#don't even get me started on the faux moralizing

[whyeverr]

are we complaining about the landlord pack as a bit? is this a bit we're all collectively doing?

because I know y'all have been asking for the ability for households to own multiple properties and build our own functional apartment buildings for literal years now

#they are literally giving us what we asked for #don't even get me started on the faux moralizing #as if we should only have good careers and good behaviors in the sims? #as if the landgraabs should not canonically own half of oasis springs and at least one dilapidated apartment building in every world? #i want functional apartment buildings AND fuck it i want landlords #good bad and ugly landlords #sounds amazing for gameplay and world-building and LORE #gif warning

[milesandcorysupermacy]

All jokes, mami

42!Miles Morales x Hothead!Black!Reader

Genre: Angst to fluff

Warnings: First time writing but I think it's pretty good 🤷🏾‍♀️, use of n word, cursing, Miles crying, mentions of trust issues, that's it I think

Word Bank: Hija: daughter Bien: Good Muy Bien: Very Good. Ay Dios mio: oh my God Tia: Aunt

Summary: You're having a great time with Miles, Talking about drama and laughing your ass off! But, when you go in the bathroom you find some press on nails that DAMN sure aint yours, and are WAY too dramatic to be his mom's. What do you do?

You're sitting in Miles' room. 'Neon Guts' by Lil Uzi Vert and Pharell playing in the background. You guys are doing what yall usually do, gossip about things that go on at Visions.

"Nah, that nigga was trippin', ma. In what world is it EVER ok to crease another man's forces? I'm not the issue."

Miles said in his own blissfully ignorant (hilarious) way. Talking about yet, another incident he's had within the past two weeks with the same guy, Bryson. He hates this man with everything in him. You try to get them to stick together since they're 2 of the handful of students that are minorities. But, as I said earlier, he's ignorant.

"Bae, I get that, I do. The forces were clean. Fresh out the box." You say, trailing off. Playing with your faux locs, thinking of what to say next. Trying to tread carefully because you know Bryson is a sensitive topic. He's your ex, and yall are still cool. But, Miles just NEEDS to be throwing blows with him all the time.

"But that doesn't mean you punch him in the face! A simple 'Ay watch where you goin' bro' would've worked perfectly, but now he look like a busted, lightskin, balloon." You say doing a horrible impression of Miles and his suave brooklyn accent.

Miles chuckles at your description of Bryson, deciding to add onto it.

"Nah, he don't look like no balloon. His ass look like a clown. Matter a fact, a whole ass circus, and he the star. That nigga a bitch anyway. He really think he look like Drake?Nah, bro. Yo ass look like French Montana, stop playin'. Like, Drake? Nah nigga more like Brake, because he needa pump the brakes and slow down before Plankton come and steal the secret formula for that big ass forehead! Cartoon looking ass." Miles said breaking you two out into a fit of laughter. Silent laughter. The worst kind of laughter.

The laughter where you two are just rocking back and forth on his bed, slapping each other's arms and legs, wheezing slightly, and barely gasping for air. You two calm down and you think of a joke. You gasp from realization.

"Nah, because why do he for real laugh like Mr. Krabbs?" You say laughing again. Miles starts laughing too. Snorting this time, which only adds to the excitement.

"I love how funny I made you, Mami. I'm rubbing off on you, bien. Muy Bien." Miles says in a slightly creepy way.

"Damn, I can't even get credit for being funny, Morales?" You say pretending to be offended.

"No, it's better like this." He says before giving you a peck on the cheek and putting his hand around your waist.

After like 5 mins of talking about more drama at Visions (with no laughing fits). You and Miles settle down and start cuddling. With 'Good Days' By Sza in the background. You wrap your arms around his back, with your legs on the outside of his. Miles, just laying on his back and wrapping his arms around your waist. (I hope this makes sense 😭) Cuddling in a bear hug kind of position. You guys stayed like this for about an hour, and just as you're about to doze off, unlike Miles who fell asleep 20 minutes ago. You have to pee.

You slip your hands from around his back, and try to subtly move his hands from your waist, but he woke up. Damn, getting to the bathroom is not gonna be easy with his clingy ass.

"Where ya goin', mamas?" Miles mumbles half asleep, with a raspy voice. Your heart flutters from the nickname.

'How tf does he have this affect on me, and he's half asleep?' You thought.

"Baby, I gotta pee. I'll be right back, ok?" You say trying to dumb it down since only half of his brain works at the moment.

"No, you're gonna take too long. Just stay with me, we'll get you a pamper or sum." He says gripping your waist even tighter. You usually would've given up because of how sweet he was being, but you deadass were gonna pee on yourself.

"Miles." You say sternly. He lets your waist go with a dramatic sigh, and you walk into the bathroom.

You do your business, flush the toilet, and walk over to the sink, starting to wash your hands. But- oh, what's this?

You pick up a pack of orange, rhinestone, one inch, press on nails. You don't wear press on nails. Shit, Miles would know because he pays for you to get your nails done. You feel the anger boiling inside of you. Maybe they're his mom's? No, she hates orange. It reminds her of Halloween. "The devil's holiday". You remember that's what she calls it and you start to smirk. No! You're supposed to be mad right now. You finish wiping your hands on a paper towel and throw it away. Grabbing the nails and marching into Miles' room.

You see miles on his phone, he must've been waiting for you to come back. Or texting his other ho-

"Hey, Ma-"

"Whose nails are these?" You say throwing the box at his face.

He groans and inspects the box, tilting his head in confusion. "I dunno, these seem a little too... crazy to be yours, why?" He says completely oblivious.

"Nigga" You chuckle from anger, pacing around the room. "Stop playing dumb. Miles you're not stupid, you've never been stupid. So I know you understand what pisses me off, and one of those things is lying. Imma ask you one more time, Miles Gonzalo Morales. Who's fucking nails are these?" You spat gritting your teeth during the last sentence. Miles shot up out of the bed, knowing what you were getting at. Trying to convince you with all his heart he'd never do that. This poor boy has lost enough, and he's not about to lose you to a pair of ugly ass nails.

"Mami, I promise I don't know who's nails those are, It's wild that you're even accusing me of this right now. You came over every day this week!" Miles expresses, desperately trying to give you enough evidence.

"Yea, and I always come over after school, maybe your hoes have a scheduled time for after I leave. Who is this bitch? Hm, Miles? Is it that Mexican girl on the 2nd floor, she seems like she's our age." You scream at him, sure that Rio had woken up from her post-work nap.

"Mami, I don't love anyone but you, I promise, ok? Even if I did, with all the money I spend on yo shit. You really think I have enough to buy another girl some nails?" He shouts back. Pointing to the Gucci Mini-Purse he got you for Christmas, he had saved up all year to buy it ever since he saw you eyeing it at the mall. But he could have it back now and give it to his other hoe.

"You know what? You can have this back since my only purpose is being a charity case, fuck nigga." You say taking out your keys, phone, headphones, Lip Gloss, and card out of the purse, shoving it in your pockets. Throwing the purse at him.

"Mami, you serious right now? Sit yo hot-headed ass down and listen to me, you actin' crazy!" Miles grimaced realizing what he just said already knowing your reaction.

"CRAZY?!?!?! I WILL SHOW YO ASS CRA-"

"WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE? Dios mio¡ It sounds like the real housewives in here. Hija, what did he do this time?" Rio asked.

"Mama Rio, who's nails are these?" You ask her. (She gave you permission to call her that after the 6th dinner together, don't worry)

"¡Ay! I was looking for those, they're Miles' Tia's. She came over yesterday, and was showing me them. She took them from Miles' cousin because that little mama is only 12 and does not need those." She said grabbing the nails and walking out the room to call his Tia. Leaving you and Miles in the most awkward silence. You slowly turn around to see Miles standing there. You thought he would have some sassy remark but no. His lip was starting to quiver and you knew what was next. He starts letting tears fall which surprised you.

"Papa, why are you crying?" You say walking over to hug him. Feeling the worst guilt ever.

"I....I thought you we're gonna leave me, Mami. I would *hiccup* never do something like that to you. Honestly if the roles were reversed I'd forgive you. I don't think I can even see my life without you. I'm so sorry." He says.

"Miles..." You whisper.

"It's not your fault I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. You've done nothing to prove that you're untrustworthy. I have trust issues and that's something I need to work on. Not you. I'm so sorry, baby" You say sitting down on the bed for one of the most needed cuddle sessions yall have ever had. And after a few minutes of comfortable silence, Miles breaks the ice.

"What if I just made my mom cover for me, and I am cheating on you?" He asks with a shit eating grin.

"Miles..." You warn

"All jokes, mami"

--------------------------------------------------

FIRST FIC! what'd yall think? I'll accept constructive criticism. If you have a request or a way for me to make my writing better, just send a ask!

#across the spiderverse #42 miles morales #miles morales #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x black reader #rio morales #uncle aaron #atsv imagines #miles morales fanfiction #sza sos #lil uzi vert

[stuckyfingers]

I'm just thinking about autistic Steve...

(I'm not as well educated about autism as I'd like to be so do correct me if I'm wrong)

Like, he's always been 'weird' even apart from his physical disabilities. He's felt a kind of self hatred over how sensitive he is to little things that are wrong but he can't explain why.

He hated talking but also loved talking about one specific thing that noone had any idea why he liked. (If someone can headcanon his hyperfixation, that'd be great). Either way, it didn't make him very popular among his peers. As a child he'd get bullied for just about anything because of how many faux pas-es he made.

He'd try to get home as soon as possible from school and shut himself into his plywood cabin of a room and cry. Bucky theorized that he was a vampire because of how much he liked fabric lined dark places.

He never guessed it wasn't normal to hate wearing clothes, so he continued living in constant discomfort and caution. Sarah had caught on to the specificities of how he needed his food and tried her best to get his safe foods on the table despite being poor. (Yes, she even called it that.)

Did I mention he also starts crying when he can't predict his day. And when things get more and more uncertain with the Depression swinging in, he gets so stressed that his heart problems worsen.

But having Bucky as a friend helps them both survive the times. Bucky was the only person who seemed unconcerned and unjudgmental about Steve's 'moodiness' and 'fidgeting'. He tried to understand when Steve described sensory overloads to him, and though he couldn't relate he accommodated Steve as much as he could.

Steve was frighteningly smart and picked up on every social cue he found, organizing them into a mental flowchart, assuming that this was what everyone did. But for most of his childhood he saw himself as less smart because Bucky seemed to be able to tell him things that he somehow still missed.

"Well how the fuck am I supposed to know that if they don't give any indication of being sarcastic?"

"Because it's not sarcasm, Steve... It's just- talking shop. A fake nice word, just because."

"How am I supposed to tell the difference?"

"Well, you just do. I don't know how you could... consciously do it."

By the miracle of God (and Bucky) he pushes through Eugenics era until 1943.

The Serum brings color to his eyes and more sound to his bad ear.

