#I know it's statistically a thing where people do tend to hang on to life until birthdays or holidays

[autisticlifelessons]

Tips for Autistic Students

I managed to get really good grades both at school and university, but it involved a LOT of emotional anguish. I had this reputation of being really smart and nerdy, but the truth was I had to put in an almost inhumane amount of effort in order to sustain my grades. I lost perspective and sacrificed other aspects of my life - such as building friendships and having experiences - that I'm still catching up with, now.

If I had to do it all again, knowing I'm autistic, there are definitely some things I would change that would have made my life as a student so much more enjoyable. Read on to learn from my mistakes!

Spend time going over the things you aren't so sure on - I wasted a lot of time reading over and over stuff that I could recite off by heart, but to be honest I don't think it made one iota of difference to my grades. I tended to avoid the scary stuff I was struggling with, but with hindsight this would have been a much more productive use of my time. Identify the areas you know you are weaker in, and focus on plugging those gaps in your knowledge rather than aimlessly wading through course materials.

Look after yourself - it's all too easy when you're looking to get good grades to totally overwork yourself. But this can actually be counterproductive as when you are tired/stressed you are actually more likely to make mistakes and underperform. Try making a studying timetable for yourself, and make sure it has a cut off point so you know when to stop. Trust me - grades are not worth burning yourself out over.

Give yourself plenty of time to complete assignments/study for tests and exams - it's very common to hear other people on your course bragging about how the started a essay 2 hours before the deadline and still got an A, but don't listen to them. More than likely they're lying or at least exaggerating, but they are also NOT you. You don't need to compare yourself to anyone else. For most autistic people - even those with executive function issues who are prone to procrastination - having to do things last minute can lead to overwhelm and burnout. A neurotypical person may be able to handle this approach, but for neurodivergent people this strategy could lead to a fallout period where you would need to recover. Starting ahead of time will allow you to pace yourself and ensure you have the chance to ask for help or clarification if necessary.

Try and make a few friends in every class - socialising often doesn't come easy to autistic people, but I promise going to class is much more bearable if you have a least one friendly face to look forward to seeing. Statistically speaking there is a really good chance there is someone else who is neurodivergent, and you likely can relate to each other's experiences more than a neurotypical person's. It also gives you people to arrange to hang out with outside of class, which is how friendships are built and sustained. Just a simple 'good morning' or complimenting someone on their clothes is enough to begin building a rapport.

Pay attention to your sensory needs - it's much easier to concentrate and take in information if you are comfortable. If the sun is in your eyes or if your desk is wobbly, ask if you can switch seats. If having a stim toy in your hand helps you concentrate, do what you need to do to get permisson to use one. Advocating for yourself can be scary, but it makes such a difference to your experience.

Did you find my tips helpful? Let me know!

#actually autistic #autistic #autism #neurodiversity #neurodivergent #studying #high school

[vermillioncrown]

What if ZYX was reincarnated as Madame Mo? Would they feel obligated to let MXY bullying go on?

my first reaction was "lol no what?"

but yeah, the unspoken point you've made... "let MXY bullying go on to drive him to ritualistically bring WWX back to life?"

hm

so this is the thing. it's not like mxy was born after wwx dies. but being so far removed from cultivation politics... it's probably like watching a horrible freeway accident occur in slow motion.

from the other side of the partition.

what happens to mxy is cruel. really really cruel. and i don't want to make specific statements on zyx's capacity for cruelty (that or lack thereof will come with later dbd chapters).

but the generality of things is (and i think what i've written over dbd and au's) is that zyx is a happy (unhappy?) medium between impulse and calculation. i'd rank things in terms of immediacy as: instinct -> tactical -> strategic

and zyx is a tactical person (whether or not other people see it from their povs is not up to them). they overthink and are deliberate, but it's very much a present situation thing. future considerations are left vague and accounted for in that manner (like kalman filtering if you know statistics + control theory)

(honestly if you know those two subjects why have you not called me out for butchering them in dbd yet???)

and that type of consideration... tends to work out. min-max effort for results. at least, irl and i haven't been disproven yet lol

(also also in that type of board game, i do very well. not good with impulse, but also not good at long-term big brain gambits. good at momentary lightbulb moments)

=

bringing it back to mme mo: the long-term play of psychologically destroying this kid for sacrifice is. uhh. i don't think zyx could do it. perhaps if it was for a duration of up to a year, the immediate results would let them justify it.

but years. years. near a decade. the results would be too far off for z!mme mo to imagine, to understand, and to stomach. if they commit, this is the au where zyx drinks heavily to take their mind off of what they're doing (in lieu of modern day escapism or distractions)

=

long-term planning on another method of bringing back wwx?

that's easier to think about. idk what it says about my morality that z!mme mo would have an easier time helping mxy rethink the ritual to sacrifice a third party rather than self-sacrifice

i don't think it's good, but i'm being honest about how survival-mode zyx would think.

