around her, that she will never judge him, that she knows him.

And it’s those memories that she has kept on replaying on repeat in her mind ever since that day, because Adam is right, because she should’ve known, that she should’ve known his heart.

And instead she accused him of cold-blooded murder.

There’s been many mistakes in her life, many things that she regrets. But it’s no competition as to what she regrets the most, that in just the space of a few seconds, she destroyed Adam and her, destroyed those eight years of history and connection, with only a few words.

In Kim’s line of work, you fast learn that everything can go wrong in such a short span of time. On the nights all of them, all their first responder friends, gather around and talk and it inevitably goes to the horrible things they witness, this is something they all agree on.

That it only takes a split second to go from everything being fine to nothing ever being fine again.

Looking back now, Kim knows that she was playing with fire. That they encourage all the down-on-their-luck victims to seek help, that they even encourage the criminals to do what’s best for themselves and their peers, their family, but that Kim never applied that to herself.

She had been playing with fire for years. Kim sees the looks her unit gives her, whenever there’s a child involved in a case. Not pitying, but a look that clearly shows that they know, oh they know, that she lost a part of herself that day in the motel.

That she was broken, and that they know, even if they don’t think about it, there’s always going to be that broken part of her.

But what they don’t know is that she had been broken for years. They know that maybe she plays with fire whenever the cases are child-focused, but they don’t know just how close she is to the flames normally.

Not their fault, of course. Kim carefully constructs herself, that she hides so much of her even from herself. It’s something—perhaps wilfully—that she’s ignored herself, that she was sitting beside the flames and ignoring the smoke all around her.

The only person who saw how close she was to burning herself is the very person she continued to push away.

Adam knows her as well as she knows him, and he sees her—sees her in a way she can’t even see herself. There was a moment, years ago, a month after she was shot, and she was still so, so bothered by the ugly scar it left. Adam had gently traced it with his fingers, looking at her with love and adoration, whispering how he wishes she could see herself like he sees her.

Kim has often thought about this in the years that came after, and more and more since that day she ruined everything. At nights she finds herself wishing that she could’ve, because it may have only been seconds that destroyed them, but she had made the cracks for years.

That if she hadn’t been chiselling away at them, maybe it wouldn’t have totally shattered them. That maybe, maybe, he would’ve been open to talking it out with her.

Kim knows, understands, why he isn’t. She gets it, and doesn’t fault him for it. But maybe, maybe if they weren’t so broken before, his hurt wouldn’t be so deep. That it would be seen as just one lapse.

Because that’s what it would be, just one lapse in judgement. But the truth of it is, that isn’t the reality. It wasn’t just that one moment, wasn’t just those few seconds, it was everything that came before it.

Accusing Adam of murder would always be a devastating blow to their relationship. But Kim can’t help regretting all she did before then, because she had made the damage before those words ever passed her lips.

In that one question, that one accusation—because that’s what it was—Kim doubted who he was, his character, the very essence of who he is.

It was a betrayal. It would always be a betrayal. But she had spent years before the fact doubting him, showing that there was a part of her that she was too scared to give him. Even when she agreed to give them another go, Kim knows she still held that little bit back, and she knows he knew that.

She was going to give it him, she knows that too. This time, Kim was committed to them, to make them work. And she knew that she’d need to work on herself, to make it so.

But there’s a difference between knowing and doing.

And Kim had continued along her selfish path. That she didn’t fully understand—or, perhaps, wanted to understand—exactly what working on herself would entail. That she dragged her feet on it, thinking that tomorrow she’ll do it, all while knowing that tomorrow would never come.

They had made some big and important strides in this new try of dating they had been doing. The night after they hooked up again, and Adam had convinced her to sit down and have a conversation about them, they both agreed that they needed to do some serious work.

Talking about your issues, making rules in relationships, it’s not the most fun or sexy moments but they knew it was important. Adam had told her that he wanted everything she wanted, and Kim had told him that she was scared.

And things were good.

They weren’t perfect, not by far, but they were good.

It makes sense. After Kim lost their baby, they had grown closer. That foundation, that connection and bond, between them had been worked on and they had developed a routine. There was some sort of communication between them, and dating was just an extension of that.

But they still were so lax, more lax than they should’ve been.

Or rather, Kim was lax. Adam was too, but he was faultless, because he was only following her pacing. That he respected her fears and didn’t push her, and instead of appreciating that to work on her brokenness, she took advantage of it.

And so things were good, but still so broken.

And then Adam was ranting about his dad and the trouble he was in, and Kim let that broken, hurt part of her take over, instead of the goodness that’s still buried deep inside her from when she first fell for him and she might as well have taken a sledgehammer to their relationship.

And if she just worked on herself. If she had worked on herself before this all happened, before they even began dating again. If she hadn’t spent years holding parts of herself back, always setting them on the slow path, then maybe those words wouldn’t have severed that final straw.

It was a betrayal, a doubt. But it was a doubt upon a doubt upon a doubt.

Adam’s words have replayed back in her mind every day since. I thought you’d know my heart. And he’s right, she should’ve.

And that’s why it was such a betrayal, why it did so much damage. Because Kim has spent years pushing Adam away, and he had kept trying, never letting the hurt sink too deeply, because he had that belief that even as she pushed and doubted him, that she knew him, knew his heart.

And in those few seconds, Kim stole that belief away from him.

It doesn’t matter that she does know his heart. It doesn’t matter that she loves him. It doesn’t matter that she’d do anything to fix them, that she’d give up her arm just to have him smile at her one, last time.

The damage has been done, that her wish all these years, her pushing him away; it finally worked. And it doesn’t matter that she regrets it, that she’d undo it, because this is life.

Kim played with fire and she got burnt.

She has accepted this. Kim is in pain, such incredible pain, and she misses him with all she has. But she’s accepted that this is her fault, that she and only she caused this and she must accept the consequences of her actions, no matter of the how’s and why’s she did it.

There’s a large, masochistic part of her that tells her that she deserves to feel this pain, and she’s not going to argue against that, but pain is pain.

Seeing Adam every day at work is agony. It doesn’t matter that it’s all her fault, it hurts being so close to him and yet so far. It hurts hearing him talk to her so cordially, and only when he needs to. It hurts when she sees him laugh at something funny Kevin or Jay says, knowing she’ll never make him laugh again.

It hurts that she forces herself to look away when he does so, or when he smiles, because she doesn’t feel like she’s entitled to see that side of him after everything she did. It hurts that she has to act as if she’s not dying inside and that she can’t even help soothe his own hurt.

Kim powers through, it’s work. It’s his work. It’s her work. It’s what’s best for them, the unit, the city. But by gods, does it hurt.

And at the end of the day, all Kim wants to do is go home and curl up in her bed and try not to think about how it no longer smells like Adam. She doesn’t want to go out. She doesn’t want to see anyone. She doesn’t want to do anything. She doesn’t want to keep being someone, that if people are seeing her, then she’s existing and if she’s existing, she’s hurting.

The pain, the agony, in her heart; she feels as if she’s dying. She feels numb and full of pain at the same time, and she’s full of hatred for herself and self pity. And she doesn’t want to see anyone, especially people who know her business, who knows about Adam and her, who will be trying to understand how she is—not knowing that no one can, that no one knows the intricacies of Adam and her, that no one can understand that pain.

Well, no one but Adam, and that’s the whole problem within itself. That the one person she wants to understand, who does understand, wants nothing to do with her.

And it might be selfish of her, but Kim doesn’t want to see him having fun. She’s not naive enough to think that he’s not also hurting, because of course he is, because she knows him, but she broke them and he’s trying to get over her.

There’s a part of her, probably still her inner masochist, that’s happy that Adam can still have fun despite the pain. And of course, that’s the best scenario she could want for him. But that doesn’t mean Kim wants to see it.

That she wants to witness it. Be a part of it.

Especially all while trying to pretend that she’s not dying inside.

Even on a normal night, even if Adam wasn’t going to be there, Kim would not want to go out. She hasn’t gone out since he shut the door in her face—even cancelling on her monthly girls night with Sylvie and Kelly. But a karaoke night, at Molly’s, with their mutual friends all around them—that sounds more like torture then fun.

But Trudy is Trudy.

It’s not a lack of understanding that’s why Trudy wants her to go out, Kim knows that. It’s the opposite. Trudy knows her so incredibly well, and she knows that Kim won’t ever go out if she doesn’t start trying.

It doesn’t make it easier or makes Kim want to go any more. And god, she tried her hardest to avoid the desk Sargent, knowing that if she didn’t run into her then she wouldn’t have to go. But Trudy is the closest thing Kim has to a parent, and she trusts her implicitly, and not doing what Trudy—in her own way—is advising her to do is a thought so far from her mind.

So she resigns herself to an evening where she’ll wish she’s anywhere but there, all while waiting for the time it gets less painful to be around—(Adam)—everyone.

It doesn’t take long for Kim to get ready. Just a quick shower—a rinse over; a quick thing to wash away the day and before she could remember what it felt like to have Adam standing behind her, sharing the shower, running his hands with a familiar ease over her body, calling it ‘helping’.

Or that was the aim, at least. But there’s no short enough time in the world for Kim to never remember that; the memories flooding back as soon as the water is turned on.

The shower is probably the longest part of her getting ready, the getting dressed easy and done quickly. Just some jeans and a nice shirt and she is done. If this is a night out she actually wanted to go out on, she’d be making good time.

But she doesn’t want to, so even though she’s ready with time to spare, Kim drags her feet, doing this and that in her apartment before leaving—anything to prolong the time until she has to be in Molly’s, around everyone (Adam).

The only thing that kicks her into action is the realisation that if she’s late, all eyes will be on her when she enters and that would just make everything that much worse.

Molly’s is pretty full when she arrives, but there’s still a few missing faces and Kim feels so relieved that she managed to arrive at an okay time. She hesitates slightly when she enters, wondering where to go, where to sit, and she feels almost as if she’s back in high school, her nerves piling up just as high as back then.

“Kim!” Sylvie is all smiles, living up to her personality of being sunshine personified. The blonde paramedic is bouncing up to her, immediately grabbing her hand and dragging her over to where she was sitting.

It’s at a table with Stella, Kelly and Matt. They’re all her friends, they’re not strangers, but the relief Kim feels at being at their table might’ve made one think that they were. It’s not like they’re not friendly, in some ways they’re very close, but Kim feels less pressured with them, less like they’re trying to see through her.

Not that her unit would, of course not. But with how she’s feeling, it’s different being around them opposed to her firefighter friends.

And it’s not like that she wouldn’t sit with them on a usual day, she would. Although normally, Kim would at least go greet her unit and her other med and fifty one friends, maybe just giving them waves at the minimum. But now, Kim sits down and practically tries to blend into the seat, not wanting to attract any attention.

Bless Sylvie, knowing that Kim might not be the most comfortable, allowed Kim to sit closest to the wall and is calling to Herrmann with her usual drink order, instead of Kim having to go up to the bar.

Kelly immediately brings her into a small, silly disagreement him and Matt are having, Stella quickly encouraging her to laugh and playfully tease ‘the boys' with her. Kim doesn’t know if they’re doing it because they can sense how uncomfortable she is feeling, but she appreciates it nevertheless and thinks that if the evening can just be like this, Kim in a corner with people who aren’t making her feel on display, maybe it’ll be alright.

The evening progresses.

Kim can’t say that she’s exactly pleased or happy she came out. She spends a lot of the time wishing for her comfy pjs and her duvet and her trashy shows that she can just get lost in. But it’s not as awful as she thought, in her little corner, the four of them always flocking her.

At times, she’s even having fun. There’s when Trudy gets up to do karaoke, which is always a hoot. There’s when Trudy and Mouch do a duet, the whole pub in laughter at the funny but cuteness of it. And there’s the joking her table does, the teasing of Sylvie when the boys go and get more drinks and Kim and Stella teases Sylvie over Matt and the laughing at Matt and Kelly behaving like teenage brothers.

Kim laughs, sometimes, and sometimes she forgets that Adam is in the bar as well. It doesn’t last, inevitably she looks around and catches sight of Adam, sat beside Kevin and everything turns to dirt instantly.

Her heart twists and she feels as if she’s being stabbed and then her laughter fades and she wonders how she ever could, when the love of her life is not far from her and yet he—rightfully—hates her.

Sylvie seems to notice every time, however, and tries her best to bring her back to her laughter, trying to help her forget about Adam being so close. It’s those times that Kim is truly grateful for having a friend like Sylvie—and for Kelly, him dragging Kim’s attention away from Adam when Sylvie’s busy with the karaoke.

“Come on stage with me,” Sylvie encourages her on one of the happy moments, when Adam is as far from her mind as he can be amidst her broken heart. “We’ll do we're never ever getting back together!”