And he hates it.

But what's new is how much more physical energy he has to mask it.

It feels comparatively better to be able to mask without getting exhausted so fast, so he assumes his 'weirdness' has been cured and goes to war. In his line of work, however, he never gets a day's rest for his brain that craved routine, and because of how he's now able to push the feeling deep down and cover it up, Bucky can hardly recognize him.

And when he's out of the ice, his brain is turned to mush at having to learn new cues along with being autistic but anyone in that situation would have found it as difficult, so he passes it off.

One day he sees one of the people at Sam's VA talked about how their autism shaped their experience of PTSD differently, and Steve did the customary google search to learn more about it.

It said 'can't make eye contact'. But he knew the correct ratio of eye contact / looking away and what part of the eye he could look at so that it wouldn't drive him mad.

It said 'sensory issues' and he felt bad for those who actually had it because that must be horrible.

'Black and White thinking' okay but that doesn't mean- but see, he did know that illegal things weren't necessarily bad, right? He was ready to accept the criminality of something if it was a means to a moral end. And maybe there were some things that he could not see any nuance in but there were so many things he could. He couldn't have believed in Bucky if his thinking was Black and White right?

'Lack of empathy' No. Steve didn't understand people's feelings immediately, but he always logically guessed when they needed help. He kept note of the things that people found comforting so that he could be of comfort when they were down. He was empathetic, right?

He knew he wasn't autistic. (spoiler alert, he's just reading the symptoms from an outside perspective)

It's when he starts following more and more autistic creators that he felt less wrong for those weird things he did as a kid. He chuckles nervously scrolling through the tiktoks like "Ha ha why are ya'll so relatable"

He's not immune to the stigma but comes to terms with it. It feels a lot like how he came to terms with being queer. He's even surprised when he realizes that he was also wrongly assuming that it was gone because of the serum when it just became more manageable (for others) when he did.

Bucky listens like he always did when Steve explains things to him. And after a long while of living his truth with Bucky, Steve gets more comfortable describing himself as autistic to other people as well.

He starts experimenting with stimming, which already feels MILES better than forcing himself into a 'calm' and steady Captain's body language. Once he retires after Endgame, he surrounds himself with comfort and accommodations in his apartment and builds a routine he can finally be at peace with.

#autism #autistic Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers #stucky #recovery

[author-morgan]

Hello! I'm currently reading through your amazing backlog of fics, and you are such a compelling and excellent writer. Fan fiction writers add an air of anachronism to anything historical that generally disrupts the flow and takes the reader out of the story, but I never get that when reading your work. As someone who wants to get into writing AC fan fiction, do you have any tips for maintaining historical accuracy? I tried using the games for details but found their info to be lacking. Thanks!

Thank you, thank you. ❤️🥺🥰❤️🥺🥰

Not to sound like a broken record, but research, research, and more research. I won't sugarcoat it because it takes a lot of time to dig around for good sources about certain historical periods, and more often than naught, I find those in scholarly journals or historical texts themselves. Find historians who specialize in a certain period of history. I like Roel Konijnendijk for Ancient History, and, for example, I’ve read the Histories by Herodotus for my Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey stories, especially the long fics. (Just ask @mrsragnarlodbrok, she knows how crazy I can get when looking into historical stuff for fics, even if it's literally almost a PWP, lol.) 

Watch documentaries and listen to trusted podcasts about history! You'll absorb a surprising amount of information just by listening (I often have some sort of documentary on in the background when I'm working from home—the HistoryHit YouTube and related channels are all great places to start looking, especially for Greek-Roman stuff).   

Even though it is difficult to remove the influences of modern morals, standards, and ethics from my worldview and writing, I try my utmost to be true to what would have been commonplace for the societal views and standards within the respective eras — that means someone living in Saxon England is more than likely going to be a Christian and live by what the Church says until the plot potentially demands otherwise! 

It's also vital to understand the limitations of the knowledge and technology of the time you're writing for. One of the most egregious faux pas I can think of in this respect that I’ve seen repeated (whether it be for historical fiction or fanfiction) comes with wound treatment and care — in a world without proper sanitation and antibiotics, things like gut wounds would almost always be fatal. 

Speaking of wound care, look for old medical books and accounts of battlefield treatments (e.g., the American Civil War era) to know how things would have been treated. Looking into the native vegetation from an area and digging around for any medicinal properties can help you construct your own types of authentic (perhaps not accurate, though) cures. This plays into my next point, don't be afraid to make reasonable extrapolations!

Diction! Language matters. Modern language and slang will distract from the overall authenticity of the story if not done with moderation or intent. Sure, you don’t have to go back to Ye Olde English, but make sure you’re picking words that fit, especially in the dialogue, and that there is consistency. Something that helps me write for the Gilded Age (late 1800s) is reading letters people used to write one another. In general, I feel tossing in a few swears (like fuck) now and then won’t kill the mood so much, but if you can find period-appropriate swears, then even better! This is a case where reading historical documents and texts can help.  

Don’t overlook the small things! The small things can help create a sense of authenticity. This can be something like understanding the fabrics and dyes available during a certain time period and the style of clothing that was common (and how these differed between classes). A commoner in the Viking period wouldn’t have silk pillows or “mounds of silk” on their beds. Are certain foods available during the time period you’re writing for? Potatoes are probably the worst offenders for this. 

One last thing is just watching historical/period films and TV shows. Often, there are common bits of misinformation or tropes you can start to spot once you start researching that don't really fit—once you spot those, don't do it (unless there's a very good reason for it)!

I’m sure I’m just scratching the surface, but these are the key ideas and philosophy that guide me when writing fics for historical (and fantasy based on historical eras — Game of Thrones) times. In the end and given the nature of the fandoms I write for, I personally strive for authenticity over true accuracy.

#sierra replies #anonymous #writing tips #also just practice practice practice #the more you write the better you'll feel #and like for me i absolutely stink at writing anything post Edwardian era

[hopper-wheeler]

every season el goes on a journey of self discovery away from mike and learns new important things about herself and the world and then she comes back to mike and they still love each other so much and every season people say “el needs to be her own person and go on a journey of self discovery away from mike to learn new important things about herself and the world!!!!!” like y’all it’s been four seasons of her doing exactly that. and mike and el just always love each other even more afterwards and have an even deeper connection each time. when will these people realize it’s okay to just not like a ship you don’t have to make up faux-feminist reasons to act like it’s morally wrong or whatever. you can just. dislike it lol

“I hate mileven bc I care about el! all she cares about is mike!! she’s solely dependent on him!!!” woah wild how they missed so many of el’s plot lines and character arcs while they were so busy “caring” about her

(sorry for dumping this in your inbox lol I just wanted to get it out there to someone who probably gets it, I hope you have a good day!)

don't be sorry, it's totally okay to vent here! and i do get your frustration all too well.

one of the things that bugs me the most about the hate mileven gets, aside from it being wholy underserved imo, is the way people keep trying to find reasons why it's problematic or badly written to justify their dislike. it's okay to just not vibe with a character/relationship. that's fine. it's actually a lot more respectable than whatever this is.

but people would really rather be annoying and waste their time on something they don't even like just to try and come out on top. as if instead of not shipping a couple of 15-year-olds they're actually standing up for women everywhere or something.

which is really funny when the woke takes these people tend to come up with are actually some of the most misogynistic, ableist takes i've ever seen.

"el needs to be her own person."

so women can't be in a relationship and be in love with someone and still be their own person.

"she's too dependent on mike, she needs him too much."

so women wanting support from the people they love makes them dependent and therefore weak.

"el doesn't even have any real world experience. she can't even talk properly and doesn't even know what clothes she likes. she shouldn't be in a romantic relationship. and it's weird that mike likes her. seems predatory idk."

so anyone who's been through terrible abuse and struggles because of that, has a difficulty with speech and understanding social cues, and/or is still developing a sense of identity shouldn't be allowed to make their own decisions or be in a loving relationship. and it's weird for someone else to take a romantic interest in them unless they're taking advantage in some way because no way would anyone just... love them for who they are.

great. that's actually very gross of you.

and don't even get me started on the canon erasure. it's like 90% of people didn't even watch this show. i'm tired of people claiming mileven needs to be given breathing room when they're the only couple to have been separated in some way every season. you can say whatever you want about st, but one thing the show has done since day 1 is give el, the character, plenty of agency. el is not stuck in hawkins. she's not stuck with mike. she chose that. she chose her family and we saw her do that, every step of the way.

so yeah anyone who says "i love el but mileven..." is full of shit. if you actually loved el you'd respect her choices and want her to have the people she loves by her side, supporting her.

#asks #anonymous #mileven #mike x eleven #ableism tw #anyway i hope you have a good day too 💙 #text

[resonancewitness]

facets of relationships (4)

continuing from here

in this post I will talk about consolation and synchronicities

Consolation is the facet of relationships that comes to the forefront when things don't go well for you, you are upset and "out of tune", like a musical instrument, and everything feels jarred and dissonant. Bureaucratic necessities caught up in a snag. You have ran out of morale fuel. You got into your personal internal snake pit (one of several...) And there is a person who tells you: "Vent, dear heart, go ahead, complain, whine. Don't hold it all inside. What is happening? Would you like to tell me? I am here, I am listening". And if you are in one of the cultures where tea is the first response to anything, this person prepares a cuppa for you. And does whatever possible to make you feel comfortable, so even if you are far away from each other, you feel like you have been wrapped in a warm cosy blanket, or any other sort of portable piece of warmth. 

This facet of relationship is the antidote against and the escape from the cultural prescriptions like "get your s*it together and don't whine", from clamped teeth, stiff upper lip (and bitten and bruised lower lip), or bravado and a faux smile that doesn't reach the eyes. It is about the moments when we can bring to the other person our doubts, our fears, our shame and guilt, our self-loathing, our tiredness and broken spirit. And the person opens up his/her heart for us, and takes all our disheveledness and brokenness inside — as if unzipping a soft fleece jacket, putting there a kitten, wet from the rain, and carefully zipping up the jacket. And we feel a little bit better, because we know and feel that the little lost and confused creature is safe now, getting warm and dry. 

This is the facet of relationships where tears often are shed, — and even if in the beginning, these are tears of frustration, hurt feelings, despair, exhaustion and pain, they transform into tears of cleansing. And you feel as if you were smelling ozone and the scent of earth freshly moistened by rain, and there is silence and tiredness inside, but it is a good sort of tiredness, after which good healing sleep comes and you wake up open to the new day. 

And, last but not least, synchronicities, not-quite-coincidences and other forms of magic and funny moments that cannot be explained rationally, like for example 

...when you have a dream of a person and you feel the need to tell the person about this dream, and you tell, and it turns out that there is some sort of meaningful message for the person in your dream (and you don't even understand what the message is), 

...when you have a dream in which you and the other person meet — and then it turns out that the other person had the same dream, 

...when you are choosing gifts for each other, and without discussing it first, each of you chooses the same gift for the other, 

...when you are talking and suddenly you say the same phrase, using the same words, at the same time, 

...when you can organise something just by meeting each other's eyes, and there are no errors in mutual understanding, 

...when something scary or sad happens in your life and suddenly the other person calls you on the phone and says: "I just felt something and thought I'd call, are you all right?" 