=

wait. as mme mo, z!mme mo has no stakes in the cultivation realm. in fact, jgy as chief cultivator has been only beneficial towards mundane society.

wwx means nothing to z!mme mo. lwj means nothing.

prime directive: just raise mxy right. make sure their actual kid isn't a shithead, either. the fact that mme mo basically ran the household makes it easier to carve out a nice little second life (indicative that mme mo likely had decent prospects growing up and prob doesn't want for much). nhs can hang himself

#zyx au's #mdzyx #inquiry #Anonymous #me making my game-saving plays in the wargames 'i think this is the right tactic here. not only for effect but bc it'd be funny af' #'well yeah if it succeeds i'll be fucked lol' #<-how most of my games go #this is a prime example of 'if problems don't seek out zyx zyx does not care' #or not that she doesn't care #drama-avoidant and boring without outside interference #dbd + other au's only happen because people make their problems zyx's problems #this was a fun thought exercise thank u anon #a person's situation influences how their personality comes about #or i like to think of the chinese saying #'heroes come in an era of strife' or something like that #if there's nothing to act against (immediately and not in the vague sense) then there's nothing to do

[bippityboppityboopa]

No Water on Mars

Hello! This is a piece that I wrote for a project for one of my college courses. The inspiration behind it is a video game titled “Deliver Us the Moon,” where a really good point was brought to my attention. That point being that more often than not, people tend to search for a way off of Earth rather than a way to fix it. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading.

Brooke stands in her small home-office, a notepad pressed against her forearm, a pen dancing furiously across the page. Her brow scrunches in focus, her hazel eyes crunch at the corner. Wispy pieces of her blonde hair tickle her plump cheeks, a single shake of her head pushes them effortlessly to the side, before they peek back out once the motion calms. Her gaze rests on the large fish tank in front of her, notes on the fish’s behavior splaying across the notepad. 

Ever since she was little, Brooke adored wildlife, most specifically the wildlife that lives under the sea. Her love of aquatic creatures forged her path from the moment she knew she had to be something when she grew up.  Thus, her answer to the question “What do you want to be when you grow up,” was “A marine biologist.” True to her word, that is what she became. She went to the best school that she could find to truly hone in her passion and her drive. Now she spends her days working for “Sea a Better World,” an organization dedicating itself to protecting marine life and cleaning up the oceans that have been so carelessly destroyed through the acts of overfishing, oil spills, plastic contaminates, and so much more.

She had always dreamed that her partner would share the same passion. That’s one dream that didn’t come true. 

Leonardo wasn’t a marine biologist. Rather the CEO of one of the richest companies in the world. It was his father’s company, and his father’s before him. And, once Leo finished college, his father passed the business down to Leo and it was now his. Leonardo didn’t have a passion for aquatic life like Brooke did, but he did have a passion for space. 

When he was young, Leo spent his nights on the roof of the apartment building that held his penthouse. He spent so much time looking up at the night sky, his heart longing to know exactly what’s up and out there. As time went on, the twinkling stars grew less numerous as the light pollution of the city blocked the view. But that didn’t stop Leo’s desire to be among the stars. 

Leo and Brooke met in college. The two had taken the same 8am general education requirement of statistics, the only two in the class actually excited and awake enough to participate in the class. Like magnets, the two were drawn to each other and began hanging out after class. 

One thing led to another, and here they are 6 years later. Engaged now, ready to make the next step in their life. 

Brooke’s concentration isn’t broken by the front door opening. She’s too lost in her studying of the behaviors of her fish for that. Nor does it break at the thundering of heavy footsteps rushing down the hallway. 

Brooke’s concentration is broken by Leo’s frame stumbling into the doorway as a frantic “Brooke,” rushes past his lips. 

Brooke jumps and her head snaps to face her fiance at the sudden noise that surprised her. She lets out a sharp breath and relaxes when she sees who it is. Carefully she sets her notepad down, “Geez Leo. You startled me. A little heads up would be nice,” She teases, walking over and wrapping her arms around Leonardo’s neck. Her brow furrows again when her calm eyes meet his wide and wild ones. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“I’m going to space,” Leo practically whispers.

Brooke feels her heart pound to a stop in her chest. “What?” She asks curiously, not sure if she heard him right and if she did how the heck that was possible. 

“I’m going to SPACE!” Leo shouts in excitement, moving his hands up to grab her shoulders, giving her a small shake in his joy. 

“Wha-You’re going to space?” She echos him, her brow unfurrowing as her face melts. Her heart resumed it’s beating as it picked up on his excitement and beats with his happiness. 

“I am! They’re sending me up! After all of my generous donations and funding their missions, the World Space Organization is allowing me to be a spaceman on their next mission!” Leo explains, a bright grin spreading on his face. 

“That’s amazing, Leo! Congratulations! Holy shit, this is huge! We have to celebrate! What’s the mission? Is it like they did with that other guy where they let him go into space for 10 minutes?” Brooke rushes out excitedly.

Leo’s expression sours slightly and the mention of who Brooke referred to as “that other guy.” “No,” he states with a little bit of rudeness lacing his tone. “It’s not like ‘that other guy.’ This is a real mission, Brooke. It’s going to be something completely and utterly new. It’s going to be a new start.” 