Karaoke is one of Kim’s favourite things to do with Sylvie, the two getting drunk and singing all kinds of love songs, laughing while they do so. And since their friendship started, they have a tradition that whenever the one—or booth—has a heartbreak or is just annoyed at men, they sing it together. It doesn’t even have to be at a pub’s karaoke night, sometimes just being in the comfort of their own homes.

It’s some of Kim’s warmest memories, but tonight is just not the night for it. This is Adam, Adam who’s right there. Adam who is only no longer hers because of her, and it wouldn’t feel right. And then there’s that Kim doesn’t want to get up in front of everyone; not when she’s trying so hard to be a chameleon.

“I’ll go with you,” Matt offers after Kim gently turns Sylvie down, the other woman pouting slightly, despite the understanding in her eyes. Kim guesses she should be grateful for both Sylvie’s understanding and Matt’s offer—and she is—but she still catches Stella’s eye, the two women grinning knowingly at Sylvie.

The night is well in swing, and Kim notes that she could probably leave now, and it would’ve filled her obligation to Trudy. But she also notes that she’s a little reluctant too, enjoying being able to be semi distracted from her despair over Adam.

Progress, Kim thinks. But not long after she thinks that, Adam is walking to the karaoke and Kim knows that the chance that she can ignore his presence is now slim to none.

His hair is messy, strands hanging over his face slightly, and it reminds her of the night he shut the door in her face and it aches her heart. Aches, hurts, it because all she can think about is that night and aches it because all she can think is about the times it’s been like that because they’ve had sex, because she mussed it up, because he didn’t have time to style it.

Adam chooses to sing Iris by the goo goo dolls, but it’s no surprise, not really. Kevin and Kim have joked many times that Adam has only one karaoke speciality, because he always—at one point in the evening—will always sing it.

It’s not just his one speciality, of course. One of the most surprising things Kim learnt about Adam when they first started dating is about how musically talented he is. That he doesn’t just have a good voice when he’s playfully doing harmonics at work, but that he can—and does—sing.

And it’s something Kim has always loved, always loving it whenever he’d sing—especially when he’d get out his guitar and play for her.

But it’s one of his favourite songs to sing, and he has the vocal cords for it.

Really, Kim should’ve predicted that this would happen. But her mind had decided to be in denial, maybe hoping that Adam doesn’t want everyone’s eyes on him like she doesn’t want, but that’s apparently not the case and she’s wishing she just left, not wanting to hear Adam sing.

Not wanting the memories it will stir up. Not wanting to be reminded of just how badly she fucked up. Not wanting to have her heart break all over again when it still hasn’t recovered.

Kim tries to focus on the joke Kelly is saying, but her eyes can’t settle, her ears can’t hear. She can’t hear anything but Adam’s voice—his frankly beautiful—beginning to start the song, can’t concentrate on anything but the lyrical words that are falling out his mouth.

Memories of when they were happy and they were at karaoke comes flooding back to her. It’s not even memories of them being together—they may have spent the last eight years barely going ten months without sleeping together, but they’ve been not-a-couple longer than they ever were, in total. Just them drinking and laughing and just having fun. When things were easier, simpler, when he could stand to be around her, before she fucked everything up.

Memories of them at work, on a stakeout or just in the bullpen, and Adam is bored and is just humming dance around in her mind as well. Of when the bullpen wasn’t filled with a tense unease, where jokes and laughter was happily exchanged, where they felt like friends, like a family.

And the memories of them being together, of their quiet intimate evenings alone. Of them cooking together, watching random stuff on the telly or just cuddling and just being together and Adam just picking up a tune, singing odd lyrics.

Singing love ballads to her, even when they weren’t together, yet was in everything but title. Singing to her and playfully spinning her around, just for a second, just for a random second, but a second of showing her that he loves her, of treating her as if she’s his life, his bride to spin and to make smile and laugh and feel oh so loved.

Of humming this song under his breath when he’s doing something menial, like the dishes or laundry and catching her eye and just belting—but so beautifully and in tune—a line to her, grinning that grin of his as he does so, before going back to what he was doing, back to his humming.

Of the memory the morning after she told Voight that she was pregnant, and Adam had stayed over, them discussing what this would look like. Of Adam looking as if a load had been taken off him, and of how he had laid his hand over her flat stomach, singing softly—softly to her and the baby.

Of how he only got to do that a handful of times but how he deserved to have been able to do it more. Of how he deserved to be able to hold their baby in his arms and to sing to them, to see them hear his voice, know his voice, to smile and be soothed by his voice.

That oh so familiar pain, that familiar ache, in Kim’s heart returns and she grips her beer bottle that much harder, as if that would keep the pain at bay. It’s always painful thinking about what could have beens, especially about their baby—especially when it’s about Adam and their baby. There’s still a part of Kim that blames herself for what happens, and she never feels like she deserves to be sad about what she’s missed out on, but Adam... Adam was as faultless in that as much as he was in the end of their relationship, and it hurts her to think about all she made him miss out on.

And it’s even more painful knowing that she won’t be able to soothe that ache, that pain, in Adam’s arms, the only place she’s closest to her lost baby; in the arms of their father. Painful despite it being selfish of her for even wanting to.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as painful if it wasn’t this song. Not because of the memories, not because of all the times Kev and her have teased him over it—well, not just because. But because the words hit too close to home, hits close to her heart, the ache it leaves ricocheting through her body.

Kim isn’t one to apply lyrics to her own life, not really, not since her teenage years. Sylvie loves it, loves putting on music which not only speaks to her mood but what she’s directly thinking and despite the two having many girls’ nights giggling to various music, Kim doesn’t make the habit of picking songs that reflects her own mind.

She could spend time dissecting why-- that it makes her feel too exposed, because her work makes her want to always appear tough, that she can’t hide from how she feels if she’s thinking about it—but it doesn’t matter, all that matters is how, now, she feels.

How, now, she can’t ignore the words Adam is singing.

It’s just his song that he sings. Nothing more, nothing less. There’s nothing to take from it, nothing that should be making Kim feel this way. It’s not like it’s a reflection on how he feels, a purposeful choice, it’s just Adam with a few beers in him, singing the song he always sings.

But the words hit her deep, and all she can think about how they apply to her, to him, to them. That all she can think about is how it highlights what went wrong, that she doubted his heart then, after years of doubting his heart.

Adam sings the song well, delivering the notes perfectly even in his tipsy—drunk?—state, hitting the emotional lows and highs at all the right times. It’s just him performing, but maybe it’s the alcohol coursing through Kim’s veins, but it hits her, feeling like it’s him, not just a performance, sounding so raw and real.

It grabs at her heart, twisting it so painfully in such a deep, aching way.

All Kim wants to do is hold him, is to be with him. To cover his face in kisses, to hold him close, to tell him that he’s hers and she’s his and that’s how it’ll be for eternity. That she loves him, that she knows him, that her soul is his, entwined so tightly and closely around each other it’s impossible to tell who’s is who that it’s essentially just one.

And it hits her; she loves him.

Kim knows this, of course. And if she didn’t, the pain she has been feeling over these weeks without him would be the tell. That she feels empty, like a part of her is missing because Adam is not beside her is because she loves him; that her love burns brighter and more fiercely than an exploding sun.

But this evening, she only embarked upon this because Trudy wanted her to see that she can put herself together again. That things will get easier, that she can adjust to life without part of herself. And she had thought so, had saw it as a possibility as she laughed at her table’s jokes, as she got lost in those moments without thinking about Adam close by.

Now Kim can see—can feels—that’s nothing but a pipedream. That she loves Adam so, so much and things will never get easier to be without him. That this pain is hers and hers forever. That her life will only ever be made up of small moments where she’s without pain but that she’ll never be free.

Adam is where her story begins, where her life is. And she’ll never get him again, because she was selfish and she pushed him away and doubted him in the most awful way. Kim has accepted this, and now she accepts that her life will never get easier.

It doesn’t make it any easier to feel, to experience.

She can’t stay here, at Molly’s. She just can’t. It might be Kim’s fault why everything fell apart but she’s only human, and the ache in her heart—the ache of pain for hurting him and the ache of desire of wanting him—getting too much.

Kim puts down some money next to her beer, and she’s scooting past Sylvie, thankful that the paramedic had stood up only a few minutes before. Molly’s is crowded, and so she can high-tail it out of there without much attention and for that she is glad.

Sylvie calls after her, however, obviously concerned at her friend leaving so suddenly and Kim shouldn’t turn back to look at her, but she does, only a glance. But she miscalculates and she accidentally locks eyes with Adam and, god, it just makes the ache in her hurt that much more and she knows that she needs to go, go, go.

The cool night air hits her but it does nothing for her pounding inside her heart, does nothing to help her no longer feel like she’s on the edge of a cliff and she’s about to fall. Kim regrets deciding to drink, that she didn’t drive herself here so that she can’t just jump in a car and get as far away from here as possible.

Instead she paces the pavement, her fingers quickly working her phone to get a taxi. There’s the slight hum from the music inside which permeates through the night air, and it just makes it harder to forget the sight of Adam, looking so lovable and fuckable, and how she’s no longer allowed to think such things.

“Kim, what’s up?” Sylvie has followed her, looking concerned.

“It’s just,” Kim waves her hands in vague gesture at Molly’s. “Too much. I need to go home, I just can’t.”

“I understand. I can go with you, if you need some company? But Kim—you work with Adam. You need to get used to being around him in informal settings as hard as that is.” Sylvie reminds her gently.

“Maybe I’ll transfer,” It’s meant as a joke, but her tone is flat, and it hits wrong. Kim isn’t being serious, but there’s that little bit of truth, that it would be easier, and it rings through her words.

“Kim,” Sylvie gives her an empathetic look. “Just—talk to him.”

“What, like how you’re talking to Matt? Anything but how you feel?” Kim can’t help interrupt her, her tone clipped. Her friend shoots her an unamused look.

“That’s different. Matt and I haven’t dated, we don’t have half the history you and Adam do. And I’m okay working with him, but if you’re even thinking about that, even in a joking way, just talk to him. I know he’s hurting and you are, but you two belong together, don’t let your pride get in the way of that.” Rationally, Kim knows Sylvie makes sense and that she’s just looking out for her, but any sense of rationality is being blocked by the throbbing ache in her heart.

“It’s not pride. He hates me. And with good reason. There’s nothing I can say that can fix that and just—just leave it okay?” She snaps.

“Okay. Do you want me to go home with you?” Ever the angel, Sylvie backs down and Kim wishes that she was less in pain so she could appreciate it.

“I’m fine.” Her voice is calm, cold, final. Sylvie sighs, giving her one more look, before she heads back inside the bar. Kim’s taxi arrives shortly after.

It’s not even two hours later that Kim’s in a taxi again, bouncing her leg as the cabbie drives, tapping her foot out of nerves and impatience.

Kim wonders what the taxi driver will be thinking about her. There’s the smell of alcohol on her breath, and she can barely sit still in the seat, moving around nervously. She hadn’t looked at her hair before she left her apartment—again—but depending she just lay down on a sofa and half screamed moaned into her pillow, Kim would be surprised if it wasn’t at least slightly unruly, mussed a bit.

In truth of it all, the taxi driver probably hasn’t given two thoughts towards her since she got in. She’s just going to be yet another customer, just one of many he’ll have this night and the nights to come. And in Chicago, he’s probably seen all walks of life, people who look more like car crashes and disaster than her slightly un-put together, anxious self.

But focusing on thinking about this helps distract her mind from where she’s going—to Adam’s—and this borderline crazy idea to do so.

Adam has made it clear that he doesn’t want to hear from her. That she has cut him deep, and that she ruined whatever they were building together. He doesn’t want to hear her excuses, no matter how reasonable it seemed to her at the time.

But Kim’s not coming with excuses.

There’s not the aim to fix this, to get back together. Well, there’s not not that. Kim doesn’t really know what it is, what she wants from it, not really. She would love, of course, if Adam could see them trying to rebuild, but she only wants that if he truly can. If he can do it without compromising any part of himself, Kim has asked for pieces of him far too much to ever let him give her more.

It’s just... Lying in her apartment, alone, the dark—Kim hadn’t bothered to turn on her lights, because what’s the point—all Kim wanted was Adam.

Kim’s not coming with excuses or half apologies or propositions. She just can’t stay away from him, she just needs...

Well, Kim doesn’t know what she needs. Her mind is telling her that she needs him to know something, or needs to see her, but isn’t telling her what or why. Kim doesn’t even think she actually knows, that she’s just driven by this need.

It’s not a selfish need—not anymore selfish than any other action, that is. It’s just this inexplicable need. It’s, Kim thinks, possibly the most selfless need because it comes with no expectations or reasons, no outcomes or purposes.

And yet it’s the most selfish thing Kim has ever done. Not selfish in a bad way, nor even in a good way. But just in a selfish way, or maybe... Maybe if you can be selfless, maybe this is self-full.

