#this is literal wish fulfilment. you look in the dictionary and you see this under the definition (its not a single word but you get wim)

[thyandrawrites]

And honestly what sucks for me as not only a fan of the meme master twice, but also someone who identifies with his psychosocially induced poverty, is that all it would’ve taken to save him was literally having a package deal for his family. That’s all. He proved himself to not be a scab deep down and was still narratively punished for it. I’m sure Hori may not mean it this way but the “all men are not born equal” thesis just feels like something you want to disprove eventually. Having the most relatable problems to people in poverty, just not having “luck,” be one of the stories that gets picked off before the final act to not be concluded just feels like a middle finger to many not-so-well-off people who probably came to this series for wish fulfillment. Maybe I just wanted more Twice’s personality in the series and to see what his quirk really could’ve done but I just wanted to get this off my chest to someone who could understand, whether it’s answered publicly or not would really be appreciated.

hey! if you sent another ask before this one, I never received it. But I’m gonna give you a brief answer to the best of my abilities nonetheless.

I’m not sure what you mean by the word “scab” referred to Twice (forgive me, I’m not a native speaker so I’m going off urban dictionary). Did you maybe mean someone who betrays fellow workers for personal interest? The unionized context of the definition is throwing me off a little. If that was the meaning you had in mind, I wouldn’t have used this term, personally. I can see the mental association of hero society with a soulless capitalist corporate business, but imho that comparison doesn’t do justice to what the League is. They’re not minimum wage employees struggling to survive in a system that exploits their labour. They’re not working class to begin with, they’re outcasts. If you wanna draw a real life comparison to politics, which for the record is not something I’m super comfortable doing in my meta, I’d say they’re more akin to the immigrants of bnha society. Everyone pretends they don’t exist, they don’t have rights, they’re branded as criminals for their dna, and no one cares about their human rights violations so long as they keep existing in the margins where people don’t have to look at them.

Aaaaanyway. that got a little too real for a reply on a fictional manga about superpowered individuals.

Your point was that all it took for Twice to accept Hawks’ offer was for Hawks to extend that same offer to the rest of the League. But I’ll raise you: the point here is exactly that Hawks didn’t. That he wouldn’t, under any circumstance. Cause Hawks’ offer wasn’t motivated by heroic selflessness, but only personal bias. He wanted to save Jin because he liked him. Because he saw him as a good person. Not because he believes in rehabilitation. Not because he believes that villains can have a fresh start. It was because he never bunched Twice with the rest of the “villains” in the league in the first place. Hawks divides the world into good and bad people and he decided Jin was one of the good guys, entirely missing the point that good guys can be villains, too, when villainy is a label slapped so liberally onto people who don’t fit in their society.

as for the topic of poverty and of the “all men are not born equal” core theme of the series... idk, part of me thinks that at least the latter might get explored some more in the near future, but the other part of me... well, let’s call it the realistic part of me, knows Horikoshi’s track record. There are a lot of things that he introduced in the story never to develop them again and I think those two things you mentioned are the best examples. The topic of poverty in particular is one that deserved more narrative focus imho because Horikoshi went extra out of his way to almost exclusively associate poverty with villainy (think of how economic instability and homelessness are key factors in most villain backstories we’ve been given so far), but then at the same time he almost challenged that idea with Ochako and Hawks, only to never explore it at all. We were told that Ochako wanted to be a hero to help her parents financially, and then the further the story goes on, the more the topic of their poverty and her selfishness kinda... disappeared? It was entirely forgotten about. And then Hawks, whose parents lived in a shack and were criminals (well, one of them was, the other was just an accomplice), completely flips the narrative of poverty>villainy by being sold to the heroes, and yet there’s never any narrative focus on how a government institution quite literally preyed on the lowest social class in order to get away with basically child trafficking. It never gets explored.

So at this point I’m just like... *shrug emoji* at certain things because I know that Horikoshi is a wildly incosistent author. Honestly this manga is not the best media to look for good representation of minorities and/or wish fulfillment. Horikoshi has repeatedly criminalized minorities and given way too much slack to oppressors so tbh I’d be very careful about seeking comfort from this series without questioning its sometimes less than ideal messages

[joannalannister]

Sorry, English is not my first language. I meant if you think Jaime broke his agreement with Catelyn or not about taking up arms against the Tully and the Starks during their mission in the Riverlands at AFFC?