Brooke’s brow furrows again in confusion, the excitement for her fiance fading as he goes into detail. “A new start?”

Leo perks up again, his chest puffing out slightly in pride. “A new start,” he says with determination. “Not only am I going to space. I’m going to Mars! I’m going to apart of the mission to form a new colony on Mars in an attempt to find a new planet that we as humans can live on as this planet’s kind of fucked.”

Leo states this new information with such ease, it causes Brooke’s heart to break in confusion and hurt. Surely he must be joking, but when Brooke scans Leo’s face she finds nothing but the honest truth. 

Silence pierces the room for a long moment as it truly registers in Brooke’s mind as to what Leo has said. He’s been given an offer to move to Mars. A whole other planet. He didn’t even say he was going to try and bring her with him. He just said he’s going to space, he’s going to Mars. And even if she was invited, she wasn’t sure if she would go. Her whole life is the ocean, the sea, the water and what lives in it and there’s no water on Mars. 

“Leo,” she whispers, slowly pulling herself away from the man in front of her. Leo’s face scrunches in confusion as his arms drop to his side. “What, Brooke? I’m going to space! Aren’t you happy for me? You know this is my biggest dream come true. After all the money I’ve spent…” 

“Leo, how could you agree to this?” Brooke chokes out, the pain in her chest growing, making it nearly impossible to get her words out. 

“What do you mean, ‘How could I agree to this?’ This is my fucking dream, Brooke. Why can’t you just be supportive? I have always been supportive of you and your career and you can’t just do this one thing for me?” Leo spits out, the anger causing his face to flush red. 

“I have always supported you and your dream, I have. But this isn’t just some little one day trip. You’re fucking talking about relocating to not a different city, or state, or fuck even a country. You’re fucking talking about relocating to a whole other fucking planet. Somewhere that is quite literally millions of miles away.” 

“This is my chance to live my dreams. You know I never truly wanted to take over the business, I’ve always dreamed of the stars-”

“-I do know that. I really fucking do-

“-And this is my one chance to live it and maybe even get ahead of the decline of the Earth so that by the time we can’t live here anymore, I’m already gone. We both know that the Earth is a lost cause.” 

Brooke stares at him with his mouth agape for a moment. “I cannot believe you just said that to me. After all my research. All the time I’ve spent, that we’ve spent trying to make at least the ocean better. That I’ve spent cleaning and developing and observing. To tell me the Earth is a lost cause. You’re just brushing everything I’m doing, that my company is doing to fight marine pollution. Climate change in general. You fucking rich bitches always want to throw money at things and make them go away. You want to escape instead of trying to stay and fix it. We can fix it. And instead of trying to help us in that, help SAVE the Earth, YOU’RE FUCKING LEAVING IT?” She finishes her rant with a loud yell. All the frustration, confusion, and irritation escaping in her volume and her words. 

“SEE? Everything has to be about YOU! I’m rich because I’ve worked for it. There’s no solution that will work. Your whole argument is about what YOU’VE done. What about everything that I’VE done? The sacrifices I’VE made. This is a reward for ME and you’ve made it all about YOU.” 

“WELL NO FUCKING SHIT!” Brooke all but screams, “YOU’RE LEAVING ME. WE ARE SUPPOSED TO GET MARRIED.” 

Her screams finally seem to get through to Leo as he freezes at her words. It registers in his mind, cutting through the excitement of actually going to space. If he takes the opportunity, he’s leaving his fiance behind. The woman he loves and is set to marry in just a few months time. He hadn’t even thought to ask if she could come with him. But now it registers that maybe she wouldn’t even want to. He knows how passionate she is about her work, and just the way she’s responded tells him just about everything he needs to know. But still, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, one time chance to live out his dream. He knows if he turns this down, the WSO will think that he’s not interested in going to space and won’t offer it to him again. Hell, it even seems like they’re going to stop all other space missions that aren’t related to this one. 

Silence falls from both of their lips. Harsh breaths rip from their noses as they both attempt to calm themselves. The air is so tense that even the fish in their gurgling and bubbling tank seem to stop in their tracks and stare. Brooke’s eyes bore into Leo’s nose as she remained looking at him, but not wanting to make eye contact. Leo’s eyes gazed around the room, looking anywhere but at the woman in front of him. 

His eyes land on a framed photo on her desk. In the photo the two are grinning brightly at the camera. Brooke stands behind him with her arms around his neck, his hands resting on hers. His green eyes are hidden behind the scrunch of his face from the brilliant smile. It was a date the two had gone on together. A date where the two forgot who they were at work, and were just Leo and Brooke once again. It had been forever since they had spent time together, it was Brooke’s suggestion. Just Brooke and Leo. Not CEO Leonardo Capal. Not Marine Biologist Brooke Warpahl. Just Leo and Brooke. 

“Brooke,” a quiet whisper falls from Leo’s lips as his eyes move back to look at her. 

Brooke simply shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “We were supposed to get married.” She whispers back. 

“Were?” The word is uttered in an echo. 