...when you have a problem that very probably is not going to be solved in a good way, and you tell the other person about it, and they say: "I wish your problem gets solved in the best possible way" — and you feel that the wishes of this particular person have real weight and power in your life, and everything sorts itself out beautifully — and it happens every time :) , 

...when the focus of your heart on this person pulls to you such improbable coincidences, that against your own will and rationality you start to think "it must be some sort of sign". 

The moments when your inner worlds touch, and you look into the inner world of the other person, expecting to see a wholly different world, another planet with lots of incomprehensible things — and suddenly you discover that it is the same world as your own inner world. Maybe a different dialect is spoken and the customs vary slightly — but it is definitely one and the same country. 

#yizhan #witnessing something precious #bjyxszd #how reconstructing an untold story transforms us? #resonance #we are made to love #finding ourselves in their story

[whumpering-heights]

Hi!;)

Do you remember the “Hero, do you have limits?” question? Well, it was me! I don’t understand Hero, (but he is really interesting, and basically a living meme.) in my opinion, he is very ambiguous (And I LOVE it, it’s not a flaw at all!).

Now, “But even if Villain were a woman”…

If Ethan had been a woman, would Chris have done the same things? (You know, gender roles, toxic masculinity, blah, blah, he doesn’t seem to me a very morally independent person…)

What an interesting question!

CW: Female whumpee, mention of non-con/sexual content, sexism (ish), manipulation, implied minor whumpee, toxic masculinity and gender roles.

If Villain had been Villainess, Hero would have made some public comments about how "conflicted" he was on fighting a woman. He might have even gone easy on her a couple times. However, this has nothing to do with any ethical dilemma, and everything to do with his public perception.

Once she got captured, the main story beats would have been the same. Any "issue" about hitting a woman would vanish.

Now that I'm thinking about it, Sidekick would actually go through more change in this AU than Hero. He's certainly adapted into this toxic mindset of "boys/men don't cry" (thanks for that, Hero), and seeing Villainess cry would cause him less distress than in the original story. She's "allowed" to cry. On the flip side, I think he would soften up quicker to her. He would be the type to genuinely object to hitting a woman, unless she was attacking you first. So he'd sooner cross his tipping point of realizing what he and Hero are doing is wrong.

That's not to say Hero would be unaffected by this change. There would have been a couple details different:

- He would have made comments about her appearance, once the captivity started to show. That particular method of breaking self esteem didn't occur to him in the original storyline: since he wasn't attracted to Villain, in his eyes there was nothing "lost".

- I think that while his dialogue wouldn't change that much, the tone might be more faux-affectionate. Using petnames, belittling her, almost pretending to have pity. Those things would happen more often.

- He wouldn't have send Sidekick down there to clean her up. He was telling the truth in his answer to your question: he wouldn't do anything sexually inappropriate. And sending a teenage boy to clean an adult woman would feel icky to him. He wouldn't be gentle or anywhere near patient with Villainess while he cleaned her himself, but there's line he won't cross.

Well, one sidenote about that, actually.

There's a hint of an inflated ego in that one standard he has: in his eyes, if you can't get someone in your bed of their own accord, then that just means you're not very good at it. For him, people who commit sexually explicit crimes are basically confessing they can't get anyone to like them consensually, and he thinks very lowly of those people.

I've been thinking about how Hero would view women. We've seen what he was willing to do to Amy in the flashback. I hesitate to call him sexist, for one simple reason: yes he sees every woman as a means to an end. But he sees everyone that way.

As you can imagine, his relationships usually didn't last very long. Either he got bored, or she realized how he truly saw her.

The closest he can get to being fond of someone, is enjoying the role they fullfil to him. Jackson was good at accepting Chris's manipulation, and he was socially vulnerable, so Chris enjoyed his company. It was the closest Hero/Chris has gotten to having a friend.

Sidekick is also easily manipulated (due to being a minor and in Hero's care), so now and then Hero will feel a spark of fondness. Not really parental, more the way you like your favorite mug.

#this turned into a hero meta-analysis halfway through but i hope i answered your question #behind the masks #my stuff #hero #my writing #genderbend AU #manipulation cw #female whumpee #toxic masculinity #it sometimes feels like these characters are living in my brain #and i love poking hero with a stick and trying to figure out what exactly is wrong with him #what a horrid little man he is. #(and if im gonna be honesf ive wondered in the past whether i made him too stereotypical..) #(like I'm not the only writer on here with a manipulative sadistic whumper y'know?) #('remember the two cakes comic!' yeah i know but it's still nice to know that Hero is interesting to other people too) #(ANYWAY im ranting and ive praddled on long enough haha)

[jeweled-blue-eyes]

Do you think Reynold deserves any type of redemption or forgiveness after the way he treated ogPenelope? (Will never understand how fans view Reynold as a good brother to penny when there's evidence that shows otherwise)

Forgiveness? No. Do I think he deserves a redemption arc? Also no, but redemption isn't about whether you think a character deserves it or not.

The question is: Is Reynold capable of undergoing redemption? He has to acknowledge the error of his ways and has to feel remorse. If he does that he is therefore capable of embarking on a redemption arc. Reynold seems to recognize that he did something wrong and he expresses guilt, which is a first step towards redemption, but he still falls back on victim blaming Penelope and pushing the blame on others. The writer seems to be unwilling to do an actual redemption arc since the manhwa is filled to the brim with abuse apologism. Instead of letting him atone the he writer tries to convince the readers that something he has done that was previously condemned is morally forgivable/excuseable because the "context" was missing. This way of thinking has botched many redemption arcs. If Reynold had good reasons to do what he did, if it has all been a misunderstanding, if he had been brainwashed by Leila, then how is he supposed to make right for his wrongdoings if he can't be held fully accountable for them? There can't be a good redemption arc for the Eckarts if the author denies the weight of their sins and how it should have realistically damaged their victim. Another problem is that the author is going to push a well-liked character (Iklies) across the moral horizont and it will give off the illusion that the Eckarts have changed much for the better. That's a cheap tactic and seems like a cop-out more than anything else. Turning the slave into a villain also lowkey justifies Reynold's bad treatment of Iklies and his racism against him. You also can't forget that the Eckarts own a diamond mine (historically children and slaves have been used as labarors in mines). I heard by the end of the series the rebels remain in bondage. So really it's kind of a faux redemption arc. To add on that redemption doesn't have to include forgiveness. In my opinion it is something that the character has to seek for themselves rather than from their victims. They should change because they want it for themselves regardless if it earns them the forgiveness of their victims or not. They should want to become better men even if they are 100% sure that their relationship with Penelope will never go back to how it was before and that they might lose her regardless. Right now I feel like they only try to make amends because they want to stop being treated so coldly by their victim and feeling bad about themselves. They are trying to work for it because in their mind there could be a reward (forgiveness, they get Penelope back, conscince will stop pricking them).

With the way things are set up in canon his redemption seems to be poorly handled and doesn't make much sense. The narrative doesn't benefit from the redemption of the Eckarts. If anything it ruins characters that used to have potential (Iklies) and even shifts the blame partly on the victims (og Penny & Iklies). Reynold could have a good redemption arc and in comparisition to Derrick he seems more suited to it since he started out young but you'd have to flush half of the story (especially the brainwashing plotline & ancient mage course) down the toilet. Make him risk his life for her, lose a limb, face actual hardships and make him regret and reflect on his actions for many years while he lives separated from Penelope, but don't show me trying to buy Penelope's forgiveness again. I'd have appreciated it if we had seen him help a stand in of Penelope, a child abuse victim, a beggar, an orphan, a persecuted mage, someone who is at the bottom of society, to make us understand that he's trying to change even if there aren't others looking at his actions and we can be sure he isn't doing this to solely to get brownie points from Penelope. He is captain of the guards, right? That's a nice position to start doing something good. I think he could start to become more understanding (slowly) to peasants, because of Penelope and because his long lost sister might be living among those people.

Kinda warming up to the idea of redeemed but not forgiven Reynold now. I'm interested in how Perfect Summer Storm's AU JSABB approaches Reynold and if they will grant him redemption. After mulling it over I find I'm not completely opposed to the idea anymore. But it'd be hard work. For me to become sympathic towards Reynold he'd have to lose everything including his wealth and title and live like a commoner in a wartorn country. Basically towards the end of the story should Penelope and Reynold have switched positions. She marries the prince and rules a country and Reynold is stripped off his titles and for a while he has to beg for money from noble ladys or steal for food and is treated like he used to treat those beneath him. And it's Penelope's choice to reach her hand out to him.

Now if you excuse me I'll continue to weep over the wasted potential of vadd...

#death is the only ending for a villainess #notanon #answered asks #anti reynold eckart #anti eckarts #jewel shards and broken bastards

[unhingedselfships]

One Morally Questionable Man Helps Girl Poorly Cope With Past Trauma by Way of Very Bad Coping Mechanisms

CW : past CSA mention

She curled further into the corner she'd claimed, and kept her eyes locked on the man who'd brought her here. Nerves frayed already, she found it hard pressed to be more unsettled, yet she couldn't help but feel out of place. Even on her best days, she was no match for a place like this.

Why he'd chosen somewhere so… high end, was beyond her, but much of Kenshi was. Certainly the place had a dress code, yet here she was, in space cat pj pants, a clingy tye-dye tank top, and old beat up slip on shoes of indeterminate color. Her worn sherpa hoodie was currently acting as something of a security blanket, her fidgety hands picking at the fluff. 

She certainly looked no match for the dashing gentlemen and stunning ladies more standard to a place like this. All carefully curated and glittering in the night glamour.

Amazing what money could do, she laughed internally.

She watched him work his magic, charisma cranked to eleven, speaking to who she could only assume was the manager, gesturing in her direction, finding that flawless balance of authority and sympathy, smoothing over her presence as his guest.

Absently she wondered if anyone here knew him. What they'd think. Probably be good for his reputation she imagined. Good kind Kadokura, taking care of this poor distraught young woman, who'd clearly been through something just ever so terrible.

Or maybe they'd think the worst. An older man plying a vulnerable woman in distress with strong drinks and charm. She snorted at the thought, sure he could charming but he had no interest in that, and certainly not with her.

The internal laughter took on a note of hysteria, spiralling out her control again 

The shaking still hadn't stopped. She wondered if it ever would. It was starting to ache, the constant tensing from the way her muscles trembled. Her head was spinning again, and she couldn't focus, suddenly Kenshi seemed miles further than he just had been.

Her chest tightened, heart fluttering and it was getting hard to breathe. Why was it so hard to breathe?