Because it’s selfish in the way that it’s the first thing she’s ever done for herself just because. Everything else she hems and haws over and considers so many factors, where this is just done because she needs Adam, and because she knows, knows, Adam will be missing her.

He hates her, yes. He wants nothing to do with her and has been so hurt. But their love... Their love is like nothing else, fierce and strong, deep and true. He misses her when she’s in his arms, as she does too. Even with what she said, even with him wanting nothing to do with her, he’ll be missing her.

Kim’s not naive enough to convince herself otherwise anymore.

Kim’s knocks on Adam’s door goes unanswered and it’s only then that she realises that Adam might not even be home yet, that she didn’t leave Molly’s too long ago, that those nights can go on for quite a while and there’s no reason why Adam would be home.

There’s a feeling of defeat hanging heavy in her heart but she just leans against the wall beside his door, refusing to leave. Even if she has to wait hours, even if he just ignores her, Kim is determined to at least lay her eyes on Adam one more time tonight.

Kim isn’t waiting long. At least, she doesn’t think that much time has past. Adam has appeared, walking down his corridor, a look of surprise on his face at her being here. There’s a part of her mind, far at the back, that remembers that night she told Voight about the baby, and how this is like the opposite of then.

“Kim.” Adam stops a few feet away from her. The surprise is clearly displayed on his face, and in his voice. She turns so she’s facing him dead on, surprisingly confident.

“I came here to talk.” She tells him, impressed at how her voice doesn’t waver. He lifts up his eyebrows.

“About what?” If things were good, Kim would’ve playfully hit his arm and teased him, pointing out the elephant between them, about the day she ruined it all. But things aren’t good, so she doesn’t, but still, she can’t help but bring a bit of lightness to the heavy tenseness hovering in the air between them.

“Everything?” She smiles slightly, hoping he gets the reference. The corners of his lips twitch upwards and Kim thinks that means he did.

Adam moves closer and her heart beats way too fast. He’s got his key in his hand, and Kim realises he’s only stepping so close to her so that he can unlock his door, and she’s trying not to be overwhelmed by him being so, so close to her. Trying not to focus on how she can smell him and how easy it would be to touch him, to sink into his arms, to grab him and beg him to hold her and never let her go.

Her mind is going haywire, but she tries to calm her breathing, her heart, trying not to outwardly show how much she wants him to let her in, to give her another chance. Tries to remind herself that he might just shut his door in her face again, that just because he hasn’t told her to fuck off now doesn’t mean he still won’t.

But then Adam, pushing open his door, turns slightly towards her, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“Why don’t you come in?” He offers, indicating for her to enter first. Kim smiles at him, it’s a wider smile than the faint one he gave her, but that’s okay, so much has happened. But Kim accepts the olive branch for what it is, and enters his home.

Everything won’t be sorted over night, but it’s a start. And the important thing is that Kim knows more than ever who Adam is, knows his heart. And that she knows who she is, knows her own heart and she knows that she is Adam’s, even if he no longer wants to be hers.

[woeismyhoe]

Rachel Amber, The Broken Angel Who Demonized Herself

Fair warning, please bear with this probably incredibly **longass** (I’m not kidding it’s rlly long) analysis of one of the fandom’s most controversial disliked characters, Rachel Amber. This is just my attempt to analyze her character based on observation from BtS to LiS so by no means do you have to accept them. Productive discussions are obviously very welcomed :D

In LiS, when we asked about Rachel around campus, most of them had nothing but compliments and praises for the missing girl. She was essentially an honorary Vortex Club member who socialised with the snobs, yet she also hung out with the skater stoners and was friendly with those at the bottom of the social hierarchy. Then we see those graffiti around where it hints at Rachel’s promiscuity, debts and conflicts with other people. That’s the first sign we see that Rachel Amber isn’t as perfect as everyone was making her out to be. Afterwards we discover that Rachel was a stoner herself and into whatever drugs there were, partied harder than anyone else, promiscuous, entered a relationship with local drug dealer Frank Bowers while having a secret relationship with Psycho teacher Mark Jefferson— all while maintaining a 4.0 GPA in her studies and being considered perfect and adored by practically everyone in her school. The girl’s incredible, obviously, or maybe scary for someone to be so spread out in everything.

Rachel was a straight A student with a 4.0 GPA, an administrative assistant to the Principal, beloved by students and faculty alike, literal goddess beauty, had ambitions to be a model and study international law, daughter of the DA and was the closest to perfection anyone would ever be— so what went wrong? What made her romanticise the idea of running away from a town where everyone loves and adores her?

Because of the above.

Yes, it may sound whiny and dramatic to feel tired of being loved and being the center of attention all the time, but there’s no point to it if it’s not you who they adore, but the person you’re pretending to be— (“I was feeling angsty and reckless. Tired of living up to the perfect image everybody expects out of me.”) —especially when you have to do so much just to maintain the lie.

Throughout LiS and BtS, Rachel’s ability to get along with everyone was always mentioned. At face value she was akin to a social butterfly. She hung out with stoners regardless of their social status (skaters or the vortex club), was friendly with anyone regardless of their place in the social hierarchy (eg; Daniel/Evan/Steph/Drew/Nathan) or even to strangers others usually ignored (Samuel/Homeless lady). Like Evan said, Her friends were her friends. She wasn’t one to let peer pressure affect her relationships so she wasn’t afraid to make all those acquaintances.

However, for those who knew her closely (Chloe and Jefferson), she was referred to as a chameleon, someone who blended in with everyone and everywhere seamlessly. This was an important detail regarding who Rachel was and her intimacy with others. To be able to make that comparison, they would’ve needed to know who the person Rachel actually was underneath the masks she’d created over the years. Chloe was the first to truly see and accept her for who she was. Jefferson was the one who exploited her for it.

For most, being a social chameleon would count as a beneficial social skill if they’re subtle. So long as the person doesn’t lose themselves in the process and is able to separate their personas from their true self, it remains a skill and will be used as such.

The problem with Rachel was that it transcended beyond a skill. A social chameleon was *what* she became, and that led to losing her own sense of identity, to becoming a stranger in her own body.

We see her confiding to Chloe about this feeling in Brave New World: (“Do you think there’s a point when you’ve been acting so much that you don’t even have your own personality anymore? You’re just whatever you think other people want you to be?”) —to which Chloe tells her she does have a personality because she assumed Rachel was talking about herself. But Rachel apparently wasn’t and clarifies she was talking about her father. She then elaborates on how her father doesn’t really exist, that how he was in the principal’s office was a mere performance and then the actual truth— that she’s afraid she’ll end up like him.

No matter how you interpret that scene, the conclusion is that one of Rachel’s fears was becoming like James— someone who’s been so wrapped up in all the lies and manipulation that he no longer seemed recognisable to even his own daughter.

At that point her defence mechanism of deflection and avoidance came into play after Chloe got a little too close to home. We first see this on the train scene when they play Two Truths and a Lie. Rachel gave factual statements as opposed to Chloe who gave facts that elaborated into her personal life. At one point Chloe can ask how Rachel knew about having a distal radius fracture and It’s a very minor detail, but when she explains that it’s because she broke her wrist when she was 10, she says it extremely fast. When Chloe is about to press for more info about something personal no matter what option you choose, Rachel dismissively turns around the conversation from herself back to Chloe again.

The next time we see her deflecting is right after witnessing her father cheating. When Chloe asks about her, Rachel deflects and guilt trips her into somehow thinking she’s at fault for failing to get them wasted and then proceeds to drown her sorrows into alcohol instead of opening up. Afterwards when they find the junkyard, Rachel chooses to isolate herself from Chloe and withdraws to the corner, getting irritated if Chloe chooses to invade her space. When Chloe confronts her about her sudden moodiness, Rachel yet again deflects and shifts the attention to Chloe by essentially telling her she’s self-centred. This scene was classic Deflection 101 brought by Rachel’s defence mechanism to cope with her father’s betrayal.

Rachel uses deflection and avoidance as a defence mechanism, a habit which stems from the dynamics of the Amber family. When you have a Politician as a father whose life work is to manipulate and lie, and a Stepford Wife as a mother who wilfully acts like a servant to her husband out of sacrifice and duty— an environment of deceit and suppression of one’s feelings will be fostered. This is what shapes Rachel to be distrusting and unhealthily altruistic as we see in BtS.

And so Rachel’s deflection is driven by 2 things: mistrust (James) and her unhealthy altruism (Rose).

As a district attorney, James unfortunately carried his work persona into his personal life and can be presumed to lie to even his own family on a daily basis to the point that Rachel can tell when he’s lying: (“When your Dad is the District Attorney, I guess lying is...something you're used to.”) (Why can't you just tell me the fucking truth?! Stop lying! Stop being a politician for one fucking minute! Can’t you just be my Dad?”) What that tells us is that Rachel’s actually used to being lied at and treated with cynicism, so naturally that would make her guarded around others. Not to mention since James often exercised his professional prerogative (just recall how he spoke to Chloe and her comment about his micro-aggressions towards his own family), it’s most likely that he was also cynical towards people in general and carried that mindset forward at Rachel as well.

As for Rose, you have to really observe how she carried herself and her choice of words. A lot of people pointed out how robotic she sounded and blamed it on bad voice acting, but I think that was actually intentional. She was too mannered, too submissive and too robotic as a person. It’s not exactly a bad thing, but a lot of her personality seemed to be too... *political* for the sake of her husband’s political career. It was altruistic in the way that she sacrificed her own needs for her husband’s and was unfailingly supportive (eg; preparing dinner all by herself, *respectfully* asking James for his drink, even going so far as to excuse James for kissing Sera like wtf). Point is, Rose was the stereotypical political wife whose job was to shut up, look good and smile for her husband while he does the talking. At one point in the dinner scene when they start fighting, James even dared to say ‘Rose, let me handle this’ as if Rose’s voice was irrelevant and unimportant to the table (when he literally just got exposed for cheating lmao).

So what happens when your family environment consists of a father who actively lies and uses manipulation to twist facts, expects you to be compliant in exchange for rewards (birthday money), has the ability to read people, and a mother who does too much for someone who does the barest minimum for the family and represses herself for the sake of others? An environment of deceit and suppression will be fostered, and you develop all of their qualities, for better or worse. That’s difficult to change when your own family dynamics molded you to be that way and then reward you for it. If you recall, Rachel’s mannerisms changed completely when in front of her family and if Chloe complained about having to play the goody two shoes formal well-behaved humorless girl, Rachel would say: ‘try doing it your whole life’. So not only was she playing different roles in school but evidently at home as well.

But It’s not as if the Amber family was aware of the toxic environment they’d created. That’s just what their normal was: to be well-mannered, formal, professional, mature and well-articulated.

This is where Rachel’s social chameleon tendencies develops. Social chameleons usually have reasons for blending in when it comes to personal relationships:

1. Being liked is important for them (they value what people think of them).

2. They want to blend in so as to not stand out (they don’t like attention).

3. They’re doing it to make the other person comfortable (the needs of others come first before theirs).

Considering how Rachel was extremely popular, active in all sorts of school activities and enjoyed the attention of being the star, no. 2 is out. She confessed to wanting to stop being a social chameleon and didn’t seem to care much about Victoria’s dislike of her + she also did it to her family so no. 1 is out as well, which leaves us to no. 3— doing it for the comfort of others. In other words, because she *gave too much shit about other people all the time*.

What further supports the point of Rachel’s unhealthy altruism is what she says to Chloe at the junkyard— (“Maybe you should try giving a shit about other people for once.”) —which essentially tells us that she’s been doing exactly that to be able to lecture Chloe into following her own perspective. Another example would be what she tells Chloe during their therapy session: “—Because she was tired of having to give so many fucks all the time.”

One thing however that all *extreme* social chameleons share is the fact that they **loathe** themselves, or at the very least— dislike who they are. Why else would they go all the trouble of creating different personas for everyone to the point of forgetting their own, if they actually liked themselves?

One of the many things that Chloe and Rachel shared in common was their self-awareness in how undeniably shitty they can be, and that they hated who they were. Whereas Chloe embraced that whole part of her down her self destructive road, Rachel tried to cover hers up by playing other roles for people. Both girls played their sides to the ends of the spectrum; Chloe being selfish (causing problems for everyone in general unnecessarily) and Rachel being selfless (posing no problem for anyone in general even if there was a problem). They had no healthy balance and their unhealthy mindset ultimately drove them down a self destructive path.

Rachel knew she was selfish by nature, and that she’d take it out on Chloe in Ep 1. That’s why instead of talking about what was wrong, she chose to drown herself to alcohol and distance herself from Chloe. When Chloe confronts her about it, she either tells her that not everything revolves around her or that she should try giving a shit about people for once. In other words, ‘Other people have bigger problems than you so shut up and don’t make it worse for them.’ That was Rachel’s mentality and in that moment of poor lapse in judgment, she applied that logic to Chloe expecting her to think the way she does— to put others before yourself.