Wordlessly, Brooke moves her right hand over her left fingers. She carefully plucks the ring that now felt like the weight of the world off her finger before holding it out to Leo. When he makes no move to take it, Brooke reaches out with her free hand and grabs his hand. Leo’s heart leaps at the touch, but it feels cold and unforgiving, nothing like their usual touches. Brooke rotates his hand and presses the ring into his hand. 

“You tell me.” Brooke demands quietly, pulling her hands away from Leo and hugging herself. “It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.” 

“I--” Leo chokes out, his fingers coming up and curling over the ring as he brings it to his hand and clutches it to his chest. “This is my dream. But you are too. Maybe I can see if you can come too.” He offers, his voice building again, “because I want you to. I’ll pay whatever, no cost is too much. I can’t lose you, but I can’t lose this opportunity. So I’ll fix it!” He determines. “I will, I’ll-”

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Leo.” Brooke interrupts. “Usually you can, but this time you can’t. I don’t want to go to Mars. I have too much here. I can’t leave here.” 

Leo’s heart shatters in his chest at the words. “Wait, no. Please-”

“Even if I could go. I. don’t. want. to.” She enunciates every word to make sure he understands. He does. 

“But-” 

“So you have a choice. Me or Mars. You can’t have both… I’m going to my mom’s. Make your choice. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll have my answer.” Brooke states plainly, before turning and beginning her exit out of the office. 

“Brooke, please.” Leo begs in a broken tone. It causes her to stop in her tracks but not turn around. “I love you.” 

Brooke’s heart is low in her stomach, the bile rises up her throat, and the tears threaten to fall without her permission. “And I love you… But there’s no water on Mars. I’m not on Mars.” 

With that, Brooke continues her exit out of the office. Leo listens to her footsteps through the apartment, and soon out the door, silenced by the front door closing. 

The ring digs into his palm, the bubble of the fish tank mocks him. Leo is left with an empty chest, any and all excitement he felt of space travel completely gone and void from his body now that Brooke has voiced her opinion and left him to make his decision. 

His body feels weak. His legs are shaky. He can’t help but let his body give way and he lets himself sink to the floor of the office. Me or Mars. The words ring in his ears. How could he have been so selfish? Can he still be selfish? He wants to go but he wants his fiance. But he can’t have both. He can’t have his cake and eat it too. Achieve his dreams of space travel or achieve his dreams of Brooke. Either way he can’t completely win. Brooke won’t come with him. She would have to leave her dreams behind. 

Afterall, there’s no water on Mars. 

#deliver us the moon #no water on mars #deliver us the moon story #deliver us the moon inspo #college project #final project #thank you for reading #apperciate you

[shitty-check-please-aus]

I am increasingly afraid that I may be a Hallmark movie protagonist

I am a woman who is from a Very Small Town living in a Very Big City

Used to love Christmas but is growing increasingly upset by the whole concept due to family issues surrounding the holiday- e.g. me getting too sad tonight to watch my favorite Christmas movies alone in my room on my laptop

Single as a jingle bell, too busy to find love

The biggest issue is that I don’t think I’m successful enough in my career at this point to need to be lured away to live on a christmas tree farm or whatever.

I swear if next year is another sad and difficult holiday I better get a whirlwind romance out of it

#if tumblr fucks up the formatting there should be bullet points #I'm too sad to watch Elf or the Muppet Christmas Carol #that is some Hallmark movie protagonist shit right there #also I need there to be no more member of the Holiday Death Club in my family #my grandmother got labor day my grandfather was juuust early enough to valentine's day to have the funeral that day #this sounds like a joke but a lot of family members have died on holidays so we call it the Holiday Death Club #someone has Thanksgiving for sure and I'm 90% sure someone has Christmas #the point is that I really don't want anyone I love to die on Christmas #but it is a possibility #I know it's statistically a thing where people do tend to hang on to life until birthdays or holidays #and these were all old people who died of natural causes #but still! don't want anyone else in the club! membership is closed! #if you saw me post this with i.e. instead of e.g. no you didn't <3

[luxekook]

chapter one.

⇥ pairing: jungkook x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, kissing, hickies, drinking, tatted jungkook, nipple piercings

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter One

Fall of Junior Year – 8:57am

I curse every single decision that has brought me to this very moment as I power-walk across campus, sweating under the already blistering sun. Campus in August could easily be compared to a swamp given the amount of unearthly humidity, and I'm pretty sure I currently qualified as the local swamp thing.

The only positive feature in my morning has been the table of free coffee and doughnuts staffed by Student Government. The first day of the fall semester always seems to be accompanied by frantically wide-eyed freshmen and celebratory freebies. However, air conditioning is the only thing I would be celebrating today as I finally reach Tyson Hall – the destination of my 9:00am class.

As I rush to my classroom with one minute to spare, I slump into a seat in the far corner – my preferred location for people-watching out of the large windows and for getting away with doing homework for other classes.

Familiar faces surround me, an unsurprising observation given that this is our mandatory research seminar as psychology majors. I notice my friend Jenni sitting in the opposite corner, eyes glued to her phone screen.

