#the sound of me being personally attacked

[genderkoolaid]

expand on ur "mental asylum Marxism shit" thing about children & grief?? from what you've said im pretty sure i will relate from my own experiences as a grieving child. also it sounds interesting!!

so i was thinking about how weird it is that, when a child has to deal with the death of a loved one, they say something like "no child should have to go through this! no child should have to even think about death!" which strikes me as weird because i was a child who dealt with the deaths of multiple close family members, very close together. the first was my great-grandmother, who i lived with and who was my best friend. death was never foreign to me (my mom has always been very death-positive on top of all that). grief was just part of my life like everything else was.

but i realized that its because people think childhood should not have any flaws. you should be 100% happy and fulfilled all the time. any time a child experiences anything painful, its bad. not "children should have access to love and support," but "children should not have basic life experiences because the idea of childhood being anything other than fluffy purity scares me."

because children in society are fundamentally not people. especially in a society structured around christian beliefs in natural law theory, that what is natural = what is good, healthy, and Divinely commanded. so on top of children being the property of adults, they are also forced to be the symbols of Nature. whatever is the most useful to whoever needs them. which means we built up this idea of children as tabula rasas, pureness incarnate. like a magic mirror where if we look into it, we'll be able to catch a glimpse of the true face of humanity. every single thing children do can be scrutinized for some grand truth about humans as a whole. and then, the ways children are treated also reflect how we think humanity should interact with its own nature.

example: the idea of humanity as inherently sinful and wicked, with that urge needing to be suppressed through state violence (hello hobbes) = the idea that children are annoying and shitty on purpose and need to be forced via punishment into being Good Citizens.

this is also why children cannot be trans, even though all trans people must prove that we were trans children. being queer must be unnatural; and even if not, its inherently sexual, and sexuality is dirty and bad. so children can't be trans, and they also can't read books on puberty until their parents decide when and what exactly they are allowed to learn. child victims of sexual assault only matter to the extent that they can be used as a symbol of a cultural threat; calling Jewish or trans people pedophiles means saying that they are foreigners attacking basic human nature, and indirectly, Divine command. if you aren't the right kind of victim, or when you inevitably reveal yourself to be A Person with complicated experiences and opinions, you are no longer of use to the agenda.

it sucks that bad things happen to anyone. aspects of youth can exacerbate the pain sometimes, but sometimes it does the reverse: I wish I could have spent more time with the family members I lost, but I know other people who are glad they loss family members young, because they weren't really hurt by it. I think the main thing is that, even sometimes when we talk about our past selves, we project this cultural idea of Child As Purity and ignore the actual person having the experience. when we "empathize" with children by projecting Purity onto them, we aren't actually connecting with them.

[bogleech]

Guess I have to make a main thread about this. Someone decided to fight with me in the notes on this post just yesterday about Gaza and made select responses of mine into a callout thread here, where they say my anger towards the IDF is all a cover for antisemitism. This didn't make any sense, because they said they were also against the IDF killing civilians, and I repeatedly said that Jewish people aren't to blame for the IDF or represented by the IDF in any way, putting us supposedly both on the exact same page. What gerry leaves out of their own screenshots, and I'd actually forgotten, is that at first they came at me from an angle that I was disrespecting the victims in Gaza.

So this implies they feel gaza is being subjected to a genocide, and a pretty big one, since they're upset my language made it sound "smaller and tamer." When it becomes obvious that I do in fact consider it a serious genocide, that's when they switch over to saying that my criticism of Netanyahu or the IDF is inherently an attack on Jewish people.

Notice I never actually said "zionists" in this screenshot, even, but that I defined "regular humans" as humans who don't want to kill innocent families. That would automatically include Jewish people since they overall do not wish to kill anyone, but have in fact spent quite a lot more time trying not to get killed. I believe there may be entire books about this fact! I think there's even whole museums about it, if I'm not mistaken?!

So then they pivot to saying I'm an antisemite because I said the IDF and its supporters can "burn in hell," and they say "invoking hell" is an antisemitic dogwhistle, which is definitely news to me?!

So I tried to clarify, again, that I'm only angry at the people who are themselves killing civilians and the "pro-genocide maniacs" who defend the killing of civilians, which they responded to as if I had "lumped them in" with those. You can just see right there that I didn't make any assumption that they were a part of that at all. Thanks to their earlier comments I still thought I was speaking to someone 100% against the IDF's actions, but every time I said that the killers and their advocates alone are bad, they've framed it in some new way as me just not liking anyone Jewish. So now that you have that context:

...In a response to an ask, they finally just say they hated me to begin with and set out with the intention to "bait and sealion" me (their own words!!) into saying something they hoped would be antisemitic, which they believe was successful despite me never saying anything about Jews other than "this isn't their fault." They saw what they admittedly wanted to, so strongly, that they show me saying "this isn't the fault of Jews" as evidence that I blame Jews. But speaking of people "going mask off"

In multiple more recent posts and asks, this person appears to say that they simply do not believe the IDF is really targeting children or ambulances or relief aid, that "none of those are true," and the deliberate targeting of any children is supposedly just a conspiracy theory??? So I guess they did successfully troll me and I feel like a real gullible dumbass, because the only reason I continued responding to this person in the first place was that they said they were in fact against the ongoing massacre. Instead, these comments sound like they think the IDF is being unfairly vilified by dishonest propagandists, and that's why they hated me enough to try and fish for callout fuel. That's the nastiest fucking thing anyone's yet pulled on me about this and it's not one that I'm just going to ignore. I should have smelled a troll early on and just blocked them, but it's SO hard for me to suspect ulterior motives. I always go in thinking people mean well, and that there's just a miscommunication we can work out. I almost feel like this individual noticed that and tried to exploit it?!? Unfortunately I'm sure this kind of thing will happen again simply because I don't intend to obediently shut up about what's being done to Gaza. It's not logistically possible for the death and destruction to all just be accidental collateral damage. Don't let anybody ever fool you into thinking the IDF is the face of the Jewish community or vice-versa, just as you can't let anyone fool you into thinking Hamas represents all Palestinians. Especially don't engage this person, stop doing so if you have been, and block them.

[nametakensff]

Cat For Grabs (D/isco E/lysium) (M)

Okay, here is 4.3k of cat allergy K/im K/itsuragi because why the fuck not 🐈‍⬛️💞

J/ean and K/im arrive on scene at a murder, where the victim's pet cat takes a particular liking to K/im. Allergic misery ensues