With Rachel, she always had her walls up and couldn’t help it even if she wanted to because it's practically second nature to have her guard up (“I never said how dearly I hold thee; my habit's been to keep my soul well-draped.“). It’s only in her lowest vulnerable moments is when she finally let her walls down because that’s when she’s too tired to keep them up.

Luckily (or unluckily) for Rachel, she recognized her problem. The only thing is that she didn’t know how to solve them. She confided to Chloe about feeling like she doesn’t exist, but then backtracked and clarified she was talking about her dad instead when Chloe got too close to home. Even IF she was genuinely talking about her father, it doesn’t erase the fact that she believed there was a possibility she was going to become like him— because she already saw the signs and made the comparison between them.

Remember her infamous outbursts in Awake? Unlike Chloe, she’s the type who keeps everything bottled in until it’s too much. Seeing her father kissing another woman was the breaking point and that’s why she reacted badly. And then when she kicked that bin, that was equivalent to Chloe smashing up the junkyard. And then that scream. That scream was the result of years bottling her pent up frustration, stress, anger at everyone including herself. Because she did everything to make her family proud, to please everyone to the point that she felt so empty and hollow, only to realize that it was all for nothing because her father was destroying her family. It wasn’t just a betrayal from her father but a betrayal to herself.

And then there’s Chloe Price. The girl who is the total opposite of her, yet who she can somehow still connect with at the same time. While she cared too much about what others thought, Chloe gave absolutely no fucks. That was her most attractive and admirable quality for Rachel. So what does she do? She latches onto Chloe to do exactly what she knows best. Become the ideal version of whoever wants her to be. In other words, the Rachel Amber who would finally give no fucks.

Rachel was the closest to her truest self when she was around Chloe. Just as she brought life and hope back into the girl’s life, so did Chloe for her. Chloe broke the walls she put up, and she’d seen her vulnerable enough times to let her mask slip. Chloe saw her at her lowest, ugliest self even when she wasn’t doing her usual thing of keeping everyone around her happy, yet she didn’t mock or leave her for it. For the first time, she was selfish, and *still* Chloe came back. That was a BIG reason to trust each other for the both of them. And that’s ultimately what bonded them for so long— the fact that they could be the shittiest people on earth, yet still see the best in each other even if they only see the worst in themselves.

Chloe was the first one to see through her social chameleon act because she slipped, and she continued to let her unmask who she was because that night Rachel just didn’t care enough to hold up the act any longer. This detail of Rachel’s chameleon act slipping *only* when something was wrong is a vital part in understanding the context around her. The first time was when she witnessed her whole world crash, the second was when she realized she was becoming like James, and the third was when she discovered what a monster James was. The fourth— when she asked that trucker for a drive out and didn’t bother to be her usual social chameleon self. We may never know what happened, but something wrong was going on in Rachel’s life that she didn’t want Chloe to be a part of— because why would she put the girl who stuck by her during her darkest hours through her bullshit again?

But at the end of the day, that wasn’t enough. Chloe wasn’t enough. And that’s understandable because a teenager truly can’t and shouldn’t have to be responsible for someone else’s happiness. No matter what choice Chloe makes at the end of BtS, the truth inevitably gets out and leads to Rachel having a fall out with her parents. When that happened, she lost a big pillar of her support system which only leaves her with Chloe who’s another emotionally damaged teen that’s on the road to self-destruction. Chloe can’t help others without helping herself first. But still, who else is there to make them feel a little less shitty except each other?

After her fall out with her parents and her father in particular, she seemed to have developed a taste for men twice her age: Frank Bowers (32) and Mark Jefferson (38). Whatever the reason her relationship with Frank was, she still wrote him those letters and seemed to have cared for him to some extent. Not only was he the source for drugs for her very much needed escape, but he was also the man who helped save her life in one of her most vulnerable moments, and a possible lead to find Sera. It’s not that surprising she’d seek comfort and safety in his arms when he already proved himself once. But clearly it wasn’t serious because she was fooling around with Jefferson at the same time (and Frank knew they wouldn’t have lasted anyway).

Now, Jefferson. The devs confirmed that Rachel was in love with Jefferson and honestly, that’s the least surprising thing ever considering how he basically had the female population of Blackwell head over heels for him. Even Rachel wasn’t immune to that psychopath’s charm. He was a well reputable photographer, had the connections to propel her modeling career, was attractive and mysterious and apparently a damaged soul. He was the perfect one way ticket out of Arcadia Bay. He was her photographer and she was his muse. He was basically the perfect solution to her problems.

The girl clearly had deep rooted daddy issues and was ashamed of it herself since she couldn’t even share her secret relationship to the one person she trusted the most despite sharing her other relationships with her (except Frank).

This is where the drugs and partying come in. They’re a way for her to escape the bullshit in her life for a few hours. Chloe was what made her feel real, but the drugs and partying was what made her forget— forget that her biological mother chose drugs and money over her (twice), forget that her own father was so despicable that he was planning to overdose Sera (this is what Chloe said in the silent dialogue), forget that her biological mother may just be dead somewhere because of James, forget that her own family was a lie, forget all the expectations placed upon her, forget that she herself was a lie, forget that she was so insecure that she had to seek warmth and safety in the arms of men twice her age, forget the guilt of knowing the girl who would die for her was still not enough, forget that at the end of the day all her problems is caused by her own mind and that her own fears had come to reality. And she hated herself for that.

But still, Rachel wasn’t a total junkie or outwardly self destructive to the point that she abandoned her studies like Chloe did. She didn’t let the drugs and partying dictate her life, hence the 4.0 GPA. After all, she still had a reputation to maintain. She was still the DA’s daughter, and getting into college was still a way to get out of Arcadia Bay.

BUT SEE, that was exactly Rachel’s problem. She could never choose which to be; The Problematic Junkie of a Disappointment (Sera), or the Golden Child (James & Rose) everyone expected her to be. She wanted to be as free as Chloe, but she also didn’t want to be a disappointment. She was tired of everything but couldn’t allow herself to fall because it was her nature to demand the best of herself for others as long as she could do it. But what happens when it’s your very own nature you’re going against? It gets really complicated. So instead of choosing, she doesn’t and becomes both. That was ultimately the worst decision she ever made.

Make no mistake, Rachel was an absolute idiot for being so indecisive. She could have easily solved her problems if she just finally gave no shit and did whatever she wanted to. But that’s the problem with people who’re labeled as perfect growing up. They eventually believe it and demand perfection of themselves. They care too much about everything because if they have the ability to be perfect, then why would you choose not to be? When someone is seen to be perfect, disappointment is 10x worse. Even Chloe was guilty of idealizing Rachel to be this perfect girl and was disappointed when she realized Rachel was just like everyone else who puts in hard work—(“Rachel's always made being an A student seem so easy. Almost sad to see all this... effort."), but it’s Chloe accepting Rachel for who she was despite no longer being the perfect girl she believed her to be that mattered.

With being seen as perfect usually comes with the assumption that your whole life is. Just as everyone invalidated her problems because she’s Little Miss Perfect with the perfect grades and the seemingly perfect family, so did she.

‘Cause hey, what does she have to be mad about when she’s a rich white girl who’s been given everything she’s ever wanted, right? (James basically said that). At that point the only problem Rachel had was that she was acting as the perfect daughter and perfect friend and perfect student at the expense of her own happiness, and then throw in the sudden slap in the face that it was all for nothing because her father was destroying the family she’d tried so hard to do proud.

But then again even if that wasn’t enough reason to spiral, it really would mess you up if your own father told you that your biological mother chose money and drugs over you, that everything you’ve done so far was all for a lie and worst of all, that your own father was going to kill your biological mother and there’s nothing you can do to change that. I mean really, I’m not a therapist or anything but I wouldn’t be surprised if Rachel’s mental health was suffering by that point.

I mean get this: she abused drugs and partied harder than anyone else and got wasted even though she knew they were wrong (Sera would’ve been a painful reminder), slept around with older men who undoubtedly took advantage and controlled her, continued to act like the perfect student and pretended to be someone she’s not just to keep everyone happy even though it was causing her to question her own existence— it’s almost as if she was punishing herself for continuing down that path.

Ultimately what Rachel was running away from was who she had become in Arcadia Bay. Once she’d be out, she wouldn’t be Little Miss Perfect anymore. She wouldn’t be the DA’s daughter. She wouldn’t have to keep lying. She would be able to start over. She would just be Rachel Amber, the nobody.

She cared too much in contrast to Chloe’s ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude, and that’s why she still managed to maintain her perfect image even when she was already so broken. Whereas Chloe’s first instinct was to blame others, Rachel’s was to blame herself. Both never had a healthy balance when it came to accepting responsibility and that’s what connected them so well together.

Call it selflessness or selfishness or stupidity or melodrama, but at the end of the day Rachel tried to keep everyone around her happy, just like Max tried to do with her powers except Rachel used lies to do it. She was greedy and selfish, no disagreement to that, but she also tried to be selfless for most of her life. She was her own enemy and she demonized herself for it. And that got her murdered, thrown and buried away like the used rag doll she treated herself to be.

She was Chloe’s angel and Chloe was hers, but she was also her own demon. And there’s only so much two broken angels can do against a demon.

**TL;DR:** Idealizing her to be the Perfect Girl was what made her want to run away. Her family was what broke her. Desperation for escape was what killed her. Her family just *really* suck.

Now, I’m not trying to justify Rachel’s actions but merely rationalizing her character. I acknowledge that she was capable of being a shitty person at times, but just as Chloe had her issues, so did she, and so I choose to see them both for what they tried to be. Good hearted people just trying to make their shitty life a little easier. At the end of the day, Rachel Amber was a deeply flawed, insecure and emotionally damaged girl that pretended like nothing was wrong to forget about her troubles for a little, and was just dealt a bad hand in life. Literally.

After writing all of this, I realize that holy shit this girl was fucking complicated and a single post doesn’t do her justice nor explains her character properly enough. I thought it’d be simple enough to word it out, but then again, someone who was basically a junkie yet still managed to maintain her perfect reputation amongst her peers and the faculty is bound to be this complexed. Also as you can see I got very lazy at the middle of the elaborations and repetition has probably made this unnecessarily long but thank you for reading and finishing this overall confusing and messy essay.

[vietzuko]

if we used to share a discord server, this post is for you!

hello! i am going to try to do this as anonymously and non-confrontationally as possible. i do not want this to be a spectacle or call out post, but i will say that i am quite disturbed by the way situations have transpired on the server. 

in case you didn’t notice, i left! when i left, i wrote a little goodbye post in #general, which has since been deleted. either the mods deleted my goodbye or they banned me from the server (which automatically would delete my message). in case you didn’t see it, here was my goodbye message:

hi everyone, i’m leaving the server. if you’re a POC who is interested in joining an ATLA server where POC can talk about ATLA and critically discuss race, feel free to PM me for a link! otherwise, this is goodbye. see you all around.

i won’t rehash everything that happened in the events leading to this, nor will i name names in this post. if you were on the server, you probably saw what happened publicly or you can message me personally, either here or on discord. if we know each other through the server and you want some clarity over names/events in this post, please PM me. 

if you are a POC in the ATLA fandom who is concerned by the events of this post and you would like me to clarify which server i’m talking about, please PM me.

i just wanted to share the very long message that i sent to the mods (on their prompting!) because i feel that it shows my perspective on what transpired.  unfortunately, this message did not result in any meaningful change, except for me getting banned/my messages removed from the server. i suppose that’s a type of meaning! haha. 

anyway. here’s the message. cw for racism, yellowface

hi MOD 1 (and presumably the other mods who will read this message)! thanks for reaching out. i’ve had some time to dwell on the situation and discuss it with other people in the server who witnessed it and reached out to me personally. this is going to be an unbelievably long message, so i apologize in advance and thank you for your time in reading it.

i think the first thing i’d like to do is give some context for the incident and to give my perspective on why i said the things i said.

i have PMed a mod about a racist incident in the server exactly once. it was when i first joined, and i saw a picture of a white person in yellowface in the cosplay channel. i didn’t know any of you personally yet (and this was before some of you even joined on as mods). i have since told SERVER MEMBER 1 about this incident and i’m pretty sure they mentioned it to you because i noticed you’ve changed the yellowface rule. but i think that the context of me pinging a mod about a racist incident and then witnessing another (although less egregious) instance of racism by the mods might explain why i am, in general, hesitant about talking to mods about racism on the server. i am just trying to live my life and experience as few micro-aggressions as possible.

i also think the fact that i regularly educate and push back against white people’s racially harmful messages in the server is also important context. i realize none of you likely know this, but about every two weeks i receive an unsolicited PM from a different white person apologizing/asking for forgiveness/asking for reassurance/asking further questions about their racism on the server. i’m glad people are learning from me, but this is a huge amount of emotional labor that i put into the server and its members because of course i have to reply and explain things and tell them not to worry and thank them for apologizing, etc. i know that these messages aren’t your fault, nor am i asking you to do anything about this. but it feels important that you know the price that i (and perhaps other poc in the server, although i can’t speak to that) pay in order to share space with you.