Opening my laptop, I shoot her a text to come sit with me. Her head whips up, black braids moving every which way as she immediately piles up her things and hustles over, “(y/n), I forgot you were in this seminar! I just switched over from quantitative research because I couldn’t take any more statistics – or Dr. Harding.”

Dr. Harding is the dean of the psychology department and has been teaching here for ages. Feared by most psychology students for his tough grading and intimidating persona, he’s actually a huge softie – something I discovered by going to his office hours and seeing all 85 pictures of his grandchildren hanging throughout the room.

“He’s not that bad, Jen.”

She scoffs, “You would say that because you got an A in statistics like some sort of wizard. Besides, Dr. Newman is so much nicer.”

Jenni has an excellent point. Dr. Newman is the main reason I chose this seminar. As one of the most respected researchers at our university, she’s known for her qualitative studies on gender across cultures. I consider Dr. Newman to be a real badass woman and I lowkey stan her.

I turn to reply, but Dr. Newman begins taking attendance and class begins.

Fifty minutes later, Jenni practically drags me out of the classroom, “I cannot believe she kept us the whole 50 minutes. Is she aware that it’s syllabus week? It’s practically law to just read over the syllabus and then dismiss class. This is outrageous– (y/n), are you even listening?”

“Hmm?” I totally had tuned her out, focusing on the number of students flooding the quad. I had missed this – the rush of students heading to class, the yells of people greeting each other from entirely too far away, the buzz of excitement over potential parties…

“Unbelievable. How did I forget you have this whole weird-ass feminist crush on her?” Jenni forges forth, “It doesn’t matter. What are you doing tonight? You’re going out with us, right? Luna and I want to go to Hannigan’s.”

Since the three of us had all turned 21 over the summer, we finally could legally go to the bars in town. Hannigan’s currently holds the top spot on the list of bars that most of the upperclassman frequent. It’s a popular Irish pub downtown known for its cheap beer and mixed drinks.

It’s also BTS’s unofficial hangout – a fact that makes me slightly uneasy. After learning who the higher-ups are in BTS, I have taken to avoiding them like the plague. It was a relatively easy thing to do since the spring semester tended to be less focused on rushing and recruiting for fraternities and sororities.

But now it’s rush season, and I’m pretty much fucked. There will be no avoiding seeing BTS’s president Kim Namjoon out recruiting with his vice president Min Yoongi and his social chair Jung Hoseok. There will also be no avoiding pledge master Taehyung leading around new BTS pledges like a mother duckling. And don’t even get me started on how Kim Seokjin, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook will be popping up everywhere to advertise the latest BTS bash.

Sighing, I figure that the chances of actually bumping into them at the bar will be slim, given that it will most likely be super crowded and I can easily blend in.

I turn to Jenni as we keep walking towards our next classes, “Yeah, I’ll go to Hannigan’s. Are you going to come over to get ready at our place?”

Luna and I had moved into a cute little off-campus apartment over the summer. As it turned out, it’s cheaper to live off-campus than on-campus if you look hard enough. We also had it pretty good location-wise being just a few short blocks from both campus and downtown.

“Yes!” Jenni replies, slowing to a stop out front of the science building, “I’ll be over around 8 with tequila. I’ll text you later. I’ve got to go to neuro-psych lab now,” she rolls her eyes, “Hopefully we won’t be kept the whole time.”

Waving, we part ways, and I shake my head.

Tequila never leads to anything good.

Hannigan’s – 10:54pm

Fate seems to be on my side for once in my life. As soon as Luna, Jenni and I walk into Hannigan’s, my eyes are drawn to the back table where the BTS usually sits. It’s empty.

It’s practically an unspoken rule that no one else can sit there, and even though the bar is packed with all other tables accounted for, that one remains vacant – and for good reason.

Greek life essentially has a cult following around here. The Greeks provide status for those who are into that whole exclusivity thing. They also provide the best parties because of the size of their houses and because the university will never complain about one of their best sources of revenue.

I didn’t to rush a sorority way back in freshman year because I couldn’t feasibly afford it. The dues were way out of my price range, considering I was already paying for my education on my own. Luna, on the other hand, is in Epsilon Xi Delta (EXID) and consistently makes me and Jenni tag along to different Greek parties with her.

"Come on, bitches! Let's get some drinks," Jenni drags me and Luna through the packed room towards the bar that is already encircled by a crowd of thirsty students.

Tonight’s plan is simple – stick together, have fun, scope out cute seniors. Having already taken some shots before we left (saving that coin), we’re definitely feeling ourselves, flaunting our outfits like we didn’t spend a good hour picking them out earlier.

I had settled on a black t-shirt dress with a checkered flannel tied around the waist and some black Doc Martens. Luna and Jenni had tried to convince me to wear heels with them, but I knew syllabus week was a marathon – not a sprint. My feet would thank me later, and theirs would be crying.

As the bartender slides us our beers, the opening beats of Cocky AF by our badass queen Megan Thee Stallion blast through the speakers dispersed throughout the bar. Turning immediately to each other, we clink our beers together, take a sip, and head to the makeshift dance floor.