 That’s ok, thank you for clarifying! It’s a good question. This is the vow that Jaime made to Catelyn:

Swear that you will never again take up arms against Stark nor Tully. Swear that you will compel your brother to honor his pledge to return my daughters safe and unharmed. Swear on your honor as a knight, on your honor as a Lannister, on your honor as a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. Swear it by your sister’s life, and your father’s, and your son’s, by the old gods and the new, and I’ll send you back to your sister. 

And there is the question of the validity of an oath sworn under duress: 

I wonder what the High Septon would have to say about the sanctity of oaths sworn while dead drunk, chained to a wall, with a sword pressed to your chest? Not that Jaime was truly concerned about that fat fraud, or the gods he claimed to serve. 

Cersei doesn’t seem to think such an oath is valid:

“I swore an oath to Lady Stark, never again to take up arms against the Starks or Tullys.”“A drunken promise made with a sword at your throat.”

But Jaime accepts the oath in ASOS (”Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor") and he continues to feel the weight of it in AFFC (“if perchance the siege had ended before he reached the castle, he would be spared the need to take up arms against House Tully”). 

So I would argue that Jaime views the oath as a valid one which he feels the need to uphold, despite the circumstances under which it was sworn. Which makes the question of whether Jaime broke it or not an important one. 

(Note, Jaime outwardly goes back and forth about the validity of this oath depending on who he’s talking to, whatever’s convenient. In front of Cersei, he speaks of the oath as a legit obstacle to what she’s asking, in front of Brynden Tully he brings up that the oath was sworn under duress and doesn’t hold. But we have the benefit of being inside Jaime’s head, where I think it’s clear that the oath matters to him as something legitimate he wishes to uphold.) 

According to the Oxford English Dictionary,

to take (up) arms: to arm oneself; to assume a hostile attitude either defensive or offensive; to prepare to fight

Jaime is very clearly prepared to fight against House Tully and kill Tullys if he doesn’t get what he wants:

“I came to speak of the living, not the dead. Of those who need not die, but shall …” “… unless I hand you Riverrun. Is this where you threaten to hang Edmure?” Beneath his bushy brows, [Brynden] Tully’s eyes were stone. “My nephew is marked for death no matter what I do. So hang him and be done with it.” 

“Tully blood runs just as red,” Jaime reminded him. “If you will not yield the castle, I must storm it. Hundreds will die.” “Hundreds of mine. Thousands of yours.” “Your garrison will perish to a man.”

I think that taking command of a besieging army is, by definition, assuming a hostile attitude. 

And literally the only reason Jaime doesn’t raise a sword at Brynden is because he doesn’t wear one to their parley:

It was a good thing that Jaime wore no sword; elsewise he would have ripped his blade out, and if Ser Brynden did not slay him, the archers on the walls most surely would.

When Jaime can’t get Brynden to yield, he threatens Edmure:

“You’ve seen our numbers, Edmure. You’ve seen the ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my coz will bridge your moat and break your gate. Hundreds will die, most of them your own. Your former bannermen will make up the first wave of attackers, so you’ll start your day by killing the fathers and brothers of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, I have no lack of those. My westermen will follow when your archers are short of arrows and your knights so weary they can hardly lift their blades. When the castle falls, all those inside will be put to the sword. Your herds will be butchered, your godswood will be felled, your keeps and towers will burn. I’ll pull your walls down, and divert the Tumblestone over the ruins. By the time I’m done no man will ever know that a castle once stood here.”

The only reason Jaime doesn���t have to resort to violence at Riverrun is because Edmure is a good person who doesn’t want his people to die. Jaime is threatening to Castamere them all, so I would say that’s taking up arms. 

But Jaime doesn’t see it that way: 

And he had done his own part here at Riverrun without actually ever taking up arms against the Starks or Tullys. 

Jaime is literally threatening to kill them all if Riverrun doesn’t yield, and he is literally armed with a Lannister army at his back, but because Jaime personally didn’t hold a sword to anyone’s throat, he views his oath fulfilled. 