Startling as a glass slid into her view, she looked up from the colorful drink to the man she'd turned to, half begged to help her, his calculating, and perhaps a bit cautious she thought, look pinning her in place. 

"I want to talk about it. I don't know if I can."

She felt all at once smothered by it, and like she would burst with it, yet a strange sense of impending doom took hold the moment she thought to open up.

Even Daigo had had to mostly put it together himself, reading the court transcripts and what little she could say. 

("I was the first, I- I was the first.")

"Few more of those, and I'm sure you won't have any trouble at all."

She reached for it then, sliding it across the table top towards herself, but hesitated to lift. Her fingers still trembled and she didn’t want to spill any.

With a put upon sigh, Kadokura produced a straw, dropping it in her glass with a distinctive metal on glass clink.

“Do you have any idea, the look the bartender gave me when I asked him for a straw?” the glare he shot her was betrayed by the tilt of his lips, faux-irritation playing across his face.

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” she mumbled back at him, taking a sip, and humming at the taste.

Overly sweet, excessively fruity, sugar and tartness likely masking something far stronger than one would expect. He knew her taste, or rather, distaste for alcohol. It wasn’t surprising he’d pick the perfect thing for her.

She’d sucked down about half the glass, the first of several she was sure, before she slid her phone over from where she’d sat it. Unlocking the screen and navigating between tabs, he watched her, relaxed, but vigilant. Most people would likely have quailed under the scrutiny, but she found some strange comfort in it. He was cataloging her every tick, and deciding the best way to react. It was calculated. It was careful.

Staring at the screen, something haunted and pained in her eyes, he still waited, more patience than he’d give most people. A deep shuddering breath, and she passed him the small device.

“Ah, so this is what Daigo meant,” he noted, tilting his head, eyeing her over the phone.

“I. It’ll make it a little easier? Maybe? I think. If you already have some context. I can’t. I don’t know where to start. To explain everything. If you already know something…” she trailed off.

He hummed and focused on the page she’d left it open to. A court transcript. Easy enough. He cocked a brow at the 126 consecutive year sentence. It wasn’t the longest he’d ever heard, but was still fairly impressive. His face shifted into displeasure, as he continued reading the details. He was by no means a moral paragon, not that he ever bothered to concern himself with morality at all, but even he found these sorts of things distasteful. He wasn’t above using threats of such to manipulate people, but the act itself was… Beneath him. To each their own, he supposed. As long as their own didn't effect him, at any rate.

“Did you know the girls?” his first assumption. It would make it seem something of an over reaction but it was an easy enough explanation. 

Shaking her head, she chewed her lip, fingers tapping against the glass. A few tears slipped over her cheeks and she took a deep shuddering breath.

“Was it my fault?”

Well that wasn’t what he’d expected at all. And was also a bit confusing. He was trying to puzzle out how any of what was described could have anything to do with her, much less be her fault. He turned the facts he had over in his head, before settling on a conclusion. Daigo’s rage seemed to be the key here, to understanding what she wasn’t giving him.

“How, exactly, would any of this be your fault, Kimi-chan?” he rode a fine line between patience and condescension. A note of ‘I think you’re stupid but I’m willing to walk you through how and why’. It was a tone he often took with her, when she came at him with her absurdity.

“I. I was the first,” her eyes were somewhere between vacant and distant, her voice quivering.

He knew what she meant, and he didn’t like it. It wasn’t a mere implication, that would have been kinder. Easier to pretend. It grated, how difficult she made it to pretend to be unaffected and careless. Some part of him damned her some days, for worming her way in.

“It was nearly 20 years ago. I was seven. I think. Around then. I don’t remember that time very well. Snippets. Random things that happened. But it was all kind of a…” she trailed off for a moment, “a blur I suppose. A nebulous ‘early elementary school years’ idea.”

She was babbling. She did that when she was upset and having trouble articulating. He’d gotten good at parsing through her nonsense to get to the core of what she was trying to say.

And he still didn’t like the core of what she was saying. Decades past regardless, she was his now, and he didn’t like people damaging his things.

“I still fail to see how that has anything to do with this… man’s, actions.”

“I could have- I should, have said something. Maybe then-” she cut herself, speaking in fits and starts now. 

Her condition was worsening, and Kadokura tapped at the table in agitation. Not with her, mind, though it may have been easier to just blame her and move on. There was no quick and easy solution to this. He couldn’t just fix her, and that grated.

“Would it have made any difference?”

Her eyes shot up to meet his, wide and somewhere between confusion and distress. At least she was present again, he supposed.

“Wha-”

“Would it have mattered? Who could you have told? Who would have believed you?”

“I- Mom would hav-”

“What could she have done? Really?”

She worried at her lower lip, brow furrowed and breath hitching.

“It’s awfully self absorbed of you to think any of this had anything to do with you.”

He stabbed right through and she nearly choked on a gasp. She held his gaze, her pain meeting his neutrality. He wasn’t being careless, she could see it in the lines of his body, his agitation. Irritation. He was being blunt. Forward and matter of fact. He wouldn’t let her carry her “silly” delusions. There was no logic to her thoughts, and they both knew it. The unfeeling truth may not fix it, but at least it cemented it. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Why are you apologizing.”

There was something in his tone that read more demand than question. 

“I don’t- For- I just-”

“Don’t. Don’t apologize for nothing. Drink. Drink until you can’t feel, and you can figure out what you want to do, tomorrow. That’s what you wanted isn’t it?”

She clutched at her glass, and stared into the unnatural color, shoulders trembling. 

He seemed tense, somewhat uncomfortable, before settling. He pried one of her hands loose, and gave it a firm but gentle squeeze.

“Let go. Get completely wasted. I’ll make sure you get home.”

Waving a waiter over, he ordered her another, and the rare moment of tenderness passed. 

He may not be the best at showing it most of the time, but he cared, in his way.

She knew with a certainty she couldn’t explain, that he meant it. She could trust him. He would keep her safe for the night.

Polishing off the first, she plopped the straw into the second and started on it right away, as Kadokura slowly sipped at his first for the night. One of the few he’d allow himself while “babysitting” the distressed girl.

Her face was interesting to watch. Micro changes to macro ones. She was fascinatingly expressive. Pain flittering into frustration, morphing into confusion, settling into regret. Anger and sorrow and grief and shit, she was so terribly human. 

The trembles picked back up, and her eyes faded into something, somewhere, distant, absent. He tapped a knuckle lightly under her eye, on the ridge of her cheek bone, ignoring the way she jolted, eyes suddenly wild, before refocusing and her whole being relaxing, just barely.

“It's. I’m. I hate this,” she ground her teeth.

He cocked his head at her, “Very articulate, Kimberly.”

She bristled, “Do you have t-” she cut herself off, “I’m trying ok!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he held his hands up in surrender.

With a deep shuddering breath, she held the straw aside, and chugged down the drink. Even with the sweetness, the alcohol was still certainly present, and she grimaced. She tugged the straw out and slid the glass aside. Kadokura absently waved at one of the bartenders, eyes never leaving her face.

Tears welled and overflowed, “Why is this so hard? I don’t- I don’t understand why I can’t just- How fucking hard is it to just say! Hey, my father sucked and didn’t keep me safe and his best friend’s kid molested me and I wouldn’t- couldn’t- say anything because I thought it was my fault, and I felt so ashamed, and so gross, and years later when I could at least logically acknowledge that was wrong even if it still felt like it, I thought hey he’ll grow out of it, it was a one off, he was just a teen, and now he’s done this-” she gestured violently at the phone sitting to his side, “and I- I know you think it's dumb but I blame myself and I don’t know how to be ok.”

Her breathing was labored, strained. She hadn’t raised her voice like he’d expected but rather slid into a rambling hysterical whisper. He’d pieced the broad strokes together earlier, but now he could start filling in the finer details.

“Feel better?” “No.”

An elbow on the table, he rested his head in a hand and eyed her. She fidgeted slightly under his hawkish stare.

“Unfortunately, you won’t ever be ok,” he used his free hand to make air quotes around the word, “None of us will. That’s not how things work.”

He threw back a larger swig than he had been, before relaxing again, “You’re a stubborn woman. You’ll keep going regardless. You don’t know how to do anything else. Drink. Keep drinking. Lose yourself for the night. Tomorrow we’ll start making decisions.”

“Decisions?” she furrowed her brow at him, never quite meeting his gaze.

“You have choices sweetheart. Options. It’d be my pleasure to help.”

Her mouth formed a soft “oh” and she considered what the breadth of options Kadokura Kenshi could offer would be.

He tapped her cheek again, “Tomorrow,” and slid the fresh drink her way, and she eyed it for a moment, unable to discern when exactly it had even arrived.

He watched her sway as she sipped, the effects of the drinks she’d already gone through inadvisably quick setting in in full. Once she’d hit about halfway through, he acted.

Sliding a finger under hers, loosening her grip on the glass, and lightly catching her fingers, hold just firm enough to manipulate her movements.

Giving a light tug as he himself stood, he pulled her into something vaguely resembling upright. The noise she made was somewhere between confusion and alarm and he shot a charming grin at her.

“Come on then, let's dance.”

“Dance?” she seemed startled, “I can’t dance for shit, you know this!’

Laughing he countered her attempt at a protestation, “You’re also very drunk, no one will know the difference. Lightweight,” he teased.

She gazed out uncertainly at the room, and then down at herself and her attire.

“You’re with me tonight princess, it doesn’t matter,” he teasingly mocked her worry.

It was then she noticed how the energy had changed. The people all seemed the same and yet… What once had been somewhere that felt elegant and cold, there was a seediness that had slipped in. People moved closer, and grander. Less held back. Straps slipped from shoulders, and noses seemed more powdered than before. 

So this was why he liked the place. Pretty on the surface, and teeming with unrestrained indulgence underneath. 

The music shifted, into something equally mindless, but heavier on the bass and a lot less refined. With a devilish grin, he gave her another tug, guiding her effortlessly through a twirl towards the floor, joining the other bodies gathering.

Had she been a bit less inebriated, a bit more aware, perhaps she would have noticed the tightness around his eyes, the calculation in his movements. He was agitated, but if nothing else, Kadokura was a damn good actor when he wanted to be.

And so the night continued. Kadokura, better playing the part of “Kenshi-Tenshi” than he would ever acknowledge, guided her about the club. For all appearances he was cutting loose and having fun alongside her, but never was there a moment he wasn’t vigilant. Never did she leave his perceptions. Sliding between anyone who approached her, keeping her on her feet and distracted. Empty and thoughtless the way she needed to be. He watched her sway and wiggle in her uncoordinated delight, laugh until she choked. Silently crying, arms aloft and jumping with the beat. 

He watched her pain, cataloging every moment. Committing it to memory. 

In a way, he hated her, for being so terribly strange.

It made her interesting, and he was a covetous man.