We squeeze and push our way through the masses until we reach a spot towards the back where the crowd has thinned out a little more. Within seconds, we’re in motion, hips swaying in time to Megan saying ‘bitch, I look good and you know that’.

Shaking out my hair, I get in the zone and lose count of how many songs we dance to. Eventually, our beers empty and Luna turns to me, “Another?" She accompanies her shouted question with an unnecessary charade of shot-gunning a beer in case I couldn’t hear her. I roll my eyes, laughing while I nod in response.

“Save our spot!” Jenni yells and disappears into the crowd of dancers with Luna towards the bar.

I continue dancing on my own. Swaying my hips, I decide to put my hair up to try to cool off a little in the sweltering bar. The music shifts into a new song, this one slower, more seductive, a favorite of mine – Lost in the Fire featuring The Weeknd.

As Abel’s angelic voice flows over me, a pair of hands slide over my hips from behind me. I start to pull away, but then I notice – the hands are tattooed. And for some reason, that hot little fact makes me relax into the large body behind me.

Those tattooed hands tug me back even more, bringing me flush against him as he falls into time with my movements. God, this guy can dance – a rarity these days.

His body is all hard muscle and heated skin. His mouth is hot against my neck, alternating between kissing, sucking, and biting. My skin buzzes. Fuck, I haven’t felt this way since–

Turning my head slightly, I can make out the vague outline him and it confirms my sinking suspicion... He’s a BTS boy.

"Hey, noona," he murmurs in my ear, his lips brushing over it as he speaks.

Fuck my life, I think as I shiver involuntarily in response. Spinning to face one of Satan’s henchmen, I toss my ponytail over my shoulder and jut a hip out in both defiance and defense. But really nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Jeon fucking Jungkook, the golden boy of BTS.

He somehow looks like he’s gotten even bigger since the last I saw him playing pong against Taehyung at that party – information that I cannot even comprehend. His left arm is completely tattooed, along with a few smaller ones dotting his hands. I glare at them, blaming those hands for throwing me off.

“Like them?” Jungkook waves his fingers in front of my narrowed eyes, “I got them this summer.” Smirking lazily, Jungkook makes his own perusal of me – taking extra time along the way.

His jaw flexes as his eyes turn molten, “You’re killing me, noona. Tae didn’t mention…” He trails off, swallowing hard.

I follow his gaze. Oh fuck. I had forgotten I decided to forego a regular bra tonight because I wanted to show off my piercings. Just having a thin bralette under my dress, my pierced nipples are definitely noticeable under Jungkook’s heavy stare.

Refusing to give into him, I square my shoulders, “Yeah, I got them this summer, too. But, I don’t see how that’s either your or Taehyung’s business.”

At my words, Jungkook rips his eyes away from my tits to finally meet my own eyes again, “Oh, but it really is our business. Tae said we’d like you and I agree.”

His voice is low and rough, and I swear I can feel it washing over my body, making all of my synapses fire in response.

“We?” I choked out. In full panic mode, I spin and try to leave, but I barely make it a foot away before getting stopped by a now-familiar tattooed hand wrapped around my wrist.

Luckily, a crashing sound echoes from the back table where the other BTS boys must be, and Jungkook lets out a string of curses, “Fucking hell, listen I have to go make sure no one’s hurt, or Joon will kill me. Stay here, okay? I’m not done with you, (y/n).”

His hand rushes up to the nape of my neck, pulling me into him. Our lips fuse together in a brutally hot kiss, his tongue slipping against my bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

And then he’s gone – disappearing rapidly through the fray to manage whatever trouble his frat has gotten into.

I stand there, shaking fingers on my lips wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

“Hey, sorry we took so long! This bitch cut in front of us and I swear she ordered for the entire fucking population of North America—”

Luna smacks Jenni’s arm, cutting her off, “You okay, (y/n)?” Luna peers closer at me, “Holy shit, is that a hickey?  We were only gone for 10 minutes!”

My hand flies to my neck as both Jenni and Luna grab me, dragging me to the slightly quieter back alley of the bar. As they conduct the second Spanish Inquisition, I spill the details on what happened.

After a moment of silence following my explanation, they both start talking at once:

→ Jenni: “Hell yes, girl, go off! Jeon Jungkook is fine as fuck…” → Luna: “(y/f/n) (y/m/n) (y/l/n), have you lost your damn mind…”

→ Jenni: “…I’d hit that in a heartbeat. I’m so proud!” → Luna: “…Do you not remember last semester? Are you high? Oh my GOD, did he drug you?!”

“Stop!” I slap a hand over each of their mouths, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you guys are impossible. I am not ‘hitting’ anything, and, no, he did not fucking drug me.”

Sighing, I continue, “It was a lapse in judgement, okay? I remember last semester more than anyone, but he’s just so powerful and I don’t seem to have any common sense around BTS.”

I take my hands away from their mouths and immediately Jenni asks, “Wait, what happened last semester?”

Luna slings an arm around my shoulder, “Come on, let’s go get pizza and a six-pack from Ralph’s. We can go out another night this week.”