MOD 2 has even messaged me personally to thank me for educating people in the server and responding to racist messages, saying: “really appreciate how much effort you put in and everything, i was trying to type something up but floundering badly.” it was a nice message, and i appreciated it a lot! it also led me to believe that the mods would prefer if i engage with racist messages myself, rather than ping them, because it felt like i was just going to be more able/willing to articulate a response anyway.

so when SERVER MEMBER 2 messaged the zukka channel “thought that lives in my head rent free: Sokka's hairstyle in canon is just a warrior's hairstyle and has meaning because of that. Sokka wearing the same hairstyle in a modern AU is undisputably queer-coded” and nobody replied for a while, i assumed that it was because they had seen what i had seen-- a racially insensitive message that totally ignores sokka’s indigenous heritage and the history behind indigenous hair-- so i decided to step in with what i thought was a balanced response. 

SERVER MEMBER 2 then replied with a cheery “Fair enough! I will defer to your greater knowledge,” which i couldn’t tell was sarcastic or not, but i decided to be generous and to believe they were genuinely thankful for my reply, so i responded with a “you too can have great knowledge. i only know things because i read things. anyone can read things and learn,” which is something i firmly believe and also a way to divert the conversation away from SERVER MEMBER 2’s mistake, which i felt was the most dignified solution for them. i suppose this message could be read as aggressive because i didn’t use exclamation marks? but that feels unfair and ungenerous because i genuinely did not mean this message in a harsh way.

then SERVER MEMBER 3 jumped in and asked a few questions, which i read as a request for clarification, so i tried to continue to explain my point. it felt like SERVER MEMBER 3 wasn’t understanding what i was trying to explain, or at least i wasn’t able to articulate myself well enough, which was making me a little tired and stressy (and i was also thinking about my own race and queerness in stressful and triggering ways), so i decided to tap out of the conversation. 

me: dude i love u and i respect u and i truly believe that u are trying very hard to understand, but this conversation is making me kinda heated

SERVER MEMBER 3: I’m gonna step back from it because it’s not my conversation to insert myself into, which is what I did initially and apologize for

me: i think it's so important to engage + ask questions & i appreciate that u respect my opinions on these things, but i think i'm just. i have said what i need to say and now must sleep. much love to all.

to me, this felt like me expressing that i was feeling tired and upset and leaving the conversation, while still attempting to reassure SERVER MEMBER 3 that i still admired him as a friend. i felt like the conversation had ended peacefully!

i hope this helps explain why MOD 3’s message came as such a surprise. 

“the escalation to defensiveness and accusation regarding the original (relatively benign) statement was unnecessary and exaggerated. There’s an atmosphere of purity policing that’s been growing, which is why I took away the squick channel, as I assumed that a space that encouraged no repercussions was facilitating irresponsibility aggressive arguments. “

i truly didn’t believe i was being defensive. i was very careful not to accuse anyone of anything. in fact, i tried as far as i could to coat my language in “i” statements-- “i would personally not choose…”, “i would just. stay away from…” in order to avoid “accusations.” i was also trying very hard not to be aggressive, and i (and other poc that i have spoken to about this) believe that the idea that my messages were aggressive is racialized. just because a poc is upset about racism, it doesn’t mean they’re attacking you personally! 

i feel so hurt that my messages were wilfully interpreted in this way, instead of being read generously and from a more compassionate perspective, especially since i voiced my own upset and discomfort during the conversation. it distresses me to think that me expressing negative emotions is seen as aggressive, rather than a cause for empathy or care, and i do believe that this is because of my race.

if a mod had asked me to take the messages to the DMs or to squick or even just let me know that someone was interpreting my messages as aggressive, i would have changed my behavior. (like i said earlier, i spend a HUGE amount of energy coddling white people on this server. i am very used to it.) 

instead, i got the shock of 45 minutes after the fact, being publicly chastised and labeled as aggressive and being told that my conversation was “something nasty or unwanted.” 

the idea that SERVER MEMBER 3 was de-escalating a “clearly escalating situation” feels untrue to me. i was ready to move on after i sent my message to SERVER MEMBER 2, but he kept engaging me on the subject! (no hate to SERVER MEMBER 3 on this.)

i think one of the most painful parts of this whole situation is the implication that i was attempting to “purity police,” as though i am a person who picks fights just because i want to feel good about picking fights?? or to act holier-than-thou???? i do not do this. if you have witnessed ANY interaction i’ve had with a racially insensitive white person on the server, you will know this. 

i am simply a person of color trying to live my life. i do not want to fight about racism. i want to chill out and watch my cartoons. unfortunately, sometimes, someone will say something that i consider racially insensitive and i will do my best to engage and explain why i find this insensitive. that is all. (it is important to note that most of the time, when i see racially insensitive things on the server, i do not say anything because i am tired and it is a lot of effort to engage. i truly only engaged this time because nobody had replied to the message and i was just like, oh, fine, i guess i’ll educate, since no one else has!)

this whole incident has honestly made me really hurt and disrespected. i have enjoyed my time on the server and i have made some good friends there. however, it feels clearer and clearer to me that the server is a space where white feelings of safety (not being criticized for their racist content) are prioritized over poc’s feelings of safety (not having to witness and experience racist content). i sincerely considered myself to be an active and enthusiastic member of the server, maybe even friends with some of you, but it feels to me that all of our previous positive interactions have been displaced by this idea of me as an aggressive, overzealous purity cop who calls things racist for fun. 

i don’t even know how to repair my relationship with the server after this because i really do feel horrible and sick about the whole thing. i have spoken to other poc who also expressed their concerns about the way the mods handled the situation, even if these other poc weren’t directly involved, and some of us are considering leaving the server, if we haven’t already. (i would also like to note that these people reached out to me, unprompted, to make sure i was doing okay after what they and i interpreted as a micro-aggression by the mods. like, we independently read the situation in this way.)

(also, not sure if this matters, but i talked to SERVER MEMBER 3 the morning after the incident because i wanted to make sure he was okay, and we both ended up apologizing to each other and having a really good and productive talk.)

thanks again for reading this. i hope that you’ll be able to better understand my perspective on what occurred. i truly appreciate the work that you put into the server (especially as someone who also puts work into the server lol), and i know it’s difficult to mod a large server (i also mod an atla server!), but i continue to feel hurt about this. i know it’s hard to read tone over server messages, but i really wish that my (and SERVER MEMBER 4′s and SERVER MEMBER 5′s ) server messages had been read with greater compassion. 

...

and that’s all folks! i’m going to be remaking my blog soon, partially because this whole experience has exhausted me and partially because i have been meaning to anonymize my internet presence for some time.

[prose-for-hire]

How the women of the Buffyverse would care for a s/o with ptsd:

Request: Your depression hc's were so nice and comforting. If you’re willing to write it could you do similar hc's for a s/o with PTSD with the girls of the buffyverse (and optionally any guys you'd personally like to add)?

Characters include: Buffy Summers; Willow Rosenberg; Cordelia Chase; Faith Lehane; Tara Maclay; Anya Jenkins; Darla; Drusilla

Requested by: Anonymous

Warning: Discussion of ptsd (but mostly its about how the characters would support you). Mention of medication. Mention/implication of destructive coping methods. (You can ignore the parts that do not apply to you)

A/N: Female buffyverse characters were requested, if you would like male readers you can drop a request when they are open again. 

I’m so so sorry this took so long to do, I lost my motivation after I lost the first draft but I hope these are okay !! I made this as generic as I could so that it could be accessible.💖🖤

Buffy summers:

She will always be there

Even if you try and keep a distance, isolate yourself

She won’t let you cut yourself off

Will suggest activities if you’re feeling particularly low or alternatively just cuddle up to you if things really aren’t going well

However will always have a suggestion that gives you something constructive to do

Patrolling, walking around the mall, maybe even helping her train

If you’re struggling with sleeping she will stay up with you

Or at least always be on hand if oh need her

If you see something that triggers you she would know exactly what was going on

Knows about painful experiences (she’s died twice she has buckets of trauma)

You would feel less lost, less alone whenever she was around

Lots of physical affection and cuddling as long as you were comfortable

Her number one priority is you being as comfortable as possible

If you really struggle leaving the house/staying in rather than doing things you might usually

she will encourage you slowly but will never push it

will ride out any periods of depression with you, you are not alone

always presses the softest kiss to your cheek whenever she has to go anywhere, always lingers, you know she never wants to leave your side

Cordelia Chase:

Cordelia will always encourage you to see a therapist/doctor

but will always be there herself to listen if you want to talk over the painful stuff

She has a reputation for non-stop talking

But she is a really intuitive person

Will listen for hours if it’s something that would help you

Also would understand if you just needed time or not to have to relive anything

This is where her talking comes in

Has so many ideas up her sleeve for distractions it’s unreal

Will always speak sense, the way you feel is not your fault

It’s a mantra she’s always repeating

if you have a period of particularly bad feelings (whether its flashbacks, anxiety attacks, anything)

she will help you in her own way. 

Looking up techniques to combat it, riding it out with you

will insist you try meditation, she’s seen on some talk show that it helps with relaxation and clearing the mind

she wants to cover all bases, anything that has the ability to alleviate the way things can get even a little she’s all over it

she’s not often seen as the most practical, but she really can be. She knows when she should ‘step up’ for someone she loves

and has absolute faith and knowledge that if the roles were reversed you would be there for her in the same way

will hold you to her at night, hoping you felt safe in her arms

Willow Rosenberg:

caring is in her nature

You would never ever feel a burden with willow

She loves nurturing and caring so you don’t feel that you’re taking from her in a way you might with anyone else

She would have little reminders for taking meds or doctors appointments

She would make teas and warm drinks for you before bed

always looking up ways to improve your sleep or thinks up dorky (and incredibly cute) activities to see your smile

loves it when you smile so much

if she can get even a half smile out of you she will glow for the entire day

your happiness means so much to her

she will do little sleepy/sweet dream spells for you if you’re having trouble sleeping

Doesn’t always work, but it’s the thought that counts

if you have bad dreams she will pull you into her, stroking you softly until one of you falls back into sleep

If you’re slipping into destructive coping methods she will understand

She has felt the same but she will never make you feel ashamed or leave you when you most need her

She may be firm because she knows you need it

But will never ever deny you comfort if it’s something you need

Anya Jenkins:

If you’re avoiding leaving the house or going certain places she might not understand at first

But catch her in the magic box with every known book on ptsd

Telling customers to go away because she’s reading something important

That’s how much you mean to her

She’s turning away customers trying to understand

Will come home to you and not so subtly hint that she thinks there’s something wrong

Will talk over, very practically all of your options

therapy, meds, the works

don’t get her started on all of the alternative medicine she stumbled into on her search for information

Try not to roll your eyes at her being so by the book she is really trying

Will open her arms looking at you, nodding and smiling

Will give the most loving and comforting parts of her for as long as you need

she will take days off with you if you need to take time out of work/education

will rush around and tidy things up, offer to make snacks or petition to get that show you really loved back on air after they cut it

literally nothing is too big an ask for her

when she loves, she really loves 

literally only wants the best for you

if you’re struggling to get out of bed

will make your favourite breakfast and be really excited about it

brings it to you on a tray

the best part would be sitting with you in bed and sharing it with you while she dotes on you

Tara Maclay:

would have a tea to brew for any mood or situation

sleepy teas, calming ones, etc

she keeps you grounded

the woman is so empathetic, so in tune with your mental state

its as if she shares your brain sometimes

its spooky

If you’re feeling on edge

she would know about it

has the most sweet and honest approach to your mental health

She will always encourage you to open up to her

But won’t ever be annoyed if you don’t

She’s quiet so will understand when words just won’t cover how you’re feeling

Would never judge you no matter how graphic or shameful you believe your thoughts are

Would never pressure you to share anything

but it is in her nature to do small things to make your life easier

incredibly selfless love

would tidy up around your shared space if you haven’t had any motivation to do so

would stop every so often, probably kiss the tip of your nose soflty or something

would gently bundle you up in blankets and make sure she had your favourite movies or a show on hand

plenty of comfort as well as practicality

Faith Lehane:

when you first tell her she listens, wrapping her head around everything

she loves you and nothing like that would ever change the way she felt

in fact she loved you more for baring yourself to her in such a raw way

some days she just wants to fight your trauma

Wants to literally fist fight your brain sometimes for doing this to you

If you’re cutting yourself off she will very subtly (yes she can do subtlety) make suggestions or invite your friends over

even if she doesn’t like your friends

will endure events and hanging out with them even if she doesn’t care for them

Chaotic in her methods but never fails to make you feel supported

will be very secretly soft for you

especially in periods where you’re suffering particularly badly

would do anything to show you she was there

incredibly protective

 if anyone blames you for the way you feel or is wilfully ignorant about mental health she will shout at them