As the hours moved from late to early, he guided her out the back door and to a nearby lot, gentle but steady grip on her elbow, both to keep her up and at his side. He helped her into the back seat of a running car, one he’d called, nothing so banal as a taxi, and slid in after her. He rattled off the address of her apartment, as he texted Daigo that he was taking her there instead.

He knew she wouldn’t want Kichi to see her like this. 

She slid down, flopping over to lean on him, and for once, he didn't protest. He'd let her have this one. It seemed too cruel even for him, to move her as she wept quietly onto his sleeve. 

He let his head fall back, and watched the world go by as she babbled. Incoherent whispers and mumbling. 

Pulling up in front of the building, he noted the soft light in one of the windows. Daigo was already here then. Good. 

She laughed as he helped her stumble across the small garden courtyard, and what a fascinating dichotomy, her free laughter, even as she cried still. Up the flight of stairs, he managed to fish out the key and unlock the door with one hand as used the other to help keep her on her feet. 

Daigo was already halfway across the room as he helped her through the entry and into the apartment. Delicately as he was able, he passed her off to her husband, the man's soft thanks heard but unneeded.

The younger man scooped her off her feet and carried her back to the bedroom, murmuring soft words Kadokura didn't dain to listen to.

He made himself at home, as he was wont to do, pulling down the good scotch she kept and pouring himself a glass, foregoing the chilled scotch rock in favor of expedience.

It was maybe half an hour, long enough to get the wreck of a woman rinsed off, changed, and settled, going by the noise, before Daigo reemerged. 

"Is she going to be ok?"

Kadokura threw back the second half of the double pour, "No one is ever 'ok' Daigo-chan. Give me a call if I can do anything to help her."

"That's quite generous of you."

There was no accusation or suspicion in his voice, despite the words themselves. A mere statement. And a relatively fair one Kadokura supposed.

"She'd do the same for me."

And with that he made his way out of the quiet apartment, back into the waiting car, and across town to the hotel he'd never admit to staying in. Just in case.

She might need him again tomorrow.

#yakkimi #kadokura-verse 2.0 #majimemegoro #vent drabble #vent one shot #trauma venting by way of fiction wheee #csa mention #tw csa mention #cw csa mention

[riverofrainbows]

I am so sick of the moralisation of cleanliness.

It's everywhere. You can go in any comment section and see people judge and have no understanding whatsoever for even the smallest amount of clutter or dirt. It's people being judged on having any real or perceived lack of personal hygiene. And including situations where it is known that the person struggles with problems, including severe disability and cancer. Anything that doesn't look like a fucking minimalist furniture catalogue is unacceptable and gross. There can apparently be no problems that could possibly stop you from doing a proper hair wash routine or brushing your teeth or taking a shower.

I just saw a video of someone cleaning their elderly father's oven door which was pretty dirty. And even without actively condemning it, there were, without fail, comments going "But how could someone even let it get to that point?". I don't know, you fucking unempathetic asshole, i would say pretty easily? You need to be able to 1) kneel on the floor, bend over, or sit on a low stool to reach that area 2) be able to scrub something 3) have the mental energy and know how to do the task and 4) consider it enough of a priority in the limited time and energy of your life to do it. These faux concerned comments showing utter incapability to try to understand a life different to theirs make me so mad.

"But how could someone cope with living in such disgusting conditions?" well they probably wouldn't choose it if they could, but again, they wouldn't not keep up with cleaning if cleaning were easy to do. How can people not understand that.

And this includes judging on greasy hair, stains, bad teeth (did you know that the number one factor of having healthy teeth is genetics?), smelling (especially teenagers, hormones are a bitch), dirty fingernails, not having clear skin or body hair.

I used to sweat and smell easily as a teenager, and not for lack of hygiene. I showered or washed twice every day, wore a fresh clean shirt every day, wore double deodorants every day, washed my jackets too, and i STILL smelled occasionally and was judged for it. Someone once said i should shower more. Because they assumed the reason must be that I don't even try to keep clean.

Could i have done more? Probably. I could have taken an extra shirt to school every day and changed (I didn't even own enough clothes for that, but maybe i could have bought extra cheap ones at the charity shop (where we shopped anyway) that I didn't like and weren't in fashion whatsoever, which would have made me unhappy about my expression and bullied even more for my clothes style, not to mention be judged for wearing a different outfit), washed my winter jackets every few weeks as a precaution despite what it says on the label so they break within a year or two and i have to buy new ones (which i couldn't afford) or taken them to the dry cleaner for expensive money we didn't have, i could have gotten surgery to remove my sweat glands (has side effects, and i want to emphasize that i was like 13 when it started), i could have faked illness to go home as soon as i noticed my clothes start to smell (missing many school days). Or, you know, other people could have raised their kids to have even a cell of kindness instead of cruelty and ableism in their body.

And the moralisation of cleanliness goes for the jokes about how "white people don't shower properly" or people who smell of something you aren't familiar with (like coconut oil) too. Since when is "scrubbing your entire body with soap twice per shower every day" something someone could consider the 'bare minimum'? Why is people treating their hair or scalp with oil 'gross'? "Oh i would feel so gross if i didn't shower every day" well good for you, and also fuck you, because your personal habits and preferences don't constitute moral standards. And i won't complain over someone having theses standards for themselves, that's fine, but i will not accept that person judging others cleanliness as a moral factor. (Note the use of the word "gross" in the earlier example, which is a real example i see pretty often)

"But where is the line waah waah, so you would be fine with someone living with cockroaches?" The line is at health. Infestations and mold constitute health risks. Having so much clutter you can't even check if there's infestations or mold does too. Never cleaning your skin or scalp will give it conditions and might lead to sores that can give you sepsis. Lotion if you have dry skin that gets uncomfortable otherwise, washing your hair so it doesn't itch. Smells that you don't try to reign in and cause harm and stress to the people around you. Neglecting your teeth does affect them and can cause further health risks, so trying your best and brushing and flossing them.

And cleanliness feels nice! So most people would probably have a pretty high standard of cleanliness, IF THEY COULD.

If you're so fucking concerned with someone elses home being cluttered and dirty, fucking go offer doing a spring clean for them without judging them even once. Or shut the fuck up.

My room is always cluttered and often dirty. Would i prefer it to be squeaky clean and completely put away? Yes. Are some of the corners a little gross? Yes. Is that something bad? No! Do i have the ability to keep it clean and just choose not to because i prefer it that way and am a gross immoral person of lower worth? No but that's what apparently a lot of people think, which is horrible and they should feel bad about themselves. Would i keep it clean and tidy if i could? Yes. Can i? No that's the whole point. Is uncleanliness unclean? Yes. Is that bad and immoral? No!

So many people have not even the smallest idea of what disability, lack of time and energy, or just mishaps of circumstances can look like. They cannot imagine a world where the "normal" person they meet every day is not exactly like them. They cannot conceptualise disability (with it's many forms). They will also refuse to categorise things they do encounter in their life as disability, and thus refuse to open their horizon. This very quickly becomes "Well if they can't even do [insert what they deem as normal] them maybe they shouldn't have autonomy or be allowed to go outside." (just look at comment sections of posts and see how quickly this comment pops up)

And to finish on the topic we started, since this post is getting long, the moralisation and following judgement stops people from opening up about when they fail to meet these standards of cleanliness other people display, and creates a fake picture that pressures everyone else to try and hold it up too. And it's fine to have as high of a standard as you want for yourself, but everyone needs to understand that as long as health requirements are kept, finding something gross doesn't mean it's immoral. And that a lot of people have a higher standard of cleanliness than they can actually achieve and practice, and that that's fine.

If you feel the need to comment on someone's living environment or personal hygiene, if you aren't willing to personally help them clean and remedy the situation with kindness, don't speak at all. And if you want to go a step further than not judging others, how about you step up when you see your friends and family judge someone over a perceived moral standard of cleanliness.

#own post #cleanliness #hygiene #moralisation of cleanliness #ableism #tw bugs

[tj-crochets]

Every time you post you make me want to make something!! How do you manage to start and finish so many projects constantly? I’m also disabled and its always so hard to find the spoons to finish my projects 😭

I definitely feel you on the difficulty finding spoons thing, I had multiple days this week where I did absolutely no crafting at all because I was just completely out of spoons. This explanation got long, so it's below a read more

For me, crafting is a...I'm not sure how to word it. A load-bearing hobby? Making a physical, tangible object gets me those good "finished task" brain chemicals while at the same time letting me learn a skill (one of my favorite things to do) and ending up with an object that I will probably eventually give to someone (also one of my favorite things to do, matching objects to the people who will love them). If I go too long without crafting I get antsy and grumpy and I get frustrated easily. Other load bearing hobbies for me are reading and making music; too long without any of them and I feel off-balance, metaphorically. I have a variety of crafts I keep supplies for on-hand for different spoon level days; for me crochet takes less spoons than knitting, which takes less spoons than all but the simplest plushie sewing, which takes less spoons than most quilting. There's some differences; plushie making is less physically taxing for me than quilting but takes a lot more focus, so if I'm having a good physical spoons day but a bad mental spoons day I might opt for quilting instead of plushies? The other thing that's helped me a lot is forgiving myself for unfinished projects. I used to feel guilty when I got hung up on a project and couldn't finish it, and I'd struggle through it and not want to craft and it would take forever and I'd be unhappy the entire time, or I'd set it aside and try to make other things but feel guilty the whole time because I thought I should be making something else. These days, I have gotten a lot better at accepting that I have limits, both physical and mental, and it's okay for me to respect them. Not finishing a crafting project is a morally neutral thing; for me, crafts are for enjoying, and if I enjoyed making the part of the project I made then I got something out of it even if I never finish it. I also think no crafting effort is wasted, you'll learn something from it even if all you learn is that you don't like that particular craft. The other other thing that helps me start and finish so many projects so often is that I am lucky enough to be able to keep the basic supplies for a wide variety of projects on hand at all times, so that I can make almost anything as the whim strikes me (like grumpy bunnies this week). I think of it like keeping a stocked pantry as a baker; you might not know what you'll want to make tomorrow, but you know you'll probably need sugar and flour and salt, and as you learn more about baking you can tailor your stock of supplies to what you like to make (for me in sewing, that means keeping a rainbow of minky and some faux fur on hand, so that I have many colors to choose from because I really enjoy working with color. In knitting, it means keeping a particular yarn in any color on hand because I pretty much only knit beanies these days and I don't care what color they are but do care about the yarn. Your "staple supplies" will vary based on your craft, your preferences, your budget, and your storage space, but I absolutely love being able to impulse craft things)