“Take-out from Ralph’s?” Jenni’s eyes widen comically, “This must be major tea. Let’s go.”

Instinctively, we clink our beers together for the second time that night and chug the remainder of our bottles in true broke bitch fashion (never leave paid-for beer behind).

With that, we trek back through the door and out of the bar. We finish our night filling in Jenni with our less than savory experience with the infamous BTS fraternity last semester.

But, as I lay in bed for the night, I can’t help but wonder if Jungkook had looked for me that night after I left… Or if he told Taehyung...

taglist (message me to be added):

@catsandstrawberries​ @h5naaa​

#bts #bangtan #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts smut #bts au #bts imagine #ot7 x reader #bts ot7 #namjoon #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #poly bts #college!bts #college!bangtan #frat!bts #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader

[rootin-tootin-cum-shootin]

Inosuke College AU 

Word count: 1,350

Major: Kinesiology 

Minor: Psychology 

Sports: Judo, Rugby

Clubs: Tanjiro signed him up for a ceramics club, and he goes only to try and one up him (Which is not the point of the club at all smh) but he attends every meeting without fail.

He's that dude that walks into the lecture hall wearing the most outrageous and eye-catching outfits

You just can't help but see him and instantly know what he's like to talk to 

Neon orange athletic shorts with a hawaiian shirt so stereotypical it makes your eyes twitch in displeasure 

Add some burkenstock sandals worn with mismatched socks and you have Inosuke

Just by looking at him you know he is quite the personality to work with

And he is, but he is intelligent and definitely pulls his weight in projects

Will chastise his classmates if they get injured while doing the more active labs 

But he does that while tending to their injuries so you know he cares about their wellbeing

It's quite sweet of him! 

Well it would be if every 3rd word wasn't a swear

That doesn't mean he has terrible grades though.

No he actually does quite well in his courses and there's one simple reason as to why;

he's genuinely hard working 

Which surprises nearly everyone who sees him.

But that only makes him work harder

You see Inosuke decided to actually get an education for the simple reason that everyone assumed he was too stupid to do anything with his life

He originally wanted to do Zoology but then he realized that he has too much energy, which ends up scaring off most animals 

Which defeats the whole "study of animals" part of Zoology 

Of course his Mom was in his corner despite this, really only wanting her son to be happy and find his own success

So he wouldn’t make the same mistakes she did in her youth

Inosuke actually got advice from his mom which helped him settle on Kinesiology as his degree

But once he settled on his degree he was set in stone

His pseudo-step dad offered to pay for his schooling but Inosuke said "I would rather swallow a truck whole than be indebted to you"

And then took out a shit ton of loans to pay for everything 

Which only amused his pseudo-dad and made his mom worry a tad

He manages to work a part time job flipping burgers over the summer which was enough to let him pay for his books and meal plan outright for the first year

And yet despite seeing him bust his ass to be able to go to school people still tried to dissuade him from doing anything further with his life

Which only made him work harder

His whole attitude towards school is "man this sucks but also fuck anyone and anything that tries to make me quit: No You" 

Inosuke even takes pride in the dropped jaws that come from seeing him at the top of his courses

The boy has never once gotten lower than an 80% on an assignment 

He does best in his statistics course simply because both Tanjiro and Zenitsu are also enrolled in that block 

Inosuke is competitive 

In his other courses nobody stirs up that aggressive competitive spirit like Tanjiro and Zenitsu do in their shared Stat course

And with the pair of them around him, Inosuke feels the urge to out do both to the point where he likes to imagine their feelings of inferiority will crush them like a 1 ton block of the densest concrete imaginable 

Inosuke actually made Zenitsu stop breathing from sheer shock and awe when he realized what Inosuke's minor was

Psych is Zenitsu's major (the duo don't share any courses for psychology so they didn't know until then) and it caused Zenitsu to go on a rant to the effect of, " to think that pig headed idiot is doing better than me, that must be a lie! LIAR" 

That rant made Inosuke laugh so hard he fell off the table he was sitting on

He actually bruised a rib because of it

It remains Inosuke's favourite memory of Zenitsu because of this

And he wants to see how else he can make him turn purple with rage 

Hence he often comes up with weird ways to try and express his perceived academic superiority over his friends rivals 

Zenitsu falls for the weird competitive schemes Inosuke comes up with 

Tanjiro decidedly does not, in fact he doesn't really care so long as nobody actually gets hurt

Does that stop Inosuke from trying to outdo him? N o p e

If Tanjiro gets 96% on an assignment Inosuke must get 100% 

What can I say Inosuke is a competitive guy 

And it works for him as motivation 

Maybe a little too well if Inosuke has anything to say about it 

(He was embarrassed bc he got called out publicly at his grad ceremony for not just outstanding academic excellence but by the elderly head of the department for "being the Kinesiology student with the highest grades since the founding of the department" )

The metal he received from the department head totally does not hang on the wall in his mom's house 

Speaking of competitive spirit at school

He trains really hard for both Judo and Rugby

Its a great way for Inosuke to burn off both his aggression towards all the frustrating people he's stuck interacting with and his pent up energy 