Which is like dicing with the gods and trying to get off on a technicality in my opinion. 

It’s very similar to Tywin’s attitude toward the Red Wedding tbh. 

Tyrion: “So much for guest right.” Tywin: “The blood is on Walder Frey’s hands, not mine.”

Tywin thinks he’s safe from the gods’ wrath, because he only disregarded the spirit of the law of guest right, while abiding by the letter of the law of not murdering his own guests. It’s like he thinks he can get off on a technicality. (Spoiler: Tywin is wrong.)

GRRM even reminds us at the Siege of Riverrun about how Tywin tried to get off on a technicality too:

“This defiance serves no purpose, ser. The war is done, and your Young Wolf is dead.”“Murdered in breach of all the sacred laws of hospitality.”“Frey’s work, not mine.”“Call it what you will. It stinks of Tywin Lannister.”

As I once said here:

Sure, Jaime makes sure Riverrun falls bloodlessly. And some readers praise Jaime for this!! You know what else fell bloodlessly?? Austria, in 1938. 

If you go up against someone who doesn’t have the power to fight back, that doesn’t somehow make it better that they don’t fight back. If you use the threat of force or violence to make someone do something they don’t want to do, and they don’t struggle, they just give in, that doesn’t make it honorable or praiseworthy or anything. 

Jaime’s deluding himself about fulfilling his oath of not taking up arms. 

And I think the gods know it, and they’re going to take their due: 

Swear it by your sister’s life, and your father’s, and your son’s, by the old gods and the new

Two dead, one to go. 

***

Be forewarned, I’m not looking for wank on this post. 

[averykedavra]

Leap in the Dark

(This is another crosspost from my Ao3 account! You can find it here! It’s partly based on personal experience, because concerts are stupid and dysphoria is even stupider and I want to project onto my babies for some second-hand comfort and satisfaction. Like a normal well-adjusted human would.I don't think I'll return to this exact AU, but if you'd like to explore this storyline or some of these ideas, be my guest! Title comes from In the Dark by Anna Blue and Damien Dawn.)

Summary: Virgil isn't the mood to make friends. He's trying not to panic and/or cry over the band concert.

Then a classmate asks him to introduce the band. Which involves speaking. Onstage. In front of literally everyone. Yeah, nobody's getting him in front of that microphone.

But if he doesn’t, Logan has to. And Logan’s also not eager to be seen.

Pairings: platonic Analogical, could be interpreted as romantic. Implied past Anxeit (in like one line, though.)

Warnings: dysphoria, anxiety, self-deprecation, a borderline panic attack, very minor self-harm, and one mention of making out.

Word count: 2678

Virgil Acevedo regretted every single decision he had ever made. He’d tried to do his best at life, and since he was still alive after fourteen-plus years of existence, he had thought he’d done okay. Now he realized every choice that brought him here was a wrong one. He had created his own personal hell through a combination of hubris, naivete, and choosing Band back in sixth grade.

Now he sat in the front of the audience, surrounded by the entire flute section, who were extremely chatty girls. He felt a phone flash behind him and winced. Even though he knew it was another selfie, Virgil hated photos.

He hated a lot of things. Anything that put the spotlight on him. Virgil Acevedo liked to lurk in the background. Performing was not his idea of fun.

Yet here he was.

Clenching a silvery flute, his knees knocking together and his fingers shaking, watching the terrible orchestra play their terrible pieces and dreading the moment those flooding stage lights would illuminate him.

Yeah, logically, he knew nobody would look at him. He wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in the school. And his mom had a late shift and couldn’t make it, thank god. But what if? What if someone just happened to glance in his direction? And they would see a skinny, sweaty boy with floppy black hair he’d tried to comb—still slightly purple from that dye the bottle said would have washed out by now. Playing a flute in a section full of girls, two seats from last chair, barely fumbling through the pieces. Wearing a too-small shirt and a pair of old black sneakers.

Virgil shuddered at the thought.