(Set in the kind of AU I've cobbled together where H/arry and K/im are an item, maybe like 8 months post M/artinaise. They hook up with J/ean regularly)

~~~~~

Content:

M/M/M mentioned and ongoing but mostly in the bg, cat allergy sneezes, spray, handkerchiefs, rapid sneezes, stifles, nose blows, mentions of anal sex, mentions of hay fever sneezes, mentions of blowjobs, H/arry has a sneezing fetish (but he isn't here), J/ean and K/im flirt a lot

CW: Graphic descriptions of a dead body at a crime scene, K/im performs a brief autopsy, mentions of gun violence, they are cops so you know. Just doing cop things

NSFW - Minors DNI!

Jean was the first to arrive on the scene, alone. Absolutely not ideal – he was at real risk of danger if the shooter – or multiple shooters – were still on the property. The precinct was in absolute maelstrom - an unprecedented amount of crime this week, even for Jamrock. Jean had driven here by himself once he realised Harry was entirely incapacitated. He’d fixed him a look of annoyance until the older man had returned it with a look of his own that said ‘please don’t be mad at me, I’m drowning.’

Jean had sent out a general radio request for backup to any nearby officers for this apparent shooting, which had taken place in a fairly quiet and respectable part of town. He’d been grateful to hear Kim’s confirmation that he would be there within minutes, as well as some other patrol officers affirming the same. Jean should have waited outside, perhaps, but he had a gut feeling as he pulled up to the small, bungalow-style apartment that it was empty. A quick search with his gun held steadily in front of him confirmed that he was entirely alone.

Unless you counted the gory remains of the sole resident splayed out on the kitchen floor.

“Well.” He said to the corpse, nudging its ankle with the toe of his boot. “You’re certainly very dead.”

The metallic scent of blood in the air was overwhelming. An even more overwhelming and unpleasant scent of sewage indicated that the bullets littering the torso of the corpse had also passed through the colon multiple times. Jean wrinkled his nose and covered it with his hand. He almost wished his hay fever was still hindering his ability to smell.

But god, this was a bloody, violent murder. The surrounding cabinets were littered with bullet holes that appeared to have been sprayed in wide arcs across the room indiscriminately. It had to be the work of an automatic weapon. Jean spared another glance at the corpse, then made his way back into the living room. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

He thought it better to wait for Kim to perform a conclusive field autopsy. He didn’t want to leave himself distracted and vulnerable to any potential attacks by performing one alone now. And, if Jean was being honest with himself, Kim had a stronger stomach for corpses - perhaps thanks to his time and experience in Processing - and a markedly weaker sense of smell. He glanced at his watch. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.

He peered round the room. It always felt intrusive entering people’s apartments like this if he had spare time to overthink. This particular home was exceptionally drab; hardly any items or photographs to indicate personality or interests. Just ugly greys and browns and lumpy furniture. There were a few books stacked on a coffee table, but their covers looked just as banal as everything else.

A sudden shuffling sound to his left made Jean jump and reach for his gun. He looked round frantically, cursing himself and half expecting to see some crazed gunman crouched behind one of the armchairs, ready to mow him down like the man in the kitchen. Thank the lord, he did not. What he did see, however, was a visibly well-fed cat with thick black fur emerging from underneath a nearby bookshelf. Heart beating wildly in his chest, he let out a long sigh of relief and regarded the doddering approach of the supremely rotund animal. Come to think of it, he had noticed a litter-box in the bathroom.

The cat slumped at his feet, looking incredibly at ease and not at all as if its owner’s bullet-riddled corpse was resting in a pool of his own red-black blood just one room over. It mewed at him, butting his boot with its head before rolling onto its side. Jean couldn’t resist kneeling down and getting closer. He scratched gently behind an ear and smiled as the tip of a little white fang stuck out of the cat’s closed mouth, giving it an endearingly goofy appearance. A small blue collar was secured round its neck (no bell, just his luck) with a metal nametag hanging from a loop of metal. He lifted the tag up with his thumb and forefinger to examine it.

“’Beau’.” He read the name out loud. “Well, you are a handsome boy, aren’t you?” He cooed down at it, stroking it from head to tail once it was clear he wouldn’t be leaving the encounter in receipt of a mauling.

Around thirty seconds later, he could hear the familiar rumble of an approaching Coupris motor car. He kept his hand on his gun just in case, allowing his arm to drop to his side when Kim made his way through the living room door, gun outstretched before him. His orange bomber jacket was a sight for sore eyes against the surrounding bleak topography. Once Kim spotted Jean on the floor looking back up at him, he lowered his own gun in relief.

“My apologies, Detective Vicquemare – I came as fast as I could, there was some congestion nearby.” He peered at the cat for a moment, then back at Jean’s face. “The premises is secure, correct?”

“Would I be on my knees playing with a cat if it wasn’t?” Jean muttered, scratching under the cat’s little chin and smiling in adoration as it closed its eyes in pleasure. “We have a single body, in the kitchen.”

Kim nodded, holstering his weapon and scanning the living room with a perfunctory glance. The cat shifted under Jean’s broad palm, turning to face the source of this most recent disturbance. The second the lethargic feline lay eyes on Kim, it jumped to its feet and strode away from Jean and towards the Lieutenant, tail raised high. Kim froze in his tracks and glanced down in what looked to Jean like mild dismay as it drew closer. The cat began without a moment’s hesitation to wind itself lovingly between Kim’s ankles, nuzzling into his legs and pressing every inch of itself against him. It meowed loudly between little rumbles and purrs.

Jean couldn’t deny that it was both an endearing and amusing sight. The cat had certainly been friendly enough to accept his pets, but for whatever reason, it appeared to be especially enamoured with Kim. He didn’t think the feeling was reciprocated; Kim lifted an ankle, tsking as the cat, instead of moving away as intended, reached up with its front paws until Kim put the foot back down. It then resumed its figure 8 of adoration whilst Kim looked down in a gentle kind of exasperation.

“He really likes you.” Jean smiled at Kim, getting to his feet and brushing cat hair from the knees of his uniform.

“I can see that.” Kim did smile softly then, regarding the happy little creature, but made no move to reach down and stroke it. If Jean had been on the receiving end of that magnitude of love from a cat, he would have scooped it up into his arms in seconds.

“Not a fan of cats?”                     

Kim looked up at him for a moment, then back down at the cat, frowning slightly as it increased the intensity of both its purring and nudging.

“It’s not that. I like them well enough. It’s j-just…!”

His breath wavered, and Jean watched as he brought a gloved fist up to his face. He recognised the desperation of the pre-sneeze expression on the Lieutenant, and patiently waited for him to finish. Under normal circumstances and with anybody else, he probably would have looked away for the sake of the other person’s dignity - but he’d seen Kim sneeze more than enough times in extremely abnormal circumstances to bother with any pretence.

He didn’t share Harry’s interest in sneezing in the quite the same way, but there was an element of enjoyment in watching Kim fall apart. No matter how he sliced it, he couldn’t deny the analogous nature of sneezing and orgasming; Harry had long since hammered that into him. And so, he watched with a certain degree of appreciation as Kim’s eyebrows drew up and his jaw fell open in surrender, before his entire expression cinched tight, the tickle cresting.

“Hh! Hh’gxkt! Ng’xt! Hh’Ddtch!! NGxt’tsziew!”