#ask away! #itsbumblebunnybee #long post #my methods are also what works for my particular disability and brain fog/executive dysfunction/possible ADHD #the methods that work for you might be very different #it's important to find the methods that work for you because everyone is different and has different requirements #the bit I didn't include in the load-bearing hobby thing #is that crafting is a very good de-stressing kind of hobby for me #and my weird allergy issues mean that if I get too stressed/upset I can have an allergic reaction to it #so crafting is part of how I manage my health #oh heck I also forgot to mention disability accommodations for crafts #my family keeps a chair in the kitchen so that I can sit down when cooking because standing in one place is hard for me #and I have a table next to my seat in the living room even though my dad dislikes the clutter #because having my feet up helps a lot with my low blood pressure issues #and I need a table for the yarn/needles/safety eyes/etc of whatever I am working on at the moment #I don't have a simple answer for you about how I do so much crafting #sorry! I tried to answer but I just don't have one singular answer

[notgoingwell]

Definitive turn-offs in fanfiction, barring standard issues like wrongly listed warnings, misleading tags and ships, turning a reader into an OC, crossposting, etc.:

-Immaturity (both in the rise of conflicts, as well as, simple dialogue) there's nothing more off-putting than two adult characters behaving like overemotional teenagers that put feelings above reason, entirely neglecting responsibilities and duties. There's always a time and place to address such things, but making hurt feelings the front and centre of a story, where the concerned person repeatedly whinges, is an absolute obnoxious vexation

-Twisted morality eg. villainising a reasonable person due to deviating beliefs one fails to comprehend, or normalising inappropriate, harmful behaviour 

-Insert modern sensibilities into fantasy or science fiction (issues, speech, behaviour, belief systems, etc.) This one especially turns into a jarring experience in a case like, eg. modern girl falls into XYZ trope -> Bear in mind that, depending on the time, and the world, they're in, they'll have to adjust. You won't be able to interact with anyone, less so, them apprehending anything in your colloquial language. (slang, idioms, abbreviations, and jokes) Not acknowledging those significant factors will influence the verisimilitude of your story, disregarding all believability and possible interesting bits you could've written about. Adjustments invite faux pas, trial and error, having severe consequences due to carelessness. One action causes a reaction.

-Out of Character I'm aware some characters are more easily to grasp and get the hang out of when writing them, but it irks me to no end when they all of a sudden talk as the next person on the street would, when they, before, had a unique way with words. (Adding, and this point, might as well, more likely be seen as "to each their own", turning them into something they weren't before because the author felt the need to project their own stuff onto said character)

-Main Character Syndrome (applies to both: Reader-inserts and OCs) Not every character has to be the chosen one, the one who's more powerful, knows all the answers, or is somehow the most special creature to ever have lived. It's okay to be normal and simply exist within this/other universe(s), without ever contributing anything groundbreaking. A small arc of changing one's mind, attitude or belief is as compelling as a larger-than-life adventure, if done right. And if a character happens to possess any special abilities, it'd be fascinating to see them working on their shortcomings and follow them throughout their training to master said skills (which one should not master without ever having trained) Additionally, and I sadly have witnessed this one quite often, to add to a new inserted character's uniqueness and giving them sth. to do, some authors will transfer lines or actions to their new addition from other people in-universe, failing to notice, that they've stolen these people's character-defining moments. There's a way to implement your character in the story without diminishing the roles of everyone around, no matter how minuscule. (don't even get me started on Reader/OC being the sole reason the protagonist/love interest chooses a path, takes action, etc. as shown in the media they're taken out of)

-Lack of creativity this one's tricky to define, especially with the example I'm about to give, 'cause it isn't inherently a bad thing, might as well be down to preference. More often than not, writers tend to insert characters by connecting them to the protagonists in some way, be it through familial bonds, established friendships or replacing the role of a side character. (throwing some shade at Star wars here, since they believe said bond is enough to make a character worth following/investing in)

Yet, it always seems so lacklustre and uncreative to just turn your Reader/OC into a sister, daughter, neighbour, or longtime friend, in order to have an easier way in. Even more so when that status quo replaces the relationship-developing phase of a story. I've always found it more intriguing to have strangers clash and find their way into working as a unit. And if one character simply replaces another, why insert it in the first place? 

Feel free to add.

#thought I'd list some of my pet peeves in fanfiction seeing how more and more people point out what vexes them in their media #writing #fanfiction #reader insert #original characters #fandom #mine #unpopular opinion #pet peeves #writing problems #unpopular thoughts #x reader #last one placed in the hands of a capable writer shouldn't be an issue #given they manage to enhance the story with their additions #additions that hopefully bring a refreshing twist to it instead of rehashing the same ol' story beats

[beardedengineermagazine]

The Biggest Problem With replica bags, And How You Can Fix It

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The texture of this replica bag was so high-class plus the mesmerizing imprint made me really feel like 1,000,000 bucks.​ It absolutely was like having a designer bag with no hefty selling price tag.​

I used to be over the moon Once i wore it for The 1st time – the praise I received was frustrating and other people could not think it After i informed them it had been a duplicate bag.​

If you are purchasing a replica bag, you have to make sure that the quality is good.​ A lot of occasions, the quality of the bag can be compromised to reduce the Expense.​ But using this bag, excellent was definitely not compromised.​

I also felt very pleased supporting the duplicate bag community.​ Getting the reliable come to feel of the real bags without needing to shell out substantial amounts for them was empowering.​ I sense like I'd gotten a true steal.​

I have always had a fascination with designer bags.​Even so, I usually imagined a large number of of these were fake.​ On occasion I have found luggage that were supposedly designer items which were anything but authentic.​Once i lately decided to buy a One more bag for myself, I immediately started to question if I actually must expend all that cash on an genuine bag.​

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___

I thought it absolutely was wonderful which i was able to get my fingers on a designer bag without breaking the bank.​But then I thought a lot more deeply about why I felt that purchasing a fake bag was acceptable.​I regarded the implications of the phony bag, seen from two perspectives: both of those moral, and lawful.​

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#fake bags online

[hiriajuu-suffering]

My Sociopathy

I'm probably one of the only rational people who gets the feeling their margin for error in social situations is way less than others. That treating others around you equitably and kindly applies to everyone except me. Others could slip up up multiple times and be easily forgiven, I make one small error or faux pas and that's it: ghosted, gatekept, no longer welcome. I'd like to think I have a good enough heart, decent enough intentions, but people live in an irrational fear and hatred of everything I am. Others are let in with the smallest of gestures while I have to climb mountains to earn the same level of trust. Every criticism on me damming while all else would be salvageable when it wouldn't apply to me.

They say everyone is somebody's type. I know that's wrong because people are always shocked by how little I succeed at forming connections that give me a haven. I actively play the situation as well as who I am allows me to and yet I'm always laughed off whenever I suggest I was enough to get even the smallest spark. I don't have friends, I have people I call friends because I don't have anyone in my life to lean on. I haven't had a true person to support me since before I hit puberty, so when I say I'm an emotional orphan it isn't an exaggeration.

In this way, I'm not a sociopath by choice. I am because it's the only way I knew how to survive and reconcile with the realities of the cruelty in which my environment(s) treat me. Valued for what I offer for others, never enjoyed for my presence alone. When I start to care about someone, I basically let them pick out the place in my back they get to stab me beforehand. I've gotten betrayed so many times, the returns I get on resilience are negligent. Complete trust in anyone is a far-flung myth for me, I operate on how I predict someone to behave, having faith in any mortal is the folly of someone whom is actually liked by others.

Imagine how easy life would be with an ounce of moral affinity. Imagine people feeling comfortable connecting with you when you try to make every burgeoning feeling clear instead of shrouding yourself in the illusion of control. Imagine believing someone saying they, individually, find you attractive and not just well, you're not unattractive, idk why you think you're ugly. Imagine altruistically offering kindness and getting even more than 1% of it back. Imagine being able to feel like when someone doesn't want you around it's not personal. Not a single person values me enough to stay with me when I'm needed. I always used to say in my teenage years, when it was much more likely, I doubt I would even get a single reluctant visitor if I fell into a coma.

How do I know I lost something I never had? I see how other people are treated: with fairness, with kindness, with compassion, with empathy, with attraction, with love, with caring, with humanity. I am not so lucky. I am not hated a way that's clearly explicit, but I always start from the lowest point possible in the credit I'm given for a basic existence. I've had people trust rapists, abusers, predators, and murderers before they found the capacity to trust me. I am the embodiment of what humanity seems to hate and they can't even justify why.

Three years straight of this -: apologizes for picking others over me w/o a conflict of interest me: I failed you too, dw about it -: I really value your friendship and want to get closer me: so you do feel something for me? I can never be certain -: no? that kinda makes me uncomfortable you would even think that me, to myself: idk, maybe the weeks up until all this when you were flirting with me and completely found it okay for me to care about you, especially giving every indication I voluntarily gave you privileges no one else gets me, thinking: aight, let's get this over with

People don't get what not being good enough means anymore. You don't have to have a reason the person isn't good enough. They can just be that way. The way I always am. The Suffering in my name isn't a meme, it's a prophecy that is never wrong. People are quick to defend and say 30 isn't too old when I've been feeling this way since 27. The tone changes really quick when the age gap is more than 3 years and they align my actions with my face.

I am hated, for no other reason than existing. I am loathed because I am not something desirable. If it never changes, I am supposed to be the bitter villain. Every time I try to be, I feel too miserable to carry on in conveying my vitriol. My entire life is defined by the failure of everyone besides my kin, for entirely self-invested reasons, seeing the potential in me to do good. Should humanity be worth protecting for me, when all it does it alienate me?

Merry Christmas

#socioblr #sociopath #sociocultural #socionics #sociopathy #human behavior #behavioral #behavioralism #type #typology #romance #romantic attraction #romantic opportunity #moral affinity #trust #trust no one #trust issues #altruism #ageism #discriminatory #discrimination #arbitrary #arbitrary rules #arbitrary discrimination #luck #effort #all of a sudden #suddenly #nomenclature #lookism

[theresnosinlondon]

Don’t Do It For Me - h.s. (part 3)

The one where Harry is a friend in need and - can they still be called complications? (1.5k)

I don't even know anymore - is this a short story now? A series of one-shots? All I know is that there will be a part 4.

Part 2

So, you thought you could be back in London and not tell me?

Men can be quite simple creatures sometimes, they really can. I had mostly taken a break from my phone whilst I was away. I favoured taking a camera out and about and kept my phone safe and hidden in my bag. I have gotten notifications of reactions or replies to my Instagram stories but ignored all of them in favour of absorbing the benefits of being away from London, the UK and work.

I had stepped foot back in Heathrow only five hours prior to the text - he really did have eyes everywhere. How he did it was beyond me. A man with a schedule that was so tight it almost overlapped. He has expressed before how the busier he was, the more productive he felt which, was all good and well, until the bags under his eyes were so heavy and sunken that he looked one meeting away from dropping.

I could sympathise - the idea of work being an escape from your life-questioning thoughts is quite appealing when you have a career that resembles your dreams as closely as possible. Throwing myself into a project that gives me freedom of creativity, interactions with interesting characters and puts me behind a camera has a therapeutic effect on my mind. The same must happen for him.