The orchestra finally screeched their way to a halt. Now someone was introducing the chorus. Roman Prince from Spanish class. He had way too much enthusiasm for the time at hand. He even cracked a terrible pun, which Virgil knew wasn’t in the script, because Roman looked away from the small paper in his hand before telling it. Only one person in the choir laughed. Patton from Biology. Everyone else glared at Patton, who looked unperturbed.

Virgil shifted slightly as the choir broke into song. They sounded truly hideous. Not that his flute-playing was anything stellar, either. But at least he could hide behind the rest of the band. Nobody heard the flutes.

Only a few more songs and Virgil would be up there. Did he remember the fingering for the first piece? What about the second? Did he still have his music? What if it all fell out of his folder? What if he bumped into the girl next to him and she hated him forever and—

Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He was spiraling again. It would be fine. It would be fine! Just three songs, barely ten minutes long, and it would be over. He’d never have to do this again.

Virgil looked down and realized his hand was clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm. He slowly uncurled it. Four red crescents marked where the nails had struck the skin. Virgil winced at the sting and rubbed at the marks, feeling his palms get sweatier as the chorus neared their close. Great—sweaty hands. Exactly what he needed to play the flute.

Someone tapped Virgil on the shoulder, and he almost screamed. Thankfully, he muffled his shout before it left his mouth. Turning around, he squinted towards the back of the auditorium to see who had tapped him.

It was a boy Virgil recognized from History class. He had dark hair and a sharp face, accentuated even more by his black-framed glasses and the honest-to-goodness tie he was wearing around his neck. Clearly a nerd of the highest proportions. What was his name again? Logan—Logan.

And now Logan was looking at him expectantly, oh god had Virgil forgotten something was he supposed to say something Logan probably thought he was so weird—he needed to be nice and smart and say something that would make Logan forgive him.

“What?” Virgil hissed.

Well. So much for that.

Logan blinked at the harshness in Virgil’s tone, but he didn’t immediately turn away. “Sorry to bother you, but do you have any interest in introducing the band?”

It was Virgil’s turn to blink. “What?” he repeated.

“Well, I was chosen, but would you like to say this speech instead of me?” Logan held out a small white paper. “It is quite short. You just stand up before our song and greet the audience.”

Virgil looked from the paper to Logan’s face. Logan looked serious and sincere, which ruled out the possibility of a prank.

“You…want me to…talk to them?”

Logan pressed his lips together. “Of course, if the idea is uncomfortable to you, you are under no obligation to fulfill my request. It is simply a suggestion.”

The boy talked like a dictionary! Virgil’s mouth twitched in both humor and gratitude. Logan may have been overly formal, but he was also being pretty nice.

Which meant he wanted something. Of course he did. He wouldn’t just ask Virgil about this unprompted. Virgil didn’t exactly have a reputation for being approachable, with his perpetual scowl, large headphones, and baggy purple sweatshirt.

“Why me?” Virgil blurted out before he could stop himself.

“I beg your pardon?”

It was too late to back out now. “Why are you asking me?” Virgil said. “I mean, people don’t usually talk to me, and you seem smart so you should know not to talk to me, and I’m still confused why you want me to do the script especially since I’m…not good at that,” he finished lamely.

Logan tilted his head. “I asked you because you are nearby, and because I know you to some extent. We are in History together. You ask good questions in History.”

Virgil smirked. “You know all the answers, though.”

“Hardly.” The barest flash of a smile lit up Logan’s face. “I just have a tendency to share them more than other people might deem wise.”

Virgil snorted, twisting around in his chair so he could talk more. He certainly needed a distraction at the moment, and Logan’s blunt way of speech was refreshing. No double meanings or tricks, no hidden feelings or blatant falsehoods like with…like with other people. Other non-specific people who definitely weren’t Virgil’s ex, definitely not, no.

“So…I just go up there and read off the script?” Virgil asked. Just the thought made his stomach twist in knots. “Sounds boring.”

“Please?” Logan fidgeted with his glasses. “I can repay you later.”

“How so?” Virgil raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Better choose wisely, Logan.”

“Hmm.” Logan stared into the distance, tapping his chin. “There are several options here. I could give you money, food, or some other tangible object that might please you. I could give you an intangible, such as friendship, though I have no idea whether you lack in those areas. I could also promise you a favor. Perhaps tutoring, or giving you answers for tests? I am quite capable of such things. I have done them in the past for friends and people who have blackmailed me.”