They were quiet, polite and almost perfectly restrained – much like the Lieutenant himself. Both he and Kim were prone to multiple sneezes, but it seemed to take a lot more out of the older man to strangle them into submission. Jean had always sneezed in small, ticklish fits that rarely resolved the irritation without multiple repetitions. Every now and then he was prone to a more productive and vigorous sneeze, especially following prolonged attacks that forced him to take in a final, desperate gasp of oxygen to round off the fit. It didn’t make too much of a difference to him physically whether he stifled them into silent little shivers or not. It honestly depended on company whether he would bother.

He wasn’t sure why Kim bothered holding back when it was just the two of them. He’d save himself a lot of congestion and sniffling down the line if he let those sneezes out now - Jean could honestly say he knew that from numerous past observations. But he wouldn’t mention it - it was best to leave Kim alone and let him do what he wanted. He was a bit of a control freak – not that Jean could really fault him for that, being a stubborn ass himself – so there was no point in nagging him. He himself hated when others commented on his frequent and persistent sneezing, especially when his allergies were killing him. Most of the Major Crimes unit now knew to leave him well alone, particularly on his most miserable – and therefore volatile – hay fever days.

With the exception of Harry, of course. In a completely inconvenient and Pavlovian fashion, he had almost come to associate his hay fever with sexual gratification. Both he and Harry knew his initial rejections of Harry’s advances were merely for show, and a matter of pride. Every time his superior officer would sidle up to him and suggest they find some privacy, he would eventually break and let the older man fuck him, or suck his cock. He may as well get an orgasm out of the endless torture that plagued him throughout late spring and summer. It wasn’t even that bad, being fucked and sneezing your head off at the same time. Aggravatingly, if he were to be honest, it was actually rather fun. He supposed he was more or less an expert at this point.

Kim was more recently initiated into the whole fucking and sneezing thing. For what it was worth, he seemed like a perfectly kinky motherfucker who enjoyed watching Harry squirm. And there was almost no better way to do that than to tease him with this fetish, which Kim took to like a duck in water. Jean had to admit whenever the three of them fucked around and Harry inevitably begged to be indulged, it was reassuring – and very fun – to know that they had the numbers against him. Brothers in arms. God, what a life.

Kim lowered his fist with a shaky exhale, looking worn out by the onslaught for just a moment before his regular placid countenance was restored. His nostrils flared briefly with an audibly damp sniffle.

“À tes souhaits.” Jean offered.

“Merci.”

Kim looked up at him and flashed him a sheepish sort of ‘haha. Look at us. Sneezing in the wild’ conspiratorial glance. Jean smirked at him.

“As I was saying. I don’t dislike cats. I just dislike that they tend to make me sneeze.”

Jean nodded and looked round at the flat. Cat hair covered most surfaces, if only sparsely. A beam of sunlight coming through one of the narrow windows illuminated a few stray hairs dancing round on the currents of air. He winced a little in sympathy. The sight even made his own nose tickle a little; he subconsciously reached up to rub the side of it with a crooked finger.

“You’re shit out of luck, then. It’s cat hair heaven in here.”

Kim sighed wearily, accepting his fate. As if picking up at last on Kim’s less-than-satisfied state of being, the cat paused in its motions to drape itself over the toes of Kim’s boots and glance up at him with a sweet ‘Mroww’, which Jean could swear lilted up in pitch as if to question the Lieutenant. Kim looked down at the cat with soft eyes.

“It’s not your fault, little one. Don’t worry.”

He hesitated for a moment before reaching down and gingerly stroking the top of the cat’s head with a gloved hand. It was an awkward and brief motion; he pulled back before the cat could nuzzle its docile head into his palm. Both Jean and Kim watched as even the minor scritches unearthed a tiny cloud of soft black fur. Kim jerked upright almost violently, and Jean had to stifle a laugh.

“I’ll be paying for that in a while,” Kim sighed again, rolling a pair of black nitrile gloves over his leather ones with a pleasing snap. He gently shifted the cat off the toes of his boots one foot at a time; it went easily, seemingly exhausted by its own outpouring of affection and allowing itself to sink into the carpet like a puddle of fur. It really was a lazy motherfucker. Jean was quite in love with it.

“Excusez-moi.” Kim muttered as he stepped over the liquid pile of cat, purring happily in its heap.

He looked up at Jean as he made his way over, doing a small double-take as he noticed the way Jean was beaming at him.

“What?” His lips quirked up ever so subtly, thankfully taking the taller officer’s grin in good humour.

“Nothing. You’re just cute with animals. Awkward.”

Kim just smiled at him, warmly.  

“I should really get to work.” He said, moving past Jean into the kitchen. “In here, you said?”

“Yep.” Jean followed behind him. He could see that the numerous rotations the cat had made around Kim’s legs had deposited a great deal of soft black fur sticking to the camo. He would help Kim get rid of it all before he got back into his MC. He watched as Kim knelt next to the body, careful to avoid the coagulating puddle of blood that spread outwards on the cheap linoleum floor.

“Have you had a chance to examine the victim?” Kim ran his hand over the chest of the body – it was practically shredded through with bullet wounds. He performed a brief ‘Stations of the Breath’ ritual before resuming his inspection.

“Not extensively, but enough to see all of this.” Jean gestured to the wounds and the endless shards of glass spanning the ground. “Looks like he was shot through the window with an automatic rifle. He fell onto the glass, and some of it is implanted following the initial explosion of the window shattering. Most of, but not all of the blood is from the bullet wounds.”

Kim nodded, inspecting the body more thoroughly. Jean continued.

“He looks to have died around the time that gunshots were reported forty-five minutes ago. Definitely not long enough for his cat to start eating his face.”

Kim wrinkled his nose at that, uttering a small sound of disgust.

“Gross.”

“Not as gross as this mess.”

Kim nodded his head in grim recognition. He dictated notes to Jean as he conducted the examination but couldn’t find anything counter to Jean’s initial conclusions. The cause of death and injuries to the body were easily explained. The reason for this extremely violent murder – not so much. Kim extracted a wallet and driver’s license from the victim’s jeans – not a name or face either of them were familiar with from any ongoing gang related investigations.

“This was overkill.” Kim murmured, righting himself and removing the nitrile gloves. “Far too extreme for a run-of-the-mill civilian.”

“I agree.” Jean nodded. “Since the shots are from outside, and I can see no sign of disturbance inside the apartment, it doesn’t look like a break-in or burglary. I – oh.”

He paused, noticing the slight sneer Kim was wearing as he fought off another allergic tickle, nostrils flared wide. He was wildly unsuccessful, whipping round and into the raised collar of his bomber jacket seconds later with a violent series of sneezes.

“HdDDZT’Tzshieww!! Hgkt’tsh!! ‘TTSCH’uu!!”

The first one burst out of him in angry, dizzying rush of spray through teeth clenched just a moment too late to provide any effective suppression.  The next two he managed to bite down on, barely, shoulders jumping under the pressure. Jean reached out to grab him firmly by the bicep as he shook, threatening to unbalance himself and, heaven forbid, topple down onto or next to the corpse. Though not remarkably loud, the sneezes were forceful and audibly desperate. The smaller man sighed once he was done, and Jean released his arm.

“Bless you!” He offered, a little impressed by the display. He imagined Harry would have jizzed on the spot.

“Ughh, Merci. Désolé.” Kim replied, sniffling and blinking one itching eye shut. A single tear of irritation started a slow descent down his cheek. Jean reached under the frame of Kim’s glasses and swiped it away with his thumb on a whim, before realising he had been petting Beau with that same hand. He felt relieved when Kim didn’t fight him on it, perhaps not even realising his mistake.

“Carry on, detective.”