As much of a golden boy and all-around loved guy he was, he certainly had his fatal flaws, one of which was his lack of ability in the prioritising area. He absolutely adores his family and friends, but present the fella with an interesting project and he gets tunnel vision and that is all he can think about. He doesn't just hide behind his job - he becomes his job.

I wasn't aware I had to go through passport control with you too, H. Heathrow was a traumatic enough experience for my little brain. But yeah! Back on British soil!

His call came pretty soon after my text was read - one greeting led to a quick “you need to tell me everything about home” and “I’ll grab some food and come over so we can catch up!” and next thing I knew, I was opening my front door and was greeted with a happy, cheesy face. A one-armed hug and a flick to my chin led him to squeeze past me and towards the living room.

He, as a person, baffled me. The way he so effortlessly made himself at home and started unpacking the food, all the while rambling about the restaurant being skimpy with veggies in their dishes, but the spices blend makes up for it - so he just orders extra greens. Such a boring opinion that still made me smile fondly at his drawled nonsense.

“So! How much did you miss me?” his exaggerated smile was flashed at me. “Must’ve been torture being away from me for such a long time.”

“Barely made it through,” I played along. “The scenery did make up for it, though.”

“Upstaged by a gorgeous view,” he tutted with faux disapproval. “Seriously though, when can I see your pictures?”

“And here I was, thinking you were here to catch up with your dearest friend.” I scoffed with a slight roll of my eyes. He glanced my way, pausing with a spring roll mid-air and just raised his eyebrows, giving me a smug look. He brought the roll to his mouth, maintaining eye contact whilst he crunched his way through a bite.

“And here I was, thinking you would jump my bones the second I walked through your door.” His scoff was playful and the quirk of his lips was an easy hint at his joking mood.

All I could do was smile at him - that man, with his rights and wrongs, with his wit, his cheekiness, his looks, his talent, his moments that warrant wide eyes and a question of “what in the actual hell?”, his soft demeanour contrasted with his “climbing the walls” bouts of uncontainable energy, the plethora of conversations we can carry, his face, his hands, his neck. That man right there, I did want to jump his bones.

“So,” I tried to think of how to word the question I was dying to ask. “How’s Jess?”

“Hm,” He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, interlocking his fingers on his tummy. “Spoke to her the day you left.”

I stayed silent for a moment, waiting for him to elaborate but, ever the tease he was, he kept the momentum going and smiled slightly. “And?”

“And,” He purposefully prolonged the sound, only to spit out the rest of the sentence quickly. “We talked about taking a break to figure things out.”

I have never been known to have a strong poker face but I could usually mask my emotions and reactions to a certain extent - this time I think he could hear my eyes rolling.

“Well, that’s different, isn’t it?” My sentence was heavily accentuated by sarcasm.

“I know you don’t believe in breaks,” He sounded bored and done with the direction the conversation was taking. “And neither do I.” He chose that moment to lull his head to the side and make eye contact with me.

I pursed my lips to the side, feeling the want to wrap myself around him dwindle with each word said out loud. I should’ve seen it coming - he said he was ready to end a seemingly perfect relationship just after he strayed from his path. The fact that I even believed him was quite an insult to my own intelligence.

“I..” Words seemed to fail me in that exact instant, “don’t even know what to say, if I’m being honest.”

“Not much for you to say when that conversation ended with us breaking up.” His monotonous tone was quite disorienting, giving the weight of the words he spoke.

“Huh?”, was all I could come up with.

He heaved a heavy sigh, shuffling on the couch and sitting up straight. “I told you, I didn’t see it working with Jess anymore - I wasn’t going to mess her around any more than I already did.” His pressed lips and frowned eyebrows gave him a gloom look. “I had known, from the moment I met with her to talk, that it was going to end with us breaking up.”

I just kept staring at his profile, not really knowing if it was my place to comfort him or not. The bottom line was, he was my friend before we slept together, we cared for each other and we comforted each other when needed.

I reached out and tugged him by the arm, causing him to lean towards me sideways, with no resistance whatsoever, and his head to fall to my chest. To my surprise, he was quite malleable in my hands and fell into the embrace as if he was expecting it to happen. One arm around his shoulders and the other hand pushing his hair back, so I could kiss the top of his head - he let me cuddle him and let his weight fall onto me.

“I’m sorry, H,” I mumbled against his hair, “I know it’s a decision that you made, but I also know that it hurts all the same.”

“Mh,” he adjusted and held me around the waist, “it’s never easy to go through a breakup, I feel like shit. But you know what?”

I hummed, letting him speak.

“She took it on the chin and called me out on my bullshit,” his chuckle could be felt on my stomach. “When I used the work excuse, she straight up told me to ‘stop fucking around and just get on with it’.”

“Mh, you do like when a partner can put you in your place.”

“Equally as much as I like to put them in their place.” His comment was accompanied by a quick glance up towards me and a squeeze to my middle.

“Alright,” My fingers buried through his strands and gave a tug at his hair. “Let me be a supportive friend and a great host and make you a cuppa.”

“I don’t need your lousy tea,” he mumbled, snuggling his face in my chest, “do you have any nice wine?”

“So that’s why you wanted to come over! Steal all the wine I brought from home?”

“I mean, kind of.” He shrugged and laughed, refusing to let me go. “Seeing your face is also a plus.��

And that is how we ended up with a glass of fine Italian wine each, nibbling on some Chinese food and the pictures I took on my holiday mirrored to my TV. He ooh’d and aah’d at every peak of greenery and blue skies and bright sun he saw, all the while teasing and making jokes to keep the morale up.

His head on my shoulder and his fingers playing with mine were clearly innocent touches - innocent touches that escalated when he turned his face and buried it in my neck when his fingers left mine and took a hold of my nape, when his mouth travelled to my jaw, my cheek. It only took me a split second to sigh at my stupidity and then turn my face, meeting his lips with mine.

And, I suppose he was right - I did end up jumping his bones.

#short story #hs #harry styles #hes #1dff #fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harrystyles #writing #harrystylesfanfiction #harry styles fic #creative writing #writer #flash fiction #original fiction #writblr #harry styles smut #harry styles ff #harry #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

Part 24: Appearance

Erik shuffled down the aisle of the train car, crutch nudged snuggly into his armpit and a suitcase half his size rolling behind with a heavy looking duffel. No one offered assistance and he didn't ask. As a black man, he could always count on that as a consistency. Crutches and all, he'd be viewed as overly capable. From a young age it was ingrained through experience.. all you have is yourself because no one out here will help you, a young black man. Time had proven it again and again. Injured, he could still handle more weight than the average man and it was because he pushed himself. He relied only on himself. Even hospitalized, he found ways to maintain his strength. Weakness and laziness was never an option, not even for recovery. With all his money, that was still something he couldn't afford. But they could.. the white couple on the left. He couldn't help but notice them sitting there.

A closer look told him they weren't actually a couple. The blonde girl's face screamed underage. Fifteen/sixteen. The heavy makeup she wore aged her. She looked high. Heroin, Erik guessed glancing subtly for track marks. She looked up and he glanced away to a Spanish speaking family with five kids including a crying baby. He bit his lip on his way to take his seat at the rear where he could see everyone. The man in front of him was on his way to sleep. Erik put in his earbuds and continued his watch.

As the hours passed, he noticed more and more. The kids had no home training. The parents had no sense of awareness considering they sat opposite a fifteen year old girl being held against her will. It could easily be one of their kids, with them not paying attention it wouldn't take much. The baby had the healthiest lungs of any baby he'd ever heard. That blonde girl was high as hell. She got up to use the bathroom on his side of the train and he kept his eyes down as she passed with her trafficker on her ass to make sure she ain't try nothing risky. Ain't none of my black ass business, Erik told himself. He hadn't signed up to save any little blonde girls. He kept his eyes down as they passed him again to return to their seats and she dropped a tiny earring on the floor next to his foot on purpose. Damn, he groaned dropping his head on the back of the seat. Why me? I just said I ain't wanna get involved in this shit.

Taking a deep sigh, he picked up the earring and did what made sense. He googled the train police department and texted in a report using his sub contact phone, the main phone. He gave a description of the couple and information regarding the train. You're welcome, he thought watching the back of the girl's head before settling back in his seat comfortably. Any other time he'd have ignored her, not that victims often reached out to him so clearly. Still, it was an unnecessary risk calling on police. What if they decided to search the train? The whole point of taking the train was to not be searched.

Y/N would be proud right now, his lip twisted in irritation. She'd become the true north of his moral compass. What would Y/N do in the situation? The thought made him nauseous. She wouldn't survive his lifestyle. He wouldn't survive it with her morals. This is dangerous. We are completely incompatible, but I still want you, he admitted to himself. It was more like need. Obsession even. There was a burning feeling in his gut. "This shit ain't healthy," he muttered.

-----

"Wow, may I..," Tanner's fingers hover in the air, his eyes on your fresh braids. Your eyebrows answer before you can and he lowers his hand with a smile. "Those braids are really something. Would it be offensive if I asked how they're attached?" He looks so fascinated. He's been staring and talking to the top of your head since he saw you this morning in the lobby and now he's staring just as hard from across the small booth table at Pho Station.

"You just buy braiding hair and braid it into your hair. That's literally it."

"Braiding hair.. what's that?" His head rests on his hand as his elbow sits on the table. He's so curious, staring dreamily.

"It's packs of hair you get at the store specifically for braided styles." You slurp in a spoonful of long noodles.

"Is it human hair?"

"Synthetic." It comes out muffled as you break off the noodles hanging from your mouth with a chopstick so you can swallow.

"Synthetic? What's the difference..," his blue eyes drift lazily down to your nearly black ones. "Well, I mean in how they look."

"Human hair is typically Malaysian or Brazillian, something like that. You can straighten or curl it because it's actual hair. Synthetic fibers can melt but it's inexpensive and can mimic hair textures well."

"Well it's beautiful," he nods. "I've always wondered about it. Does it hurt?"

"Mm-mm," you grumble slurping the broth of your chicken pho. "No these are knotless and they don't hurt." That confuses him so you get into the difference between regular box braids and knotless. "You can't even sleep when you first get regular box braids because it's so tight that's why I don't wear them."

"Yes.. don't wear them if they hurt. Don't wanna pull out all that beautiful hair.." His eyes hold a familiar twinkle. The way he stares.. it reminds you of Erik. You don't wanna think about the meaning of it.

"Damn right.. Hey your pho's gonna get cold."

"Oh," his brows raise in faux offense. He picks up his soup spoon looking away for the first time. It's about time. "Well these.. knotless braids," he gestures with the spoon, "They look amazing on you," he smirks. "But you're already gorgeous, you know that."

"This from a Gene Kelly/James Dean lookalike. You look like you belong in a Marvel movie. That dark hair.. chiseled jaw? And who do you get those eyes from?"