Virgil widened his eyes. “Blackmailed? What?”

“Or,” Logan narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, “I could repay you in…other ways.”

Virgil stared for a second before bursting out laughing. “Oh my god, are you implying—like, we’ll make out if I give that speech? Dude!”

Logan chuckled too, his face flushing. “I have heard it is a useful bargaining chip when dealing with teenage males.”

“Dealing with teenage males,” Virgil repeated, still chuckling. “You sound like Jane Goodall. Maybe I’m not gay, did you think of that?”

Logan shrugged. “Are you gay?”

Oh no oh no what do I tell him what do I say he started this conversation so he’ll probably be okay with it but what if—no, Virgil, just play it cool.

“So what if I am?”

No, that was not cool. That was borderline aggressive. Way to go, Virgil, you came off as super defensive.

“There would be no problem if so,” Logan clarified. “I am also homosexual.”

“Intellectual and homosexual?”

“Exactly.”

Virgil smiled and let out a breath. “Yeah. I mean—me too. I’m…gay. Maybe not the intellectual part.”

“You do well in History,” Logan said with a smile. “I’m sure your intellectual capacities are above average.”

“Is that your way of saying I have big brain?”

“Actually, the size of one’s brain does not correlate to intellectual faculties—”

“I know, I know.” Virgil waved a hand, still smiling. “Back to the topic at hand. Would you actually tutor me?”

Logan nodded. “Of course. I enjoy helping others. What subjects do you have trouble with, may I ask?”

Virgil stared at his hands. “Math.”

“A common answer. You’re not alone.” Logan paused. “So if I give you my tutoring skills, in return you will give this speech?”

Virgil bit his lip. “I dunno, Logan…tutoring would be nice and all, but I’m not exactly a big fan of public speaking.”

“Well, no worries, I can ask another student.” Logan looked around. “Does anyone wish to say my speech instead of me?”

Nobody looked in his direction.

“Disappointing.” Logan adjusted his tie. “I guess I’ll just have to say it myself, then.”

The dejection and anxiety in his voice caught Virgil off guard.

“Are you…” Virgil began. “I mean…do you…why don’t you want to say it?”

“I don’t want to,” Logan said briskly. “I’m not a fan of public speaking.”

“What part?” Virgil asked too loudly. He began to fidget with his sleeves, avoiding Logan’s gaze as he tried to explain. “Like, for me, I’m scared of everyone watching me and that I’ll mess up or start crying or something. If it’s something specific, maybe I can…help? I have some…experience with getting nervous about things.”

Logan’s expression was unreadable. Finally, he spoke.

“Thank you, Virgil.” His voice was soft and quiet, different than the confident tone of a few minutes ago. “I appreciate that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Virgil asked.

Logan blew out a huff of air. “It’s not the public speaking that scares me,” he confessed. “I’m usually okay with attention, although I don’t seek it out like some of my more…exuberant friends. But today, I guess, well—” Logan ran his fingers through his hair and looked away. “Never mind. It’s illogical.”

Virgil reached forward tentatively and placed his hand on Logan’s shoulder. “I bet it’s not. However you’re feeling, whatever’s bothering you, I know it’s valid. You don’t…have to tell me, ‘cause I’m just a weirdo who sits near you, but—”

“I’m not wearing a binder!”

Logan’s face was screwed tightly and his eyes were shut, as if bracing for a storm.

“I’m not wearing a binder,” Logan repeated, more quietly. “So I can have more breath to play clarinet. I volunteered before I remembered. I don’t want to—I don’t want to go out there looking like—”

Oh. Oh.

Logan’s eyes were still closed. He rubbed his face.

“Never mind. I’m sorry to bother you, I will just figuratively ‘man up’ and perform the speech myself—”

Logan looked dejected. He looked ashamed and desolate and waiting for Virgil to turn around and run away or call him names or just treat him differently. Like he was used to it.

He reminded Virgil of himself.

Before he could stop himself, Virgil reached forward and snatched the paper.