(she will probably make sure you’re out of earshot though)

wouldn’t baby you (unless you asked lol), or treat you different 

would be firm with you, making sure you took meds and went to the doctors if you needed to

no wouldn’t be an answer

but you always know its because she cares

becasue she only ever wants the best for you

Drusilla:

would probably relive any flashbacks with you

So would 100% understand

she would know exactly what you needed and when you needed it

Would never let you face anything alone (unless you told her you needed space)

Such soothing, calming touches

Wants you to feel she’s always there

Maybe it will help ground you too

she has her own pain and trauma and would definitely share with you equally to what you would tell her

you would bond so intimately

you would never feel alone

she would recite such sweet prose

such beautiful stories that she may have written herself or have been picked up from long ago

would distract you from your low moods

if you were in a period of depression, she might begin to plan lavish events 

(ensuring you agreed to them of course)

each would be more ridiculous than the last

she would decorate accordingly too

and have a fit at anyone that got anything wrong 

(never directed at you, ofc and would quieten down immediately if she sensed the noise disturbed you)

you would celebrate a holiday every night

St Patrick’s day, St Vigeous, World recycling day

demon and human holidays alike

all in your honour. all to try to cheer you up

Darla:

would have picked you out of a crowd

and just known

you were the one

she adapted very quickly to you, wanting you with her as much as possible

by her side

wouldn’t be used to taking a caring role, but would definitely do so for you if you needed it

if you have a period of particularly bad nightmares

She would be there

For anything you needed

She sleeps in the day so would literally stay awake all night laying beside you

would stay holding you as you slept

Stroking you, comforting you if it was so bad you woke up

if you could not get your mind to relax and images or thoughts kept replaying in your mind

she would talk, tell you stories

she has hours worth of stories

she would try to keep it light, but may get carried away if she remembered a particularly gruesome story from her past

would embellish or change the story if she saw your look becoming more and more spooked

she has a very guarded soft side

only for you

[shadowvalkyrie]

Work, being run by Americans, is doing another of these bullshit self-discovery psych programmes the rest of the world finds somewhere between obnoxious and offensive, and I’m just... SO DONE.

Stop asking invasive questions about my greatest personal failures and what I learned from them and let me answer my damn e-mails. That truck is two hours late already and you’re making it worse.

Do you honestly think I’d be a low-level office-drone if I was trying to find the meaning of life through work? I want to do my time and then I want to go home and do the stuff I actually care about, and so does everyone else, except that one guy no one likes.

It keeps reminding me of that Twitter quote from a while back: “Don’t give do-what-you-love advice to people living do-what-you-gotta-do lives.” Someone really needs to beat that into the people who come up with moronic lines like, “The only thing keeping you from unlocking your true potential is your limited thinking!” because they either haven’t been told, or more likely chose to wilfully ignore that, actually, systemic injustice is a thing. (Clearly those orphans collecting trash in the slums just have their negative attitude holding them back! Dying of cancer? That’s your own fault for not believing that you too can become a little better every day! Born a woman in a country where you have no rights? Get coaching to liberate yourself from those self-defeating mental patterns that are the only thing standing between you and success!)

I’m sure it’s a great programme for those five or so top managers who have the spare time and resources to devote to narcissistic navel-gazing instead of doing actual, practical work, but for the rest of us, all this sort of thing will achieve is make us angry and even unhappier with our lot in life than we were before.

[hymn2000]

Ideal Confusion - MCU AU Fanfic - C9

(Title subject to change)

Story summary: Giving into the constant pressure from the press, Tony decides to put a rest to the rumours that Peter is his biological son - once and for all.

Previous Chapter(s): 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Part of my Frostiron and Spiderson series.

Warnings/themes: family, family stuff, adoption, DNA test(s), pressure, peer pressure, social issues, mentions of alcoholism, mental health problems, potentially some minor medical inaccuracies, mentions of corporal punishment, hurt/comfort, sex talk, sex education talk

You can also find me on AO3

Chapter 9 - Lemons And Weeds

-

Tony wasn’t happy; that much was clear. One look at his parents, and one second of hearing their frantic whispers and hisses and hushed tones, was enough to tell Peter it would be a good idea to stay out of the way, just for a little while.

Turning the kettle on seemed like the best way to drown out his thoughts - whatever they were. He couldn’t quite comprehend his own mind right now. Part of him knew that blood shouldn’t make a difference - it never had before - but it felt like there was no way it couldn’t make a difference now. He was... Tony Stark was...

He was Tony Stark’s son.

Biologically. 

Genetically. 

By blood.

And there was no denying it...

A day that should have brought closure had instead made things less clear than ever. Suddenly there was so much else Peter needed to know. He couldn’t remember his parents very much at all, but as far as he’d been told, they’d been happily married. Was that a lie? Had Richard and Mary’s marriage been in enough trouble for Mary to cheat? Or had it just been the temptation of a charming celebrity? Was she drunk? Was Tony drunk? How had it happened? How had they met? Had Richard known about it? Had anyone other than Mary known about it? Had Tony known all this time that he’d slept with Peter’s mother, but just never mentioned it? Had he forgotten, or just intentionally covered it up? Or perhaps he didn’t realise who Peter was - after all, by the time he’d come into his life, he was just living with May. Besides, Tony was so firmly of the opinion that there was no way Peter could be his. In fact, that’s what everyone thought. Everyone that mattered, anyway.

Did Mary even know? She must have still been sleeping with Richard, otherwise the pregnancy itself would have been a suspicious right from the start. Maybe she never considered it a viable option. Or refused to consider it. Maybe the timings were a little funny. Maybe... Well, Peter didn’t know. If she had suspected, surely she would have done something about it?

But wait. Tony and Peter had had various sex conversations in the past, and Tony had always been very pro contraception, and said he’d never had a one night stand, or a short lived relationship, without proper protection, and that he always carried condoms and put them on himself to be sure. Mary had to have been a one night stand, otherwise the link would’ve been realised far sooner. And even if not, if they’d used contraception, how could anything like this ever happen? It never would have occurred to either party that a potentially drunken night of celebrity-on-civilian fun could result in... Well, another life.

But...

The alleged father cannot be excluded as the biological father of the tested child... the probability of paternity is 99.99999999% ...the alleged father IS the biological father of the tested child.

It was all there in black and white. It is practically proven that Mr. Anthony Stark is the biological father of the child Peter Parker-Stark.

Peter Parker-Stark.

Parker-Stark...

Wait...

He wasn’t. That wasn’t who he was. Mary had been a Parker by marriage - it had been Richard who was a Parker by birth. He was uncle Ben’s brother. Another Parker by birth, of course. And then of course May; Parker by marriage... Different ways of getting the name, of course, but both valid...

But if Richard had suspected Peter wasn’t his, surely he never would have been allowed to take the name? Unless he knew or suspected it and wanted to conceal it. But as far as Peter knew, men didn’t generally act like a child that might not be there’s, was. In fact, (with facts now emerging), he had no right to the Parker name now either. He wasn’t a Parker. Circumstantially, he’d ended up being with the Parker’s for most of his life, but now, well, where did his claim lie? Who was he, if not a Parker; if not the person he’d grown up thinking he was? He didn’t know. He didn’t... Yes he did. He knew he was. Undeniably, and whether he liked it or not.

He was a Stark.

But even that opened up the floor to more questions. Aside from his life and experiences with the people in this household, and a few articles online, he didn’t really know what being a Stark meant, exactly. Aside from the obvious bits. But even as an adopted son, he didn’t know much about the generations before his father. Tony rarely mentioned his parents, much less talked properly about them, and as far as Peter could tell, he’d never known any of his grandparents, and he didn’t seem to have any extended family. It hadn’t especially bothered him before, but now it felt horribly like he'd been lied to.

In fact, right now, his entire life felt like a lie. There was so much that could have been, should have been - and there was so much that needed to be answered for. There was only one person he could think of that could potentially answer his questions about Richard and Mary.

But she’d been dead for years.

-

Loki calmly took a hand away from his mouth.

“Don’t you think you’re being just a little bit over-dramatic?”

“Absolutely not!” Tony shouted. “And who are you calling over-dramatic?! You’re one of the most dramatic people I’ve ever met”

“As much as I’m enjoying your little pantomime, I do find the weeping and wailing just a little bit over the top, if you don’t mind me saying so”

“Loki, I think you’re deliberately overlooking the emotional impact of this!” Tony took a deep breath, and scoffed. “Well, I couldn’t expect you to understand”

Loki startled a little at that insensitive remark.

“Tactful as always, my darling” Loki said, retaining a lofty air. “Of course I couldn’t. Here I am, looking at my husband, who was so firmly by my side through our failed fertility plans and the sudden realisation that three-person was off the table, my husband who worked through to understanding, and scrapped the idea of even traditional IVF, and settled with me back into a normal life with our adopted son. And I’m looking at that man who so clearly found peace in never making a child from their own self, just like me - and I’m seeing that despite it all, you’d made one already. Just an outsider looking in, my darling. The gravity and shock of the situation completely escapes me”

Tony looked at him for a moment, puzzling out what he was saying, and then turned his head away.

“This is ridiculous!” he growled. “I need a drink!”

-

Tony stormed into the kitchen.

“Oi, what do you think you’re doing? Are you stealing my coffee?!”

Peter startled at the sudden shout, and he shook his head.

“No; I’m just moving it so I can get my tea”

“Oh sure, you really expect me to believe that?” Tony marched over, snatching the coffee from the boy, putting it back in the cupboard, and slamming the cupboard door. “You know you’re not allowed my coffee. N-”

“But I wasn’t taking it!” Peter protested. “I was just-”

“Don’t interrupt me! Now go to your room!”

“What?! Why?!”

“Because I said so! Now do as you’re told!”

“No! That’s not fair! Don’t you think we need to talk and stuff? I wanna ask you-”

“Why can’t you ever just do as you’re damn well told?!” Tony snapped. “Go to your room!”

“But I haven’t done anything wrong! And we need to talk about-”

“The only thing we need to talk about is your constant defiance and bad behaviour! You’ve been spoilt, that’s your problem”

Peter looked at him, outraged. “Well, whose fault is that, then?!” 

“How dare you?” Tony said, dangerously quiet. “Is that what you think? That it’s my fault? Well, do you want to know what I think?”

Peter took a step back. “...What?”

"Tony” Loki said, watching the scene unfold from the doorway. “I think you need to start counting”

Tony looked at him, scowling. “What are you talking about?!”

“I think you know” Loki said, coming over. “Peter, darling, why don’t you go to your room for a little bit? I need to talk to dad”

“But I need to talk! I’ve got a whole bunch of stuff I need to ask, and-”

“Sweetheart. Sweetheart, I know” Loki said gently. “Just give us a few minutes. We’ll talk later”

Peter looked between his parents, settling on Tony.

“I guess this means we’re not going down to the pool again today then”

Tony raised a hand and smacked him across the face.

“TONY!” Loki snapped, grabbing him and moving him firmly backwards. “What are you playing at?! Peter, sweetheart, go to your room. Daddy and I need to have a chat”

Peter was so shocked that he couldn’t move. 

“Didn’t you hear?! Go to your room, you little-”

“Tony! Shut up!” Loki said. He turned to Peter, taking him by the shoulders and kissing him firmly. “Are you alright? Listen, go to your room, and I’ll come and check on you in a few minutes”

Loki ushered Peter out into the corridor and closed the kitchen door firmly behind him. He paused, and then spun round, glaring at Tony.

“What the hell are you playing at?”

“What am I playing at?! He was being rude! Oh what, so I’m not allowed to have discipline in my house anymore?”

“No, Tony! No, he wasn’t being rude! He was disappointed! And he’s upset”

“What's he got to be upset about?” Tony said scornfully.

“Oh, don’t be so wilfully ignorance! It’s no wonder he’s upset and confused and worried, just like you are. How dare you treat him like that?”

“It was just a little tap!”

“No, it wasn’t, and we both know it. For goodness sake, Anthony! Neither of us have laid a hand on him since before he was turned into a toddler!”

“So?!”

“SO, you can’t just jump back by lashing out at him! I thought we’d phased physical punishment out, albeit under extra-ordinary circumstances, but even if we hadn’t, what’s the one thing we agreed on?”

“Aw Loki, give it a rest. Give me a break, ok? I’ve had-”

“Some difficult news; I know” Loki interrupted. “But we had agreed never to slap his face, remember? So how DARE-”

“For gods sake, Loki, what do you expect me to do?! That kid-”

“Your SON”

“I KNOW!” Tony shouted. “How the fuck am I supposed to get my head around this?! How the FUCK has this happened?”