Jean continued to explain his theory surrounding the murder whilst Kim pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief and tended first to his bleary eyes, then to his twitching, irritated nostrils. The skin on their rims was left slightly pinkened after some uncharacteristically rough manhandling. He must be more allergic than he let on, Jean thought, and began leading the pair of them out of the apartment.

He jumped when in the living room Kim jerked forward with another desperate fit, halting their progression and eliciting a sudden, loud meow from Beau. Said cat watched on with expressionless green eyes from his position stretched out on the sun-warmed carpet as Kim shuddered, sneezing into the hastily raised cover of his elbow.

“Hh’GXTSsshhh!! ‘GXT’Tchieww!! HDd’TZSchh!! ‘TSCH’oo! Ahh, mon dieu.”

These sneezes were particularly viscious, wrenching themselves out of Kim and leaving him bleary-eyed and shaky in the aftermath.

“God, Kim. Bless you.” Jean offered, his hand rubbing absently at the small of the Lieutenant’s back.

“Thang’k you. Let’s go.” Kim said, snuffling into his handkerchief and walking out through the front door without a second to spare. Jean cast a glance at the cat, mewling again as its beloved Lieutenant marched away, and followed him out of the door without a word.

“Hmm. No known or suspected connections to any street gangs or drug cartels. He may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Seen something he shouldn’t have.” Kim offered as they leant against the wall of the building. He blew his nose softly. It didn’t sound at all productive as his sinuses started to swell. “Somebody meant to silence him.”

“Maybe.” Jean took a drag on his cigarette. “But the MO is unlike any of the regular gangs in this area. I mean, a machine gun?? For one unarmed guy, at home? It’s too messy, outlandish and loud – in other words, way too risky.”

Kim nodded and paused for a moment. Jean wondered if he was going to sneeze again, but he spoke up after a beat.

“There…was another murder, a few months ago – on the other side of Jamrock, with fatal injuries confirmed to have been sustained via an automatic rifle. I’ll have to check, but the circumstances are shockingly similar. That victim also had no apparent connections to any gangs, or a previous criminal record.”

Jean made a small noise of recognition. He remembered, now – the case was still ongoing. It had intrigued both Harry and himself, but had been brushed aside as several more inflammatory and pressing cases had arisen. They’d passed it off onto some junior officers that had recently joined the Major Crimes unit, enticed by Harry’s newfound sobriety and the assurance of Kim’s fastidiousness. He would be taking that case right on back.

“That was also a murder in a residential area – some kids say they saw somebody hop a fence but couldn’t give us any more details.”

Kim looked up at him, nodding. He scrawled a couple of notes in his notebook before slipping it back into his pocket.

“We should look into that. It’s not much to go from and the cases appear unrelated, bar these few details but – we can’t afford to write it off. They’re both too irregular.”

Jean put out his cigarette on the wall next to him, ignoring Kim’s look of disapproval.

“Right. I’ll call in to the station and update them.” He looked at his watch in annoyance. “There were supposed to be more officers on the scene twenty minutes ago. Where the fuck are they?”

“Before I left the station earlier it seemed frantic – I think it’s just a particularly bad day.”

Jean grumbled but conceded. The entire reason he had arrived alone and Kim had joined him en route from another crime scene was because Harry was buried with the recent influx of crime on top of the years of unprocessed paperwork. He knew that. To Harry’s credit, he had cut down the latter a significant amount, despite the slow and confusing process of dealing with his memory returning in sporadic and often extremely stressful bursts. Jean was secretly very proud of him, if he even had any right to be.

“We need to get in contact with the victim’s relatives, if any – can you do that?” Kim asked, sounding a little shaky as he finished. Jean turned to watch him shudder into a fairly rapid-fire quadruple of sneezes.

“hh’dztch-T’zschh-Tschht! Huh-!! AESSCH’uu-!! Merde!”

He had sneezed entirely uncovered and straight out in front of him. Jean pretended not to notice the resultant light aerosol that hung in the air for a fleeting moment, glittering in the late morning sunlight. Kim clapped a hand to his face immediately afterwards as if suddenly remembering he was on public display, sighing into the leather of his glove.

“Bien sûr.” Jean answered. “And bless you, again. You’re starting to sound like I did over summer.”

Kim replaced his hand with his handkerchief, scrubbing at his pink nostrils through the soft cotton. He pushed his jostled glasses back up his nose when he was done.

“Thank you. Fucking cat hair.”

Jean smiled and lit another cigarette. It was always delightful to hear the Lieutenant drop an F bomb. He and Harry were clearly rubbing off on him.

“I’ll sort out the family – and once the other chuckle-fucks arrive, we can start questioning witnesses and get the body taken to the morgue.” Jean offered.

“Good. I need to head back to the station and submit some reports – I can relay what we’ve discussed here to Harry.”

“Great.” Jean exhaled heavily, thankful for the soothing rush of nicotine. He’d seen enough dead bodies this week to last anybody a lifetime – Kim probably twice as much. But c’est la vie. There was always another body.

“Can you wait until the cavalry arrives?” Jean asked him. “I know things are fucking batshit insane right now and you’re needed elsewhere but I’d rather not be the only officer here.” He looked pointedly at the surrounding houses and the curious faces lingering in the windows. More pressing than warding off curious bystanders, however, was the very real risk of the murderer returning to the scene and spraying him dead with bullets.

“Of course.” Kim patted his arm. “You should never have been here alone – I’m sorry I didn’t get here faster.”

“Thanks.”

They spent a couple of minutes in companionable silence, interrupted only by another small fit of sneezes from Kim and an emphatic blessing from Jean whilst they listened out for the sound of approaching sirens. Kim sniffled a couple of times while Jean was working on his third cigarette, audibly stuffed up. Jean said nothing. Harry would be fretting over Kim more than enough once he got back to the station, anyway.

“Hopefully the victim has family that can take on the cat.” Kim broke the silence.

Jean beamed at him.

“His collar said his name was ‘Beau’. You sure you don’t want to adopt him?” He smirked around his cigarette.

“Funny.” Kim deadpanned. He was struggling to pronounce his ‘n’s around the congestion.

“Maybe I’ll take him.” Jean teased. “He’s a cutie. And then he can visit you.”

“That would mark both the end of our friendship and my capacity to engage with you on any level beyond professional.”

Jean laughed.

“You’re no fun.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Kim smiled at him, voice low and flirtatious. “Don’t you dare let Harry know that a cat is up for grabs. Contrary to what I let him get away with, I do like being able to breathe through my nose.”

“Something I’ve discovered,” Jean took a drag on his cigarette before continuing. “Is that orgasms are actually pretty effective as a decongestant.” His eyes glittered as he looked over at Kim.

“Good to know.” Kim returned that look with an equally mischievous glance from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “But I think I’ll leave Beau out of this arrangement. Three is already a crowd.”

Jean choked on his latest puff of smoke, laughing and coughing in turn. Kim looked incredibly pleased with himself.

“Compose yourself, officer. This is a crime scene.”

Jean wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of one eye.

“Yes sir.”

[ashenlavellan]

A Realistic Kaidan Appreciation Post in Regards to the Migraines -

I know that this has all been said and done, but stick around if you enjoy the Mass Effect series and have an appreciation and/or like Kaidan Alenko ^.^

Now, let's briefly talk about his backstory/pre-ME trilogy.

(Exposure to Element Zero): Now, humanity simply acquired biotics through means of exposure to Element Zero through utero - they don't give us an exact percentage of how likely the fetus can develop biotic capabilities over terminal brain cancer, but let's consider that it's not too high... considering that the "accidents" were somewhat frequent.