“You don’t have to. I’ll do it.”

“Really?” Logan’s eyes opened, and for a second, Virgil saw the pure relief on his face. Then his eyes darkened with worry. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you in a tough position.”

“You’re not,” Virgil assured him. “I promise. Just—you’d better be a good tutor, Lo.”

“I’m the best.” Logan crossed his chest. “Nerd’s honor.”

“Then we’re all cool here.” Virgil glanced down at the script. “The song’s almost over, what do I do?”

“Just stand onstage, take the microphone off the stand.” Logan spoke slowly and clearly, as if he could see Virgil’s increasing heart rate. “Click the button on the bottom, hold it and say your part. Turn the microphone off, put it back, and go to your seat. If you need help, ask the conductor.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay.” Virgil nodded to himself. “I can do that. I can.”

“Are you sure? Are you good to do this?”

“I think so.” Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s a short speech. I think I’ll be okay.”

Logan leaned forward intently. “Please, Virgil. If this is upsetting you, please tell me. I do not want to force you into this because I can’t face my own fears—"

“No!” Virgil interrupted. “It’s completely cool to not do things you’re uncomfortable with. You’re not a coward. You’re being reasonable. And, I mean, it’s not exactly what I’d have chosen, you know? But it’s for a friend. I know we just met!” he added hastily. “I hope it’s not weird, and I mean, I don’t really know you, but you’re the nicest anyone’s ever been in a while, so…it makes me happy to help you. That’s what…friends do. If we’re friends. Because…I’d like to be friends. With you.”

Logan’s mouth opened slightly. He looked speechless.

“I’d love to be your friend, Virgil,” Logan finally said. “Thank you.”

Virgil found himself smiling, and Logan smiled back. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pen, taking Virgil’s music folder and scribbled down a sequence of numbers.

“My number,” Logan explained. “For the tutoring, and for…anything else.”

Virgil nodded. “I’ll text you when this is over. Promise.”

“Thanks.”

The choir hit a truly terrible pitch and finally silenced, enjoying the dull applause from the parents around them. The band around Virgil stood up, and he walked onstage with the rest. His hands were sweating again, and shaking, and he felt his fingers slip from his folder and flute. He tightened his grip and walked faster, placing his things on his chair before making his way to the front of the stage.

The auditorium was almost full. Virgil scanned the crowd briefly. Faces stared back at him. In the front few rows were the orchestra and choir students, sitting down to watch the band. Roman whispered something to Patton and both of them giggled.

Behind Virgil, he heard the rustling and clinking of the band getting ready. Soon the sounds faded away. The conductor caught Virgil’s eye and nodded, gesturing for him to start speaking.

It took a second for Virgil to turn on the microphone. He clasped it in one hand. How close should he put it to his mouth? He didn’t want a feedback squeal or to be too loud. But if no one heard him, that would be a problem, too. He was running out of time! Everyone was staring, behind and in front of him—he felt trapped on this stage with the too-hot lights and a small crinkly script he’d barely glanced at. He glanced at it now, feeling his heart pound. His mouth was dry. Maybe he’d try to speak and nothing would come out, or he’d just lean forward and puke. He’d never live this down.

There was a loud thud behind him. Virgil turned automatically and saw Logan had hit his stand with his clarinet. Virgil stared at him in confusion. Logan smiled back.

“You can do this,” he mouthed.

Virgil felt a bit of his nervousness ebb away. Logan had put the spotlight on himself just to encourage Virgil. He could see Virgil was panicking and he helped.

Virgil turned around, holding out the script, reading the words over and over. It was only five sentences. Five sentences.

Five chances to mess up.

Five sentences. For a friend.

You can do this.

Virgil closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

And spoke.

[dualitysdownfall]

Problem: I’m sensitive and needy, and no one likes people like that, and it makes me get sad and think about my whole future and life

I can’t stand being yelled at or bossed around.

I constantly feel incompetent and worry that I am doing something, or failing to do something, that may result in another person’s dissatisfaction.

SOCIAL ANXIETY. Please, for the love of God, don’t make me ask the employee for help, or whatever.

Unable to put words to my thoughts and feelings, especially in face-to-face conversation. I would much rather type or write.