“I think you know how it happened! Stop screaming at me. You can’t take it out on me, and you certainly can’t take it out on that poor little kid”

“I’m not!”

“You are! I heard your whole argument about a bloody jar of coffee, and obviously I saw what you did, and I heard every threatening word and tone too. You can’t take out your annoyance or frustration or confusion or whatever it is you’re feeling about being Peter’s natural father, out on him, who, for the record, firstly, did not choose to be, or ask to be born, and secondly, would not even exist if it weren’t for you”

There was a brief, heavy silence, and then Tony started crying. He turned and put the kettle on.

“Tony? Darling, I-”

“Leave me alone! I just want to have a coffee in peace for once in my life!”

Loki stopped in his tracks. He sighed silently, lowered his hand, and nodded. 

“I’ll give you some space. Just... Just don’t do anything stupid”

“...Ditto”

Loki looked at him. “Do you remember how you acted when Peter was turned into a toddler?”

Tony tensed. “What are you saying?”

Loki pressed his lips together and shook his head, and left without another word.

-

Loki carefully detached Peter from his elephant and wound his arms round him. Peter flopped against Loki, resting his cheek against his chest, still crying weakly. 

“Alright, sweetheart. It’s ok” Loki said gently. “I’ve got you”

“I didn’t even do anything wrong...”

“I know, darling. Dad’s just tense and volatile right now” 

Peter started crying properly again. 

“Oh, sweetheart! Don’t cry!”

“I’m so confused!” Peter cried. “How can he be my dad?! I don’t get it, I don’t believe it, and I don’t know why he hit me!”

“Alright, alright, breathe, sweetheart” Loki lifted Peter onto the nearest chair and knelt in front of him, taking his hands in his. “He shouldn’t have raised his hand to you like that, there’s no doubt about that. But I’m afraid there’s also no doubt that he... Well, that he’s... Well...”

“Everything I thought I knew about my life is a lie!”

“That’s not necessarily true, chick”

“It is! I thought I had a normal start, but I didn’t! I thought I was Richard Parker’s son, but I’m NOT! And if I wasn’t his son, then I wasn’t ever really Ben Parker’s nephew, which means I wasn’t really May’s nephew, which means-”

“Peter, stop it” Loki said. “Y-”

“The only one I was really related to was Mary! So the rest of them were never really my family!”

Loki looked at him carefully. “Am I not really your family, then?”

“Wh-what? What do you mean?!” Peter started sobbing. “You’re my daddy!”

“Honey, we’ve been through this, and I thought we’d both come to the understanding that blood wasn’t the most important thing. Certainly no one I see as family is blood related. In fact, the only blood relative I ever met, I’m certain didn’t really know who I was, and anyway, that person is... dead”

“You killed him, right?”

“Enough about that” Loki said hurriedly. “My point is, you’re my son, and I’m your father, regardless of blood. And... species? So... Well, I never knew them, but if you always saw Richard and Ben as your family, then that’s what they are, even if they’re dead now, and even if you’re from different bloodlines. And there’s no denying May was your family, and still is, even though... Sweetheart, she never would have been a blood relative even if you were Richard’s. She married into the Parker family, didn’t she? You were related to all of them through marriage if nothing else... Your parents were married, weren’t they?”

Peter nodded. “...I feel like I’ve been lied to”

“I know” Loki squeezed his hands. “I understand what it feels like”

“Dad really didn’t know, did he?”

Loki shook his head slightly. 

“Do you... Do you think my mother knew?”

“I don’t know” Loki said. “I’d imagine she had an inkling that you might not be her husbands. Women seem to have a sense about that kind of thing. But women on this world don’t generally talk openly about people they slept with when in a relationship with someone else”

“Do you think this means that I’ve got a brother or sister somewhere? Like, another kid dad doesn’t know about?”

“I highly doubt that, chick”

“I wish there was a way to know for sure”

“Well” Loki said. “I can think of one way, but it’s not one I’d use...”

Peter blinked hard. “What is it?”

“...Do you remember uncle Thor telling you about Heimdall?” 

“Asgard’s gatekeeper? That guy that can see and hear pretty much everything in the universe?”

Loki nodded. “He also has an exceptionally vast memory. Call it a database”

“You think he’d know?”

“Yes”

“Can you ask him?”

“I haven’t been to Asgard in years, darling. Not since long before I met you for the first time. I’m not going back now” Loki said. “I understand why you’re asking, but believe me when I say I believe your father, and know he’s telling the truth when he said he always used protection. I’m sure you know that none of it is 100% effective. Lots of female contraceptive devices are more than 99% effective with perfect use, although obviously they don’t really apply here” Loki cleared his throat. “As we’ve been through before, a male condom is 98% effective with perfect use. 2% is a slim margin, so you- well, your mother falling pregnant was, well, an anomaly” 

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t’ve been born?”

“I’m not saying that at all!” Loki said, shocked. 

He stood up and pulled Peter to his feet, guiding him over to the bed where they could sit together comfortably.

“That wasn’t what I was saying” Loki said, putting an arm round Peter and resting back against the headboard. “What I was saying was that it was a rare and strange thing for your mother to fall pregnant after having protected sex during a one night stand. Your conception wasn’t planned but your birth was, otherwise it never would have happened”

“What would you have done? If you’d slept with a celebrity and gotten pregnant, but you were married and like, maybe couldn’t tell anyone, if you thought it was theirs? Would you keep it?”

“Oh Peter, I don’t know” Loki sighed. “Let’s not turn this already strange conversation into an abstract one”

“Sorry...I know we’ve all talked about it before, but... that’s definitely what he always used?”

“Sweetheart, your father slept with a lot of women back in the day, arguably an unhealthy amount of them. He’d’ve been a hotbed for STI’s if he hadn’t used condoms, and he very well could have made himself ill and put himself out of action if he hadn’t been careful. I think that much is apparent... Sorry, I know talking about your parents sex life isn’t exactly comfortable”

“It’s ok. I knew a lot of that stuff before I even met him. He was always known as a Playboy, right?”

“Mm. Your father might have - well, did - play around a lot, but he was always safe about it, too. I suppose he had to be. Sweetheart, I firmly believe you’re the only one. The chances of there being another are too slim”

“The chances of me being his were non-existent before today”

Loki sighed. “Oh sweetheart, I wish I knew exactly what to say to you... I can ask Thor to talk to Heimdall if it would put your mind at rest”

Peter didn’t say anything, but he nodded. Loki gave him a squeeze.

“Is there anything else you want to say?” he asked gently.

“Are you still into all that freaky bedroom stuff?”

Loki couldn’t help but burst out laughing, and Peter glared at him.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! Sorry. It’s just the way you said it! It came out so abruptly and with such confidence!” Loki shook his head. “I know what you’re referring to, and since you’re asking and we’re all about honesty today, I’m ok sharing that the answer is no; we haven’t been for a long time now”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I suppose we just phased out of it; moved on from it. Perhaps we just prefer being soft. Your father and I, our relationship is in a good place and we’re happy together. I think that’s the bit you need most concern yourself with, and not the inner workings of our intimate lives”

Peter went quiet for a few moments, thinking back to what had happened in Dr Manning’s office.

“...You didn’t look surprised”

“Hm?”

“When you saw the... When you saw the results. You didn’t look too surprised”

“No... But that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel surprised”

“Doesn’t it almost feel like the papers knew something we didn’t?”

“I don’t think so. How could they? Everyone knows they’re just trying their luck and making up news stories. It’s just that they happened upon a coincidence. I can see where you’re coming from, though”

“I wish I could ask my mother about it”

Loki hugged Peter properly. 

“I really wish I could talk to May about it...”

Loki sighed and rested his cheek against Peter’s head. “Oh sweetheart...”

“I think I wanna go away for a while”

“You’re not going anywhere” Loki said, hugging him tight. “You’re my little boy and you’re staying right here, where you belong”

Peter pulled away from him, much to Loki’s surprise.

“Tiny? What is it?”

Peter looked down at his hands. “What if I don’t belong here anymore?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“What if dad doesn’t want me anymore?”

“Peter, h-”

“He was so weird with me... He wouldn’t look at me after the doctors, and then I got into trouble for no reason in the kitchen, and he was being all threatening, and then-”

“I know, I know. Slow down, chick” Loki said. “Darling, I know it was scary, but he was just being unreasonable because he’s scared. He needs time to get his head around this too. Things should settle soon enough”

“And if they don’t?”

“They will. Now, we’ve survived a lot, our little household. We’ll survive this little wobble too. Let the dust settle before you try to talk to him in depth though, ok?”

“But I’ve got so much I need to talk about”

“I know... Well, you’ll just have to talk to me or your elephant for the time being”

Peter took a deep breath, and sighed. “I don’t know what to do”

Loki rested a hand on Peter’s thigh. “Maybe a little sleep would be a good idea”

He went to get up, but Peter grabbed his hand. 

“Don’t go”

Loki hesitated, and relented. “Alright, chick. I’ll stay with you”

“Wait, dad?”

“Yes?”

“Do you... have any condoms?”

“Uhhh!” Loki tried hard not to laugh. “Why?”

“Well, Midtown didn’t really do sex ed, and it’s all kinda medical instead of practical what little we’ve had at St Hendricks...”

“I see. I thought Tony-... I guess not. Alright, well, if we must” Loki sighed. “I’ll just be a minute”

Peter sat up properly when Loki got back.

“Your schools really should have taught you this stuff” Loki said, handing him the pack. “It’s so basic”

“Well, technically we’re underage, so...”

“When has that ever stopped anyone?” Loki said, raising an eyebrow and sitting down beside him. “The school system in this country is one of the worst in Midgard. Dreadful, you wouldn’t believe how many young people I’ve had to teach how to put on a condom. And then they wonder why teenage pregnancy is such a dilemma”

Peter looked shocked for a moment, but then remembered where Loki worked. Contraception talk wasn’t really outside of his realm of expertise, he supposed...

“I kind of know how they work, but I’ve not, like, practised. I’ve never even opened one of these before” he said, raising the pack to his mouth.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?!” Loki grabbed his wrist. “Never open them with your teeth! It puts you at huge risk of damaging it”

“Oh, right” Peter said. Blushing, he opening it sensibly. “Ew, it feels weird. Like, almost wet”

“Well, you’ll find that they’re slightly lubricated, and many have spermicides on them too. Hence the moisture”

“Oh. Is this bit supposed to be there?”

“Not all prophylactics have a teat. You just give it a little pinch to get the air out once you’ve put it on the tip, before you roll it down. Make sure you have it the right way otherwise it’ll just roll straight back up again. You’ll need to start again with a new one if you put one on the wrong way”

“I think I remember being told that”

Peter listened to Loki explaining use and precautions to him, and he paid attention, but then he became hyper aware of the stereo - and the first few bars of The Blackpool Belle starting to play. Loki and Peter made eye contact, and burst out laughing.

“How apt!”

Peter giggled. “Yeah, isn’t there a bit about pulling the curtains down and ‘going to town’ on the train?”

“You shouldn’t be picking that sort of stuff up at your age!”

“I love how you say that after giving me a condom tutorial”

Loki laughed. “You’re a weird little kid, Tiny”

“There’s just one thing I don’t get” Peter said.

“And what’s that?”

“People always go on about them tearing. But if it’s so easy to tear them, why can I do this?” he asked, and stretched the sheath over his hand and up his arm. “There’s a lot of stretch in this! Plus, this also defeats that excuse of them being too small, right?”

“Well, not exactly” Loki said, still laughing a little. “They’re pretty hardy, but sharp things - like your teeth or jewellery or anything like that - can tear them, and even a pinprick in a condom voids its use. Also expired condoms are weaker and tear more easily, and if you use oil-based lube it can weaken it and make it more likely to tear. Now take that off your arm!”

Peter did as he was told. “Don’t you think they’re a bit weird looking?”

“Not really. As for your other question, their stretch doesn’t mean they’re one size fits all, although they are fairly universal. You can fit two litres of fluid in one of those if you want to. Jo Jo showed me”

“Ew”

“It was for a class in clinic” Loki said. “They can be uncomfortable if they’re too tight, and more likely to slip off if they’re too loose. You can get them in a range of sizes, so no one can pull the excuse of them not fitting. And, if anyone tries to pull the allergy card, it’s not that common for people to be allergic to them, so be suspicious. Most condoms nowadays are latex free anyway, and you can get hypoallergenic ones too”

“Oh, I get it” Peter said. “Why do they make flavoured ones, though?”

“For oral sex, I suppose” Loki said. “Sweetie, this is all curiosity talk, right? You’re not... planning something?”