There isn't much mention before his L2 implants if he had suffered from negative symptoms, but let's just say that if there were, they were likely minimal/barely noticeable. It wasn't until many individuals with biotic tendencies were fitted with the L2 implants that we began to see severe effects to fatal circumstances.

We consider Kaidan to be quite lucky considering that he seems to only experience severe/intense migraines, especially if he pushes himself too hard with biotic overuse. Yet, there are some fans out there that may hardly ever have migraines - let alone, headaches.

This is coming from me - who deals with chronic AND hormonal migraines on a near daily-basis. They are detrimental.

Migraines can be triggered not just from being chronic or hormonal, but ingesting certain foods/drinks (especially caffeine - yes, I'm talking about you coffee.), over-exercise, and stress.

Um, we've all witnessed what the ME: Trilogy is like as we play as our respective Commander Shepard, but we hardly know what our companions are feeling unless they verbally express so within the game. (Yes, I get it - they're just video game characters, but let me nerd out and relate to a character!)

Chasing after a rogue Spectre, Saren Arterius, and the possibly extinction of all races in the Milky Way?

Possibly losing his SO (if you romanced him), or one of his closest friends only to reunite two years later - thanks to being resurrected by a terrorist organization?

Or, possibly getting killed on Mars after working alongside his SO/Ex-SO/closest friend?

Then a possible showdown with said person after the terrorist organization attacks the Citadel shortly after becoming a Spectre?

I could honestly go on, but that sounds fucking stressful and then some for Kaidan to deal with - on top of dealing with migraine episodes/flare-ups thanks to his biotics/implants. Not just that, but how fast-paced and constantly moving? Especially with their military careers?

I'm sorry, but I know for a fact that if it wasn't for other medical conditions, I would have been turned away from joining the military with my chronic and hormonal migraines and I genuinely can't function and have had to call out of work because of how severe mine are... hell, I've been hospitalized once due to them.

Migraines are no joke and the fact that Kaidan Alenko pushes through with how intense they are and remains active within the military? Becomes a Spectre for the Milky Way galaxy? Possibly becomes the SO/Spouse of our adrenaline-junkie Commander Shepard's?

Fucking kudos to that man.

[coolshadowtwins]

EDIT: This is a repost from a few days ago, because I hated the fact it was hidden for no reason.

Ok, here’s the first of my stupid JJK fanfic concepts.

The first one was ‘fix it’, for a relative use of the word, where Suguru, after killing the village, does call Satoru for help. He doesn’t know really what kind of help he’s asking for, or even what Satoru could provide, but he is being the bigger person here by asking, right?

It was supposed to be a comedy where Satoru and Shoko scramble around, trying to cover up what Suguru had done. Suguru is not actively helping it this. He’s been convinced to maybe not go and kill all the non-sorcerers, for the twins he had rescued to have a good life at least. But he won’t lie about what he did if someone gets too close to ask, and the twins love the fact they were saved by him and want to brag whenever they could. Satoru and Shoko have to make up so many lies.

Yaga: What happened to the village?!

Suguru: Huh? Oh I kil-

Satoru: -killed the curse! Nasty thing it was, setting the town a blaze and then blowing it up. There’s not even a house left.

Yaga:…. The damage looks like your red attack, Satoru.

Satoru: What? No. What? Ha! No. I wasn’t even there!

Yaga: Then how do you know the houses are gone?

Satoru: …. I read.

It ended up not really funny enough for me? And I also didn’t have much of an idea of how to continue it. Under the cut is what little I had lol

It started with a phone call in the middle of an empty town.

Well, actually, it started a few days before that, with a conversation in an empty classroom.

“You’re back early.” Suguru noted with dull surprise as Satoru walked in. ‘Dull’ seemed to be the only way he felt now a days, and looking at Satoru, he would guess the other boy felt the same way, with how exhaustion seemed to cling to him.

Still, Satoru managed to smile at him, much brighter than Suguru had been capable of lately. “Hey, Suguru!” He said, falling with all his weight in the chair meet to him. The chair tilted back at the force before falling back to all fours. “The higher ups messed up on the ranking of the last curse they sent me to.”

Suguru hated the flash of fear he felt, the most realized emotion he has had in what felt like months, even though he knew nothing would harm Satoru. “Oh?” He asked, in a calm that he didn’t actually feel. Satoru laughed. It didn’t sound like an actual laugh, almost grating against his throat.

“Oh yeah.” He huffed. “A grade 2. They sent me after a grade 2, Suguru! I don’t even have the words to express how outraged and offended I am right now.”

He didn’t sound outraged and offended. He just sounded tired. Still, Suguru settled in, waiting for the rant from his friend that was inevitably coming.

Except, Satoru didn’t. Satoru fell quiet, looking him up and down from behind his glasses.

“I skipped out on sightseeing to maybe catch you before your next mission.” He said. Suguru looked at him in surprise, and maybe a little pleased. Still, Satoru didn’t look happy. “I didn’t mean to get back so late, so imagine my surprise to find you in an empty classroom in the middle of the night.”

“Huh?”

“Suguru.” Wow, he had never heard Satoru sound so disapproving. “Suguru, it’s three am. And you’re sitting in an empty classroom. What’s wrong?”

What wasn’t wrong? Somehow Suguru didn’t Satoru would appreciate that answer.

Also, he hadn’t realized the time. He had sat in there to take a break before going to get dinner, having to work up the nerve to enter the admittedly pretty sparse cafeteria area.

“…Haibara thinks I’m a good person.” Suguru said at last, unable to help himself. Satoru looked at him in surprise, glasses sliding down his nose.

“Uh?” He tilted his head with a frown. “Well, duh. Course he does. That’s because you are a good person, Suguru.”

Suguru had nothing to say to that. Satoru’s frown deepened as the silence stretched on.

“…. Suguru?” He asked almost hesitantly, as if Satoru Gojo was ever hesitant in anything. “Do you… feel like you aren’t a good person?”

He shouldn’t talk about this. He shouldn’t bring it up. He shouldn’t even think about it. But his best friend was here, in reach, in a way that he hadn’t been in a while.

“I think… I think I hate them, Satoru.” He said hoarsely. Satoru paused.

“Eh? Who?”

“Them. The-The Mon-“ Suguru cleared his throat, looking away. “…the non-sorcerers.”

Satoru leaned back in his seat. “Oh.” He said quietly, like he was surprised. He didn’t say anything more.

“Didn’t you feel like this?” Suguru asked desperately. “Last year? When-“

He cut off. Last year, when Suguru found his not dead best friend carrying Riko’s lifeless body, looking at him with equally lifeless eyes, while all those-those cult members just clapped around them at a young girl’s death.

‘Should we kill them all?’ Satoru had asked him. Suguru had answered ‘no’ at the time, but now-

This time, it’s Satoru that goes silent, staring at him for a long moment. “….not really.” He admitted after a while. Suguru gulped, his curses burning in his stomach like acid. “I didn’t feel really anything last year, when I asked. I was pretty out of it. I don’t… think I could actually hate anyone.” He sighed, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “That sounds exhausting to care that much, honestly.”

“Oh.” Suguru said, quietly, and then nothing else. Satoru didn’t let the silence settle this time, leaning forward with a sudden burst of energy.

“Ok!” He clapped his hands, the noise echoing in the empty room. “So you hate them! Let’s put a pin in that for the moment!” He smiled, a little stretched thin, and made a motion with his hands like he was pinning something to a cork board.

Suguru frowned, Yuki’s voice circling in his head. This did not feel like something he should ‘put a pin in’ right now. This felt like he should figure it out as soon as he could, to let one side win out before it tore him apart. “Satoru I-“

“Nope!” Satoru, the annoyance, put up a hand to silence him. “It is much too late for this! So, Haibara thinks you’re a good person, and you do not agree. What do you want to do about that?”

“I thought we were ‘putting a pin in it’. “ Suguru grumbled, crossing his arms. Satoru shook his head.