Picky eater. I despise the fact that I can’t just go to any food place and be satisfied with whatever’s on the menu. I’m well aware it’s a major inconvenience when I’m in social situations centered around eating. And I’m sure everyone who saw me fill my plate is thinking “Why doesn’t she get more? Why does she only have like two different types of food??” But I guess I’d rather do that than to eat something I don’t like.

I need routine and to know that what needs to happen will happen. 

I’m easily scared, and people like to laugh at it. I’m scared of a lot of things, actually, and highly highly doubt I can get over it.

I want people to support me and have my back in whatever I do.

But I also don’t want to be told I’m wrong when I’m talking negatively about myself, even if what I’m saying is an exaggeration.

In fact, I hate being wrong at all. I’ll accept it if it’s something like a scientific fact that I wasn’t previously aware of, but that doesn’t mean I’ll enjoy it.

I’m easily angered, especially by people who are ignorant or rude or by people who refuse to listen to me and respect my wishes.

I may hate a lot of these limiting traits of myself, but I’m stubborn in my belief that I can’t change them, or that they wouldn’t change even if I tried to.

I can’t stand being made fun of. Thankfully it doesn’t happen often, usually it’s at home with my family. (Actually that might be bad too.)But I hate when negative or unpleasant aspects of myself are brought into the light for the sole purpose of others’ amusement. I take a lot of offense from it even if that wasn’t the person’s intent.

I take a lot of things personally, even if (maybe especially if) they aren’t aimed directly at me. Opinions or comments of distaste, teasing, dissatisfaction, etc about things I love (games, shows, music, people, etc) are like a punch in the gut to me and I will not hesitate to jump to the defense of the thing I like, as well as get mad at you.

There are posts all over the place expressing impatience and exasperation at certain characteristics of “annoying” people. Some of those traits are things I relate to. So the fact that you don’t like it really stings. I could speak up and say “hey, I’m someone like that and I don’t think this is very nice to say,” but that puts me at risk of being ridiculed, and like I said, I’m super sensitive and take everything personally.

I also take everything literally. Unless you’re clear in your tone that you are being sarcastic for the sake of humor, I might see a comment that’s asking a question or pointing something out and think someone actually needs clarification, to which I will, being the kind and knowledgeable person I am and knowing the feeling of being hopelessly confused, explain it to the person only to be met with garbage like, “DUh, everyone knows that, I was being sarcastic, are you stupid??????” 

Sometimes I’ll just want to do something a really specific way and even if there’s an easier way, it’s best to just leave me doing it the way I know works accurately and effectively. I might even be aware of the easier options but refuse them anyway because … well, actually, I don’t know why, but just leave me doing it the way I want. It’ll work out. I promise.

Just in general I’m very particular in my ways and refuse to change them regardless of the inconveniences.

I’m terrible at remembering things that fall under the categories of “what I need to do” and “how I need to do it”. You’ll have to write out a list of tasks and steps that I can refer back to, as well as include either pictures or a hands-on demonstration.

I hope you don’t mind the grammar police, because I embody like all of them.

I also hope you don’t mind dictionaries and long explanations that you probably don’t care about.

also spontaneous singing. In an ideal world, I can sing whatever I want, whenever I want, however loudly I feel like it and in any location at all.

I’m afraid of death and loss. Never talk to me about potential disaster (I’m deathly afraid), and don’t remind me that you “aren’t always gonna be there.” Trust me, my anxiety is damn well aware of that. Talking about it is just gonna make me cry.

If you suggest something to me that I should do that involves going somewhere and/or making an appointment, you might as well just set it up yourself and drive me there, ‘cause otherwise, no matter how much I want to do it, I’ll never do anything about it.

Speaking of driving, even though I am, by age, legally allowed to start learning, I absolutely do not trust myself in the slightest with motor vehicles. Like I said, I’m bad at remembering long sets of rules and how to do things, and I’m utterly terrified of death because I don’t know what happens after that and no matter how sure religious people are that I’ll be okay, I have to see it to believe it, and I can’t see it unless I die, and no way am I leaving that up to chance. Also one time I got to drive my own go kart at the amusement park and I accidentally accelerated when I meant to brake, and that kinda screwed up any chance of me thinking I can handle being in control of any sort of vehicle ever again probably. So if you end up being my partner, friend, roommate, etc in the future, I hope you’re okay with driving me everywhere. TV taught me that people will do that. Please don’t prove me wrong.