“What? No, I’m not planning anything! I was just kinda curious. No one’s ever gone through this with me properly before”

“Oh good” Loki said. “...So you and the bunnies definitely aren’t..?”

“No! Yuck, give me a break, daddy. I don’t think I’m even friends with that lot anymore, so even if I did want to - which I don’t - it’s not gonna happen. And anyway, to be honest, I’m not really... Well, I’m not really into sex and stuff” he paused, and swallowed. “I’m not like my dad”

Loki sighed and put an arm round his shoulders, pulling him close. 

“I think now might be a good time for that little sleep” he said.

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. You’ll still stay with me, right?”

Loki kissed him on the temple. “Of course I will”

“Do you think dad will be ready to talk to me when I wake up?”

“Maybe” Loki said. 

Peter wasn’t exactly reassured, but he tried to keep Tony out of his mind. He lay down on his side, his back to Loki. Loki lay down beside him, staring up at the ceiling, and they listened to the stereo, knowing Tony would be listening to the same song wherever he was in the house. And they hoped he’d feel the same about it as they did.

*

[antivanbrandy]

You clearly don't know shit. Kinzie into Kink was never in the background and was always part of who she is. Stop being such a baby about it.

Anonymous said: Kinzie isn’t a kid you stupid moron. Now you’re just making shit up.

nawww, precious crabby baby, are you tired? do you need a nap? your reading comprehension hasn’t improved much, huh. so: one last time, and then i’m washing my hands of you

kinzie being into kink was not her defining characteristic in saints row. it was just a part of her in the background, it was a thing she enjoyed, it was a thing she did, it wasn’t the be all and end all of who she was as a person. that’s changed with AOM. v wrote her to be a one-dimensional sex joke and took away her quirks and faults to make her more wholesale sexually appealing. there’s a world of difference between being sexual, and being ‘sexy’. like, why are you even arguing about this.

and regarding the kid thing, no of course a 24yr old isn’t a kid, that wasn’t what i said and you keep wilfully ignoring 90% of what i’m trying to say lmao. they had her use a safeword at 14. fourteen year olds are fucking kids.

go have that nap, anon, and stop being so fragile.

[a-beast-of-prey]

🌠 - An idiotic scenario

[Drabble meme] (still accepting)

-

K’ panted, fists raised. His eyes narrowed at Maxima, who had just lowered and folded his own across his broad chest. “Why the hell are you stopping?”

“You’re slower than usual today.” He tilted his head. Arched a brow. “Something wrong, partner?” There was an unspoken but obvious do you need to rest? underlying the words.

“I’m fine,” he spat back, exasperated and irritated. Wilfully ignoring the dull ache that had settled into his bones. The tired haze dulling his senses. The fact that the shifting beneath his skin was too sluggish, hard to get a grasp of, yet he could still feel his flames burning; stupidly hot but refusing to find an outlet. At least, that’s what his denial wrote it off as. K’ clenched his fists. Shifted his stance to be a little steadier. “We’re here to spar, not play nanny, you oversized toaster. Put your damn fists back up.”

Maxima sighed, hard and long. He ran a hand through his hair, fixing K’ with an unamused frown before obligingly bringing his arms back up into a more combat-worthy stance. “Alright… You asked for it. Just remember that whatever happens isn’t my fault; I did try to stop you, after all.” His feet shifted. Rather than run at him though, the thrusters built into his calves whined and flared to life, propelling him forward.

K’ was prepared for a clothesline. Instead, he was blindsided by a hand slapping over his face before he had the chance to launch himself to the side. He kicked and clawed against the unrelenting vice grip as he was unwillingly dragged along for the ride, right up until the back of his skull smacked against the garage door. His limbs stiffened almost comically before going completely limp. A weak groan, muffled by the gloved palm partially covering his mouth, slipped out, unbidden. The pounding in his skull increased its angry tempo, more painful and obvious now.

Maxima released his face, catching him with an arm when he fell forward. K’ draped over it bonelessly, eyes glazed. The floor looked like it was swirling… “What the hell do you think you’re doing, trying to fight me with a fever?” the cyborg scolded. He sounded more exasperated than annoyed. “You should be in bed!”

“Can keep going,” K’ slurred back stubbornly. Weakly, he attempted to push himself away, but lacked the coordination and energy for such a small task. Not that it stopped him from trying anyway. His tenacity might have been admirable if it wasn’t over something so utterly stupid.

“No,” Maxima sighed, effortlessly hefting him up into a cradled carry despite his growled protests. “You can’t.”

“Says you.”

“Yes, says me. And says your body.” He made it a point to give K’s forehead a firm prod. He was weak enough and tired enough that Maxima could get away with the action unscathed, receiving little more than some irritated grumbling and a swat at his hand, rather than a fist to the face. If only the kid could be this placid all the time, he thought ruefully.

Maxima had to duck his head a little and shuffle through the door sideways to get out of the garage and back into the main room of their latest base of operations; a former NESTS base built under a junkyard, now repurposed for them to live in. It was pretty dingy and not at all homely, but it was a roof over their heads all the same. A well hidden one, at that. He passed the beaten up couch, an esky long since emptied of tubs of ice cream sitting at one end; Kula’s handiwork before her guardians had whisked her away to stay with them for the next week or two. As it passed by, K’ finally gave up his half-hearted wriggling to slump against Maxima’s chest and sulk in silence. He glared at furniture and doors alike for the duration of the journey to his room, as though it was their fault for his predicament. His expression only soured further as Maxima tucked him into bed like some kid. He kicked the blanket away to express his displeasure. Maxima rolled his eyes with a skill on par with his own.

“Don’t be such a brat.” He tucked the blanket back into place, stepping back with crossed arms and a cocked brow. “How did you even get this sick, anyway?”

K’ contemplated being a shit and kicking the blanket away again. Caught the look in Maxima’s eye that said he could and would roll him into an inescapable blanket burrito if he tried, and decided it wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t happy about it, but he’d let the cyborg win this round. He’d dish out his payback later. “Had to fish some brat’s cat out of the river yesterday. Couldn’t get dry fast enough, I guess.”

Maxima had been wondering about that; why it was K’s clothes had been kicked into the corner of the bathroom, heavy with water. Now he knew. He smirked knowingly. “Had to? Or decided to?” K’ pointedly turning his back on him was all the confirmation he needed. He chuckled. “You big softie…”

“Piss off,” K’ grumbled back, burrowing deeper under the duvet. “… I only did it because her crying was getting on my nerves.”

“Sure you did.”

His shoulders hunched stiffly. “Shouldn’t you be fetching medicine or something?”

“You, asking for medicine? Now I know you’re sick.” Maxima expertly caught the pair of sunglasses that were snatched off the nightstand and thrown at his head, snickering. “Alright, alright. Settle down, spitfire; I’ll get you your medicine. Make sure you actually take it.”

[gremlintooth]

I think the problem with this site isn’t so much the “cancel culture” but the black and white thinking part of it, where people don’t tend to fully process information before they jump to either side of an argument that shouldn’t have needed to begin the first place. Any criticism of something you enjoy is read as an attack that has to be defended, because you enjoy that thing and how dare anyone point out something wrong with it. 

The weirdest part is that you so clearly don’t read what the original criticism was that you then in your head make it so much worse, spitting back insults about how it isn’t “abuse” when that word hadn’t been mentioned, how if the original complaint was about how a woman was treated poorly then OP clearly “doesn’t care about men being abused” or randomly bringing up other negative points about the thing you enjoy so you can say that their complaint is somehow unwarranted in comparison. If that doesn’t work then it’s straight into the insults and the sarcastic “is fun cancelled now?” line of questions.

You’re allowed in this life to admit faults within media and still enjoy it. The shame would be to wilfully ignore these faults and to punish anyone who mentions them.

[chatoyee]

how do you tell your mother that yes, i do have mental health issues that actually require therapy? that everything she said and worries that you have are true?

i’m sorry, mum. i always knew i could never be as strong-minded and as capable as you have always been. i remember you recounting those memories of when you were young, how you never faltered with your words and stood your ground regardless of the situation. bullies never feared you because of your sharp tongue and your beauty to match.

i can never be like you, and it’s because of the many voices in my head telling me that i’m simply not enough. and i’m really sorry that i cried that night right in front of you. that breakdown i had, i really do apologise. i didn’t mean to make you so scared, but i just couldn’t do it any more. i’ve always felt inferior to all my friends, and being constantly compared to them and just others in general - i can’t deal with that.

“you’ve gotta be confident like me.” i wish i could be. “you know i always want my daughter to be the best, and so i try to give you the best for everything. if i don’t care about you, then who would i care for if not my own daughter?” even recalling these words brings me to tears. it’s almost been a week since it all happened but i still feel like shit because i know you’re trying your best. it’s all my fault, really.

you don’t understand mental health, and that’s not because you’re wilfully ignorant. you just don’t get it. no-one’s ever tried to explain to you, and i’m sure you’re dealing with demons of your own. in fact, i know so. it’s just... there’s so much stigma. you whispered “therapy” under your breath as if it were a curse word, supposing that it would conjure up some sort of unwanted presence. but don’t you realise? there is an unwanted presence constantly shadowing me, and it’s never really gone away. 

i can’t even remember when it all started, but it started way before he happened. i know that you are aware of all the things he’d inflicted upon me. i never wanted to tell him but i knew you were very dubious about him and how he’d impact me. the very first day i told you about him, you didn’t exactly keep your reservations about him to yourself. to this day, you still tell me about how you just wanted me to be happy, so you let things be. you thought that’s what i wanted. i’m sorry i never listened.

i think things started when i was around 15. i remember that day quite clearly. i was with a friend, walking up the stairs to our classroom on the 2nd floor. it was the first week back from the summer holidays. she’d asked me how i felt and i can honestly say that the first feeling that ran through me was ‘shit. i feel like shit.’ things just went downhill from there.

i like to say it’s seasonal affective disorder. the winter likes to let me slip through its fingers, toying me about with its occasional ribbons of sunlight streaming through the greyness. but why is it that i cry so much during the summertime? isn’t that when i’m supposed to feel my best? four consecutive years of tears. is it because i’m also extremely insecure?

“you’d look a lot better in those if your thighs weren’t so big” / “aren’t you eating a lot?” / “oh wow, your double chin in that picture” / “it’s a shame you can’t transfer the fat from your butt to your chest, huh?” / “your skin is really dry, don’t you moisturise it? your eczema’s gotten better though, hasn’t it? remember when you were little? it was so bad!” / “why don’t you try putting some ointment on your stretch marks? so you can wear bikinis?” / “you’re really dark now, aren’t you? you better stay out of the sun”

i know i’m not fat. but why is it that i feel fat? why do i feel ugly? and why are these two concepts seen to be synonymous? why am i making this connection between two words that shouldn’t be seen as the same? but what is it that i’m lacking? i cried and cried and i knew it was absolutely ridiculous of me to give in to norms and expectations like that. if anyone, of course i would know better than to sob my eyes out at these social constructs that shouldn’t mean shit to me. yet i was so fucking vulnerable. and i felt terrible for subjecting my own mother to my unrelenting wails because i felt that i’m just plain ugly. that i’m undesirable. 

she took one look at me and asked, “i know that isn’t the only thing on your mind for you to be crying like this. what else is there? you can tell me.” it took me a brief moment to connect all the dots and realise how fucking damaging these norms are, yet here i am, still trying so fucking hard to adhere to them. to let them dictate my self-worth and attach that to my level of desirability to people i liked. goodness gracious, what have i become but a fucking fool for something as shit as love. how is it that love is also guided by these idiotic gender norms?

“i just feel ugly because things never work out with the people i end up liking. i think they just don’t like me enough. or i’m just not enough for them.” she knows pretty much everything. from the very beginning, trying to hide my feelings from this woman isn’t possible when she can read me like an open book. she tears through each of my pages without any grace, each of her questions pinpointing details with a quick skim that others would acquire with intense interrogation. but my mother is nimble. 

but what is it to me, reassurance that it’s not yet my time, when everyone else seems to have found their ‘time’? my life from last summer onwards is just full of ebbs and flows. there will never be any sense of stability from now on.

i couldn’t have the one i wanted last year because i didn’t want a long distance relationship. i didn’t trust myself. i didn’t trust him. i didn’t trust relationships. it hurts too much to be too far. i knew i’d probably dip because it would hurt too bad, to be so far from him and make him suffer so much. he was never the type to hold down. this summer, the one i wanted, yet again, parted by a fucking ocean. why is it that my soul continuously wants another who can never have their feet rooted in the same place as me for more than six months?

i think it’s me. i want what i cannot have. perhaps there really is something romantic about a love that just doesn’t work out. it’s the bittersweet taste to which i keep on coming back, rather thoughtlessly too. perhaps that’s why my taste for wine has grown. i never liked wine. thought it too bitter. wine is one of my favourites now. i’ve grown too accustomed to what tastes like departure.