“You miss understand me!” He huffed. “It’s like you never listen! I know you, Suguru. Ignoring all this ‘hating non-sorcerers’ crap, there’s something else bothering you, right?”

Eh? Honestly, not really. The ‘hating non-sorcerers’ thing was taking up a large amount of his daily bandwidth.

But he could see what Satoru was aiming for- something else to focus on. When the main problem was too much, then let something else be the problem for a bit. It was a tactic usually used on Satoru himself, or Shoko on occasion when her medical classes got too much, but this was the first time it had been used on Suguru himself. It took him a minute to think past his bigger issues as a result, so far out of his comfort zone as he was.

Finally, he settled on, “Fine. I’m worried about Haibara, but it’s finally my own downtime and I’m exhausted. Not only that, but now you’re here, and we never get to hang out anymore.”

“Huh? Worried about Haibara?” Satoru sighed. “Yeah, the higher ups are shit about curse classification. And Haibara’s just a second year too.”

“We’re just third years.” Suguru felt compelled to say. Satoru laughed like he told some great joke, which maybe he did. He was only 17, but he hadn’t felt like a kid in a long time.

After a long moment of nothing but the sound of Satoru’s laughter, he calmed down, leaning forward on his knees as he took deep breaths. Then, he stood up, stretching as he did so. “Well then. Come on.”

“What?” Suguru hurried to stand up as well, to catch up to Satoru as he walked out the classroom door. “Where are we going?”

“To go check on Haibara, of course.” Satoru said, like it was obvious.

“Uh, no? Did you not listen to me?” Suguru asked, closing the door behind them. “I said that I was exhausted and that it was my off day!”

“And that you wanted to spend time with me. I heard you, I swear!” Satoru said, waving a hand. “But considering I found you at three am in an empty classroom, I’m going out on a limb here and saying that you won’t be sleeping tonight.”

Suguru didn’t have anything to say to that. Satoru kept talking, regardless of his lack of answer.

“So, let’s be productive and check on our little Kōhai! We only have two of those, so we gotta protect what we got!”

“Nanami will never like you.”

“Rude! Also probably true.” Satoru laughed, this time sounding much more genuine. “So, look. Well sleep on the train, and then hang out in town after checking on Haibara. And being out means that we can’t be assigned missions all willy nilly!”

They absolutely could. They had cell phones for a reason, and Yaga had their numbers. But Suguru could see the appeal to thinking otherwise, so he didn’t argue.

Satoru then threw something over his shoulder, forcing Suguru to catch it. “Here, catch.”

Suguru opened his hand slowly, falling into step with Satoru as they walked through the empty halls. It was a hair tie- more specifically, it was Suguru’s favorite hair tie, that he thought he had lost ages ago. He frowned, even as he reached up to pull his hair into a bun.

“Why are you stealing my hair ties?” He asked, making quick work of his hair with practiced movements. “What, want little space buns in your hair?”

“Hah! I would rock that and you know it!” Satoru said, hands in his pockets. “I just found that one, you know? And then I thought it would be a good luck charm!”

“That’s so lame.” Suguru rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think so.” Satoru said, with a hum. “I found you tonight, didn’t I?”

Suguru didn’t have an answer to that, and so he stayed silent.

———-

In the middle of a lifeless town of his own doing, Suguru called Satoru.

He was only half aware he was doing it. Standing in the middle of the street with only the half eaten corpses of his victims, and the groaning of his curses swirling around him, he was moving more on autopilot than anything else. Everything seemed both hazy and incredibly clear for the first time in a while, like he was no longer fighting himself but also having a major fucking breakdown.

He had a problem, and so he did the only thing he could think of- calling Satoru. Maybe he shouldn’t be doing this, dragging Satoru in his actions, in his consequences. Maybe he should have done this ages ago, asking Satoru to fix his problems like everyone else in their world seemed too. The thought left a rotten taste in his mouth, somehow even worse than the curses he ate.

A large part of him didn’t actually expect Satoru to pick up. Satoru rarely could answer when he was out on a mission, the veils doing too good of a job in cutting communications, and often forgot to return the missed calls later. So Suguru listened to the ringing once, twice, three times, waiting for the dial tone to start as he watched one of his curses slowly make its way to a body blankly.

Then the ringing went one for a fourth time, then a fifth, before being interrupted by an unexpected click and, “Hey, Suguru!”

Suguru’s mouth felt dry. The curse in front of him reached the body. He didn’t have the care to stop it from sinking its half formed claws into it.

“I got told you were on a mission.” Satoru continued. “Already done?”

Yes. Curse exorcised, curse ingested, village dead. Two out of three things weren’t bad.

“….Suguru?” Satoru’s voice turned confused, sounding almost small over the phone. “Is this a butt dial?”

Oh, right. He should probably answer.

“Can you even hear me-?” Satoru started to asked, only to be cut off.

“I killed everyone in town.” Suguru said bluntly. He finally shooed the curse away from the corpse once it started making a mess. He wanted no chance for any more monkey blood to get on him.

“….huh?” Satoru asked, more of an intake of air than an actual question. “Come, uh, come again? What village?”

“The village I was sent to.” Suguru answered simply, and then wondered why he was doing this. Why did he call Satoru, as if that would help anything.

“Ok, can I ask why?”

“Those monkeys had two girls in a cage, blaming them for what was happening.” Some of the anger came back, remembering what the monkeys had done, and he let his curses go back to the destruction they had been causing. It still didn’t cut through the haze as much as add to it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about something like that.

“Ah. The pin fell out.” Satoru said, much, much to calm for the situation. Was he in as much of a haze as Suguru? Unlikely. Actually, was this how Satoru felt last year, after killing Fushiguro, standing there surrounded by monkeys clapping for a young girl’s death? Satoru had said that he hadn’t felt much of anything, and maybe Suguru felt like that too. Or maybe Suguru was simply feeling too much, no longer at odds with himself but still drowning in emotion.

“-killed everybody?” Satoru’s voice filtered back in. Suguru blinked, not realizing that he had zoned out, and taking a step back in disgust as some blood splattered onto his shoes.

“The two girls.” He answered, in what he vaguely hoped was an actual answer to whatever Satoru had asked. “I saved them.”

“You certainly did something.” Satoru muttered, voice muffled. Suguru could almost see what he was doing- running around, doing something else while his cell phone was shoved between his ear and his shoulder. Then, clearer, Satoru said, “Suguru, listen, I’ll be there in just a second. Just… don’t do anything else, ok? Put the pin back for a minute.”

“The pin-?” Suguru tried to question, only to be met with the dial tone. He made a face, half heartedly, and slid his phone shut. He couldn’t believe the asshole hung up on him-

The air shook. Suguru held his breath, almost unconsciously, as the cursed energy of the town seemed to spark, dancing around him in ways that made his curses go haywire. There was almost a faint taste of ozone on his tongue, familiar, before everything snapped violently back into place, just like it had been.

Just like it had been, except for Satoru standing there, panting like he had overextended himself. Suguru blinked, mildly interested.

“You figured out how to do that?” He asked. Satoru’s head snapped over to him, like he hadn’t noticed him standing there before, as his breathing got under control.

“Not really.” He said with a half grin, obviously wanting to brag about his new abilities, even as his head tilted to the side to take in the mess Suguru’s curses have left. “This was my first time going so far. But you know what they say- Necessity breeds intervention!”

“I didn’t know you knew that saying.” Suguru answered easily, feeling both more grounded now that Satoru was there, and more out of control at the banter in the middle of a massacre. “You can actually read.”

Satoru pouted, forced, as he walked over. He avoided the bodies and blood easily. Suguru was a little jealous, the monkey blood starting to cool on his clothes.