As you can see by this extensive–and extensively self-negative–list, I’M EXTREMELY INCONVENIENT AS A HUMAN BEING. It’s awful and terrible and I hate it but I’m also still alive so at least it works. I’d love to be more wiling to, like, try some things. Like doing flips off a diving board, or food that’s something other than American, Americanized, or snack foods. But that’s too dangerous in my mind, and my mind is extremely set in its ways.

See, the thing is though, no one’s gonna be willing to deal with all that. They’d have to memorize routines and lists, remember to tell me what to do and how to do it, know what foods I like and don’t like and what physical activities I’m willing to do that aren’t too scary. They’d have to order the food every time we go out to eat, they’d have to ask people to help me, they’d have to drive me everywhere, they’d have to remind me of things and be n time and do stuff for me. I’m like the opposite of a convenience store: I’m not very convenient and I don’t have much to offer in return. Also, I’m not on every street corner. (I’m an anxious introvert.)

Who on earth would be willing to put up with all that and still appreciate things like my art, my music, my opinions, my jokes, my intelligence, my whatever-I-have-that-might-make-someone-fall-in-love?

As far as I can tell, no one.

I’d love to be in a romantic relationship one day. When I imagine myself as an adult, I see a cozy home with a spouse who loves me and helps me and understands and lets me hug them for a lot longer than they were anticipating because I forgot to mention I really love hugging and hand holding and snuggling and whatnot.

I don’t like thinking I might never find someone like that. I know I have plenty of traits that are less than desirable, which can and will become major sources of inconvenience and irritation in a future adult life. But I’d like to believe that someone can still look past all that, see my true intentions and hopes, and love me anyway.

I don’t like thinking about my future. I don’t. There’s nothing about it that I know. I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, or what to study in college or what college to go to. In all likelihood, during and after college I’ll be living with my parents long after my little sister leaves home and gets married or something, and I’ll work a boring, bland, low-paying job to save up for the point in my life where I do know what I want to be and do. I’ll have plenty of creative hobbies, mostly internet-based, and maybe some of them will snag me some bonus money here and there if I’m lucky (the internet is pretty amazing that way, after all). But I’ll still wish for bigger and better things, and also a datefriend, because I feel like I won’t have a datefriend at that time.

I guess that’s not so bad… but the ideas of being single and of not having an enjoyable and fulfilling job, just don’t really appeal to me. I don’t want to just be another one of those normal people rolling out of bed for a boring job and then coming home and doing nothing with their life. I wanna make change in people’s lives, especially in young lives, queer lives, and the lives of weirdos like me who get attached to fictional characters because they either represent me and my life experiences or act as a second home when reality is being crappy. And I don’t see myself making those changes from a basement, or attic, or side bedroom, or at a boring, unfulfilling job even if it’s steadier than an art-based job (which still screws me up because if it weren’t for that I’d know exactly what top three things to study in college).

It really does get me down sometimes, thinking about that dreary life.

But wait.

Is it really so sad? Must I be so negative and pessimistic??

Sometimes ranting is really all one needs to solve one’s own problems. It allows you to think hard about what you’re feeling and why you’re afraid, so that you can put it into words. But in that hard thought, you can find a solution.

Go up a couple of paragraphs and I mention not only working a bland, boring job but also “having plenty of creative hobbies, mostly internet-based, and maybe some of them will snag me some bonus money here and there”.

What if all the great, inspiring, creative, change-bringing things don’t manifest themselves in my day-to-day, for-money job, but in my hobbies taking place at home afterwards? 

That could work. Part-time/half-day job of some sort that I don’t mind doing, then come home and do fun things that other people enjoy seeing? I love the internet…

And hey, not only do I have a head start in that case, but it could eventually be the gateway to all that other stuff I was worried about, like a datemate and a more interesting, better-paying job.

Thanks for the talk, internet!