"My grandma. My mom's eyes are carmel brown and so are my sister's. My father's are a darker brown."

"Punnet square kicked in hard."

"So tell me where your features come from," his eyes twinkle, hands folded under his strong chin. Your heart nearly skips a beat. It took a while for you to admit it to yourself because you'd have to admit you were lowkey using him.. but you knew what he was doing and how he felt from the start. That look was infatuation.

Opening doors, calling on me, paying for lunch every time, bringing me coffee? It's a lot.. Well that's because he likes me.. No It could be friendly, doesn't mean he likes me.

Almost everyday you told yourself the same thing.

I don't want him as anything more than a friend, maybe a work husband now that I know he's a cool lil white boy. I think he knows that..

Not when you flirt back he doesn't know that..

But is it really flirting or being nice? Besides I think he might feel the same.

A look into his eyes slams that possibility.

Who am I kidding. Maybe it's wrong to let him pay. Is that selfish?..

Girl, you're not dumb you know exactly what you're doing..

No, but really, I enjoy his company. I look forward to our little lunch outings as much as he does..

Then pay for yourself!..

I KNOW, but I don't.. want to...

Blinking, you sigh clearing your guilty conscience. "I look exactly like my dad but my personality is my mom."

"Oh really. That's where you get those adorably chubby cheeks from? Your dad? Interesting family photos I bet."

"Believe it or not that's also where I get this tummy and all this ass from," I say straight faced watching his cheeks sink in. On that note, he buries himself in his pho and I watch him hold himself together, the both of us laughing on the inside.

"You're ridiculous," he smiles down at his bowl. "What will I ever do with you.."

"Hopefully keep feeding me."

"Of course, Barb told me about a BBQ place about fifteen minutes from here. How about tomorrow?"

"Then I can show you pictures of my bootylicious father," you stare watching him collect himself again.

"Wow," he chokes on his broth. "Or we can look at yours, completely up to you."

-----

Never had it felt so good to be coming or going. Erik wheeled his bags through the station coolly, but internally he was leaping for joy like a little kid. After touching down in every continent through the military as a soldier and then a mercenary soldier, he was used to traveling. New locations, customs, and languages were the norm. War, battle, and toppling small countries for their resources and political control was the norm. It wasn't right, but it made big money and when his service ended, he retired. However, that didn't change the fact that he was still a multilingual and adaptable war weapon with no other real skill or interest other than killing. He was good at it so he made it a business. A consultant was what he called himself. Gameplay and development was the front.

Life as an assassin made him his own boss. He could kill and go off the map at will. He'd travel as far as it took to complete the task and take cash or cryptocurrency which he'd translate into several offshore accounts before his domestic ones. He'd usually buy a throwaway car, restock his ammo, spend time sunbathing on a yacht in the Maldives, hunker down in a city where he blended in and then isolate for a month wallowing in a small room before his next kill. Sightseeing wasn't on his agenda. He'd been all over the world and seen the worst of human nature. Texas had been a first as far as experiencing the high points anywhere. He'd enjoyed his stay with a woman and they'd gone on dates, real dates. He'd gone to an amusement park of all places and taken her around the city. It was magical though he'd almost been killed for it. Texas.. Not Cartagena or Havana or Jaipur but country ass Texas. Now here he was finally back in Cali. Nothing came close to the joy of having someone waiting for him. Someone who'd be overjoyed to see him. His job was done, his leg was healing up nicely, no one was after him because he'd left no one alive that could easily identify him. He was on his way home.

Home, he smiled somewhat bitterly. More like playing house.. Ain't none of this shit real and eventually it will end, probably in disaster.

Still.. He couldn't drop the facade for it was filling a hole within him that he hadn't realized until recently could be filled. He had latent desires. Playing house with her was the closest to a home he'd ever get.

-----

Erik's car takes premium gas and you wonder about his bills. Is he paying them? 'Cause you're not. He'd better have it worked out because once the lights go out in this isolated grand establishment, you're gone. You've gotten too used to walking around with every bright light in the house on at night. Walking through the bathroom butt naked you light the very last of his pricey looking black label white candles having burned through the rest of his supply. This one's Leather scented, not the best but not bad. That's why it was last. Locking the bathroom door out of habit, you run the shower and enjoy the luxurious spa room you've become accustomed to. The water pressure still hits. The warm thick white towels are fresh from the dryer. Your body is hairless from shaving and you've just purchased a new body oil to try that Ava swears by. Though you're only going to bed, you can't resist it. It smells like like fresh baked cookies from the oven and makes your skin radiate golden. It's perfect for a pool party or the beach.. whenever you end up going again which may be a while. Taking a few suggestive shiny body selfies in the towel, you decide to go ahead and send them to Erik though he doesn't deserve them. Someone has to see your glass skin. You hadn't spoken to him in the last two days as he'd been "busy". Doing what, you had no clue. It felt like bullshit. All of it. It was maddening to the point that you didn't want to care anymore, whether he returned or stayed. He'd been gone too long. Waaay too long. His reasons for wanting you out of Texas were beginning to feel like lies.

There's probably a huge harem of harlot whores he's entertaining and he doesn't want me to know he lied about only having three submissives, the asshole. He's probably in some twisted unsanitary orgy in a dark and questionable dungeon drinking glowing lime jello shooters and getting blackout drunk right now.. Probably whipping some poor girl with one of those long cowboy whips. God knows what he does with his other subs. If he was that dirty with Lil Bitch's morally debased ass and that was in front of me...

Every now and again the thought would cross your mind. Fuck him, you thought. Stay gone. I'll keep living here alone in the lap of luxury.

Never before had you been in a hot tub so often. It did wonders for a post work unwind with a smoothie or herbal tea in hand. You didn't need him when you had wifi, cable, powerful A/C, and a full fridge. He could stay with whoever he was with.

But what if he doesn't come back, your mind wonders darkly. What if he stays in Texas and never comes back?

Suddenly the house seems a lot chillier and unwelcoming.. Empty even. Too quiet. Hugging yourself for comfort you wander through the house and turn each of the lights off one by one to get an idea once more just how dark it gets. Too dark. Pitch black. You can't even see a hand in front of your face and panic sets in along with a strong inner body chill. This isn't something you can do and if Erik never comes back...

Honestly you've never seriously considered that possibility. The thought brings a loneliness that echoes the depth of darkness, both equally terrifying. The fact is that you do care.. profoundly to the point that his continued absence really bothers you. He has already become an indestructible pillar in your everyday life. Going days without so much as a hello feels like a week and that doesn't do much good for your anxiety.

Flipping each of the lights back on, you settle into Erik's bed this time around and stare at the time until you doze off. When you open your eyes there's natural light coming in through the window and you take a grateful breath before sitting up in the bed.

"Good morning," a chilling voice interjects and you nearly have a heart attack, unable to scream in the face of Flu sitting on the edge of the bed watching you. You want to run, scream, fight, anything but your body which is frozen in absolute fear and shock will not move. He smiles and you dart upright in bed sweating cold bullets and panting. Outside is still dark. According to the clock you've been sleep three and a half hours. It's 3:30 AM. Taking a deep breath to calm your breathing you look around the room comforting yourself with the mantra "It's just a dream. You're okay. You're okay. There's nothing to worry about. You've been safe and you're still safe. You're completely safe." A few minutes of repeating it and looking around, listening closely to the air has you relaxed enough to fall back asleep especially since your eyes are crossing up. When your eyes open again you check the clock. It's been almost another hour but you keep waking up.

Hold up. Didn't I have the light on?

Thinking back, your half sleep mind isn't completely sure but you know you sleep with the lights on. Nervous to move, your wide eyes search the pitch blackness before you and when you get the courage to move, you turn over bracing yourself to see Flu sitting there beside you on the bed. Nothing's there or out of the ordinary.

Did the lights go out? Did it blow? I think I had it on...

It's not getting up to explore. That's how people fir in movies. Instead, you bury your head in the covers like a small child and slip back into sleep. Or at least almost. Before you can cover your eyes with the blanket, you hear something that sounds like a slight vibration. That would be normal.. if your phone wasn't all the way downstairs.

A hand clamps over your mouth and as you feel a body quickly cover yours you grab at the darkness in attempt to gouge, scratch, and scrape whatever you can reach. When you pull locs, your brain registers and you yank them hard to get a noise.

"AHH," he whisper screams.

"ERIK WHAT THE FUCK?!" This time your lungs are free and healthy because you yell directly in his ear, slapping at him. "YOU ALMOST GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK." Breathless, you try to catch it, still swinging. "Why would you do that! What the fuck is wrong with you!"

"I wanted to surprise you," he grips your hands. "I didn't think you'd try to rip my damn hair out! And why your nails so sharp!"

"Are you mentally deficient? In what world did that seem like a good idea to you?!"

"Catch your breath," he says quietly.

Getting up he flips the lights and sits on the bed beside you. You haven't seen him in what feels like ages. "You still having nightmares." It's not a question as he looks in your tired eyes.

"Not often, just a couple of times since I've been on my own here." You didn't really have them when you two were together. He nods understanding your meaning. You hadn't mentioned it on the phone or through text. What could he have done about it anyway? There's a moment of silence as he rests his hand over your blanketed leg.

"I'm sorry for being away so long..," he says quietly. "I mean it. I'm sorry for scaring you.. I honestly didn't consider the nightmares because when we were together you didn't have them. I promise you, you are safe. He can't hurt you. There are many things in this world that can, but I promise he's not one.. and as long as I'm here I won't let anyone touch you. I will protect you with my life."

"That's good and all," you sigh, half listening and half asleep already. "But can you just.. stay here with me until I fall asleep."

"You in my bed," he smiles climbing fully dressed under the blanket to scoop you into his arms. Instantly your body clings to his and his shirt becomes your new pillow. You feel the quick sensation of his lips on your temple. "Did you miss me," he whispers. You mean to respond, but instead you fade out asleep.

-----

As soon as he'd slipped into the bed, she was knocked, sleeping soundly and breathing loud. He stroked her braids, her arm, and her back gently but firmly the way he always had when she needed help to relax.

"I missed you," he whispered into her forehead. She responded with a small fart and his nose crinkled. He didn't smell it which meant it was trapped under the blanket. She did it once more just then but it was louder. She'd be horrified if she were awake. "Y/N," he groaned hoping he wouldn't smell it. He didn't dare move though. He only sighed and continued rubbing her back. "Stink," he nicknamed her on the spot. "My lil stink stink," his stomach jumped in humor thinking of her reaction in the morning. He wanted to see the expression on her face when he called her that and when she heard the explanation of why. It made his chest shake. He tried to control it so not to wake her. She was sleeping too good for him to even get up and take his outside clothes off and they were hot to sleep in. He wanted to get comfortable.

That's okay, he decided as he settled in to fall asleep exactly where he was, under her. It took some effort to get comfortable in that position but in that moment there was no other place he'd have rather been.

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