“So mean Suguru!” He whined, glasses slipping down his nose as he gave him a once over. Satoru made a face. “You look like shit, and it’s not just the blood. When was the last time you slept?”

When was the last time he slept? He couldn’t think of the answer, but he didn’t want to tell Satoru that. He opted to say nothing, which actually might have been the worse thing to do, judging by the expression it caused.

“The fact that you won’t say is terrifying.” Satoru said, pushing his glasses back up. “Was it before this mission.”

Definitely.

“….before Haibara’s mission?” Satoru asked a bit more hesitantly, when Suguru stayed quiet. Suguru still didn’t answer, but that didn’t stop Satoru from looking frustrated and dismayed. “Oh my god. Suguru, what the fuck. No wonder you snapped and killed this village.”

“The monkeys deserved it.” He grumbled, looking away. He didn’t need to justify himself again- Satoru knew why he did it, why he had to do it. Satoru sighed.

“I told you to keep a pin in that!” He snapped, making that same stupid motion of placing a pin in something that he made a few days prior. “Whatever. Where are these girls?”

The two girls (that he still didn’t know the name of, fuck) were safe in a bed in the inn. The same inn where he had checked into what felt like years ago, but was in all honestly simply the night before. Before… everything. He pointed over to it, seeing Satoru follow his finger to the building. It was the most he could do, energy failing him now that someone else was there to take over.

One by one, the curses around them disappeared, going back inside of him as he lost the concentration to keep them out. He could tell Satoru noticed, judging by the way he looked around.

“Suguru.” He looked down, staring as Satoru reached forward to grab his hand. “This is very important. Did you ever tell the school about the curse from Haibara’s mission?”

He shook his head slowly, confused. There had been no time to do so. They had gotten to where Haibara’s mission was just in time to knock the younger boy out of the way from what had been probably a killing move, and then exorcised the curse quickly, in a way that Nanami and Haibara’s simply weren’t capable of. One hit of Red from Satoru and the curse was easy pickings for Suguru to eat, as much as he didn’t want to. When the four of them made it back to the campus, Yaga had new missions for him and Satoru immediately. Suguru never got around with telling anyone about the new curse.

(He briefly thought about the train ride home, with Haibara’s hero worship awkwardly directed at them, and Nanami’s mutterings about just leaving everything to him and Satoru, instead of risking their own lives. Suguru’s mouth felt dry again.)

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024 #10, choice

Read parts 1-8 on AO3 here

++++++

The Perfect Place - Part Nine

They kept leaning against the shop’s brick wall, long after their laughter had ebbed off. A comfortable silence had ensued as each of them had become lost in thoughts.

Sherlock glanced sideways at John, watching him staring into space with a blissful expression on his face. The sight made him happy and full of hope that John might come with him to the flat. He further hoped that John would be so impressed with 221b that he would also move in as Sherlock’s flatmate (and loving boyfriend, of course).

In his mind, John was miles away from London. He reminisced his time in Afghanistan, being an army doctor and a soldier and how he had missed this life terribly after being invalided out. Every day there had been full of excitement and danger, he had done important work and had been needed to save limbs and lives. He had been respected, had lots of comrades and his life had been full of options.

When he had returned to London, everything was the exact opposite. No perspective for the future, no money, no job, an invalid with a dodgy leg and a trembling hand and no friends. Taking on the position and a bed shop assistant had been an act of sheer desperation and also mirrored the exact opposite to his work back in Ahghanistan.

And now, this Sherlock Holmes who wanted to buy a boxspring bed had turned John’s stagnant and depressing life upside down and John loved every minute of it. He could not recall a time when he had had so much fun.

John sighed and wished this moment would never pass.

“Do you plan on actually putting this bed into your flat?” John asked.

"Yes, of course. I really need one and also, it’s a very comfortable bed.” Sherlock grinned. “I bought it, remember?”

“For your second bedroom.”

“For the main bedroom. There is a second one, but it is unused. The main bed is terrible, the mattress would cause any orthopaedist nightmares and it’s too short for me either.  It’s still from Victorian times like most of the flat’s furniture. But it will be a lovely flat, once everything is sorted.”

(Sherlock meant once when all of the bits and bobs and odds and ends he had scattered everywhere had been sorted. Preferably by some benign person who liked tidying up.)

John hummed. “Ah, so you’re only about to move in?”

“Yes, I’ve helped the landlady and she gives me a discount on the rent.”

John looked sharply at Sherlock. “You intimidated her, too?”

“I did not intimidate Bernie.” Sherlock protested. But John kept staring at him until he relented. “Okay, I did. Whereas Mrs Hudson’s discount has been made out of genuine gratitude.”

“Where is it?”

“221b Baker Street.”

“Oh, wow, central London.” John thought of his miserable bedsit he could afford just so. “Must still be expensive even with a discount.”

Sherlock seized the opportunity. “Well, actually, you’re correct. Therefore, I have been looking for a flatmate.”

“Oh.” John’s face fell, clearly disappointed. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

High time for the next step, Sherlock! His brain egged him on, finally invite John to see the flat!

“Erm, no one, so far.” Pretending to be non-chalant and not caring much about John’s answer, Sherlock continued, “Would you like to have a look? After all, you promised to take care of the Feng Shui energy, didn’t you?”

“No, I absolutely did not”, John chuckled, “you only made that up to give Bernie a heart attack.”

“But you’re interested in seeing it, yes?”

“I’m wondering why you haven’t already found a flatmate. I mean it sounds like a great place so where is the catch? Noisy neighbours? Nosey landlady? Cockroaches? Leaky plumbing?”

“If you choose to come with me, you might find out.”

Since Sherlock made it sound like a dare, John took the bait at once. “Lead the way then.”

(John had the impression that he made a deliberate choice to follow Sherlock this day, when, in fact, John would never have any choice at all regarding Sherlock.)

+++++

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear @raina-at

[antihibikase-archive]

It is incredibly isolating to navigate through fandom as an aromantic person. Aro experiences are so varied, and there is no definite aro experience that encapsulates the alienation that fandom spaces cause for certain people.

Fandom is mostly built and structured on shipping. And if not, the blorbofication of characters, which tends to go down the shipping pipeline; where does that leave the romance repulsed aro person who genuinely does not want to see any form of shipping? Platonic dynamics, right?

Yeah, sure. But by platonic dynamics, it's only "best friends" or "family" right? Where does that leave the aro folks with undefined labels? No, qprs aren't a get-out-of-jail card.

And qprs- they have no rules or standards set upon them by society, not even having a clear definition for what it is, because not all qprs are the same. Yet, for some reason, it ended up becoming the "nonbinary" option to a lot of people- not romantic or "regular" platonic? Qpr it is, right?

But where does that leave the aro folk who don't want a qpr? Who don't wish to see characters depicted in pairs or trios or so forth- who embrace the lack of a partner?

And these concepts presented; when aro folk talk about them, do you care? And if you do, do you understand? Do you try to?

If you aren't aro, but wish to be supportive, are you a genuine ally? Do you raise the concerns of aro folk you share the space with?

Or do you take a look at these concepts- and decide you understand them "well" enough? Do you decide to speak for aro folks instead?

Do you depict relationships outside of romance because you believe in the importance of platonic relationships? Will you accept the fact that not all platonic interactions will be familial or "best friends"?

Can you accept depictions of qprs outside of "more than friends, less than lovers"? Are you willing to accept it is not just "best friends" or "romance lite"? Will you accept that nothing is inherently romantic- and characters in a qpr may fall under your standards of lovers?

Can you resist the urge to put every character in a pair or trio or group? Are you comfortable with the notion of characters finding more joy in being by themselves, outside of all those lenses you see them in?

It's good if you can.

And if you can't, at the very least, do you understand why some aro folk in your space are upset? Embittered by your favorite ships? Starving for representation?

Did you depict these characters with these concepts with the knowledge that aromanticism is fluid?

[jewish-vents]

My entire life, I've yearned for the kind of community the Jewish community and Judaism have provided me. I found out I had Jewish ancestry when I was a kid, I looked into it more later and realized my most recent Jewish ancestor (like three-ish generations back) was almost certainly forcibly converted out, and decided to convert to like. Make amends for that I guess and also because I really vibed with the holidays and how we turn up everywhere in history bc we keep doing cool stuff despite consistently shitty circumstances.

But I digress.

I have waited my WHOLE LIFE trying to experience the joy becoming Jewish has shown me, and that gets shit on constantly.

My sister has started making a truly obscene number of Jew jokes. My mom scoffs at all the 'nonsense rules' and has said repeatedly that she thinks choosing a 'restrictive' religion is dumb and I've made a mistake. She even said it's an insult to HER parenting skills that I would seek out religion after she tried to teach me to know better.

My dad is dead but I never ever in a million years would have told him even if he were alive, and my sister thinks it's funny to threaten to 'out' me as Jewish to his relatives even though they're basically KKK-adjacent so she actually enjoys threatening mg safety at this point. (Yay family right?)

My friends have turned everything into an Israel/Palestine discussion lately and I know damn well what they're doing when they start saying truly horrible shit about Israelis and looking at me. They get mad if I try to temper their extremism so I've given up. I barely talk to them anymore and I spend more and more time with other Jews from temple and I don't want to like. Isolate myself from all non-Jews I guess bc I've always felt like that leads to weirdness and perpetuates shit about Jews being unfriendly I guess idk?

Anyway I digress again. My point is I'm really sick of constantly being expected to tolerate it when people think I shouldn't be Jewish.

Other queer people think I'm somehow compromising my queer identity by being Jewish, leftists think I hunt Palestinian children for sport now apparently, right-wingers think I traffic good Christian babies for organ harvesting or some shit idfk, my friends think that if I'm not being more vitriolic in my hatred of Israel than they already are I'm some kind of secret rabid Netanyahu fan, my family think I've been recruited into a cult apparently and the only other people who show me even an ounce of compassion or regard are other Jews and Gd knows there's like ten of us and that number is unlikely to increase.

Just. Fuck. I've put blood, sweat, tears and money into this, I invested more time and emotional commitment into this than I have into going to college or choosing a career, I love it more than anything and have only loved it more the more I learned about it, and all I get when I express this or even just let slip that I am Jewish and chose to be, I get nothing but hatred. I will never understand how a religion that has spent all 5000 years of our existence minding our business and arguing about the same book over and over can possibly have offended this many people with our existence.

Dmn anon, that is a lot you're dealing with right now. I'm so sorry you're surrounded by people who clearly don't respect you. Because yes this is a lack of basic respect, and it is antisemitic. Now I don't know how old you are and how safe you are, but if you can safely do so, set very hard boundaries. Do not tolerate this amount of disrespect towards who you are. It is hard, and many of us have had to go through similar situations, as you can read all over this blog. But I think having to spend your life surrounded by people who make you feel unsafe and disrespected is worse. I know sometimes there are situations in which people cannot safely set these boundaries, I hope it's not your case, but if it is feel free to come here to vent again.

I know you don't want to isolate yourself from goyim. Many Jewish people don't want to. Sadly, when people disrespect us like this, they're the ones isolating us. It's not your fault. Seek people who love and accept you. Sadly, a good chunk of goyim won't - I'm not saying everyone, obviously, but a portion. Having a good Jewish support network seems to be more and more important, whether it's irl or online.

I hope you can soon be in an environment that's safer and more accepting

- 🐺

[witchblade]

i can't stand being an Anxiety Sponge it drives me so crazy

[bluehairperson]

I don’t want to start drama but I’ve seen some concerning posts floating around about how distasteful and disappointing it is to see certain creators “support” Dorian and I hate to break it to you guys, but if you’ve ever interacted, shared or created anything regarding The Arcana you are supporting Dorian yourselves.

Being in the fandom alone is supporting Dorian by creating engagement, publicizing the game and being part of the audience they’re trying to target.

And even if you were to delete your whole blog and everything you’ve ever posted to enjoy the original game in private you would still be supporting Dorian by bringing traffic to the app they now own.

The one and only way you have to stop supporting Dorian, if you care about it so much, would be to distance yourself from the series entirely and go join another fandom. Never play the original game ever again and never interact with any fan creation regarding it from now on. 👋

[sysig]

But would you tho (Patreon)

[lilgynt]

israel being so cartoonishly evil would be funny if they weren’t so horrifyingly cartoonishly evil like just asking how do you come up with this shit but terrified

[ghost-of-you]

You know what my controversial 5sos opinion is? We are not meant to know the meaning of some of their songs and that’s A-OK, we can still enjoy them while being clueless about what they’re about, just focus on the funky sound. Woke Up in Japan is super fun to listen to, it’s possibly just a vibe song because I have no earthly idea what it’s actually about (perhaps it’s just about being away from home and in a hotel. Maybe they’re trying to say they miss their own beds); Bloodhound’s “He sunk his teeth into the bone” makes me want to scream, still no idea what the song is actually supposed to be about; whatever the fuck Lashton was on when they wrote Money is beyond the scope of mortal minds; etc

Okay, I wasn't gonna answer this, because it really bothered me, I wasn't sure if I was just being too sensitive, but I'm always talking about different interpretations of songs, it's a lot of the fun for me, and this ask sounds so incredibly condescending. I'm not out here telling people to go dig for the real meaning behind a song, we're just having fun with the way we understand them. For me, as someone who doesn't have english as a first language, a lot of it is actually about getting some perspective on expression and stuff I haven't heard before, like with bloodhound I actually had to ask people what the hell he took an L means because I had never heard that before. I'm not over here asking exactly what they meant when they wrote something, I'm just having fun with what it means to me. And sometimes people join me in it, and sometimes that means making fun of them because they genuinely have lyrics that don't make a lot of sense. You don't like it or agree? Fine, that's your right, but you don't have to come in here and make it seem like it's a bad thing that we're doing that.

[spikes-got-anger-issues]

Joining a fandom where apparently anon hate seems to be common but the fandom is really small

[trans-leek-cookie]

can someone teleport me to the poolrooms and shoot me so my blood is staining the pristine tiles and water. Nothing should be alive there

[daydadahlias]

you when no 5sos content: 🔪 🪓 🔪 ☠️💀 🔪 🪦❌ 🔪🗡️ 🕸️🕷️🌪️ 🗡️ ☠️👿 🗡️🥊👺👿👊🥊 🪓🪦🚫🏴‍☠️ 👿 🏴‍☠️

you when Ashton exists: 🥺✨🥹🌼🌻🥰😘🥳😈😸😸🫶💋💋 🥰🥰 💋💐🌸🌼🌻🌈⛱️🏝️🧸❣️ 😻 ❤️‍🩹 🧸 🌻🌞 ❤️‍🔥💓💕

and what abt it