Kicking ass just makes his temperament a lot easier to deal with for others and he will use ' sports practice' excuse to leave whatever social situation he doesn't want to be in

He just really likes contact sports okay

And by God is he good at them

Like takes home trophies and metals kinda good

Which also aren't being kept at him mom's house where he definitely doesn't have displayed where she can see them and be proud of him

However due to his tendency to be aggressive with the intensity of interest he has in things

Tanjiro signed Inosuke up for a ceramics class 

He thought that Inosuke would do well with something relaxing to do while still keeping it tactile enough to keep him interested 

It did not go over as well as Tanjiro had hoped

But despite this Inosuke still goes to every single club meet up without fail

Is he good at it? No 

Is Tanjiro? Definitely 

Does that make Inosuke steaming mad? Yep

Inosuke generally sucks at making clay things symmetrical 

So every plate or bowl or vase he makes ends up lopsided 

Inosuke will die before he admits to Tanjiro that he was glad for being signed up after he gave his Mom the successful first mug he made and she smiled brighter than she had in years 

It was bright green with blue and purple childlike butterfly drawings on it and the glaze wasn't spread evenly so it looks a little patchy 

And the handle is proportional too large and thin for the cup itself

But Inosuke's mom loves it more than any other mug in the house

And now every time he goes home to see her and she uses that mug, he finds himself quite happy 

But he will deny it thoroughly. 

All in all he loves getting the chance to go to College 

He may hate the judgy people he's forced to encounter regularly but Inosuke does adore the chance to learn and explore new interests 

Not to mention the people he gets to interact with 

Even if he knows the debt will weigh heavy on his bank account for a long while.

He still thinks it was all worth it.  

#inosuke hashibira #demon slayer #demon slayer au #demon slayer inosuke #demon slayer modern au #inosuke hashiriba college au #demon slayer headcanons

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Not Your Average Love Story (SPN x CM)

Sam Winchester x Spencer Reid

Word Count: ~3490

Warnings: Show-level violence, but that’s about it! It’s bizarrely fluffy. 

A/N: My first square for @cmbingo​: “meet the parents.” This is essentially a rewrite of Supernatural 12x01, “Keep Calm and Carry On,” except Spencer and Sam are adorable dorky murder boyfriends. 

Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for the read-through! 

 When Spencer realizes he’s in love with Sam, he’s on a plane, hoping to make it to Kansas before the sun goes dark. 

He looks out the window at the too-orange light, thinking, this is a weird twist for a love story. He turns that thought over in his mind and realizes: love. 

Oh. 

It takes him by surprise, for some reason, but only for a second. He’s starting to get used to surprises. 

* * *

Spencer has always been self-aware enough to realize that his intellect and his lack of social skills would not make it easy to strike up a traditional relationship. Then, of course, you factor in his obsessive tendencies, his attachment issues, and the stresses of his job, and it’s not actually surprising that he made it past the age of thirty before he fell in love for the first time. Considering how that ended, it’s definitely a surprise — if not a minor miracle — that he’s made it this far with Sam. 

Then again, nothing about their relationship has been predictable. Spencer never guessed he’d meet his future partner while dissecting a dessicated brain. 

Ever since Spencer Reid met Sam Winchester, his life has been one surprise after another. 

* * *

The third unanswered call makes him nervous, but he figures Sam must be asleep, or at least he should be asleep. If Spencer finds himself doing ninety mph in his tiny rental car, it’s mostly because Kansas highways don’t seem to follow the usual laws of physics. They’re flat and endless and eerie in the grey pre-dawn light. 

The moment he opens the door, Spencer knows something is wrong. He spares a wishful thought for his Kevlar, and then he draws his gun, falling automatically into the too-familiar stance as he silently descends the stairs. 

There’s blood on the floor. 

This doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. 

* * *

Spencer tends to spend a lot of time visualizing hypothetical problems and their solutions. He’s good at imagining all the potential outcomes of a particular scenario and calculating their likelihoods based on given variables. He frequently does this at night, instead of sleeping. 

In other words, he worries a lot. 

If he were in a normal relationship he would probably worry about normal things. For example: whether Spencer was misreading the situation, whether it was okay to run a thorough background check on them, and what to wear on a date. What would their first argument be about? What would their parents think of him? What would his mom think of them? 

About thirty-six hours after they met, Sam saved Spencer’s mom from a wraith; first impressions don’t get much better than that. 

The normal worries were rapidly eclipsed by Sam-specific worries. For example: what if he got cursed, what if he got possessed, and were there angels or demons after him this week. Why couldn’t Dean either drive a little slower or get a car with less antiquated safety features? How would Spencer help if Sam got hurt on the job? Should he tell the B.A.U. what he’s been learning about the supernatural? 

He does end up telling them everything; Sam and Dean show up at a crime scene, Hotch almost arrests them, and it turns out that one of the serial killers they’ve been hunting for a decade is actually a skinwalker. 

But the point is that when Spencer sees blood on the floor, he isn’t surprised. He’s visualized this scenario — and several hundred variations on it — before. 

* * * 

He hears a raised voice in the library and takes the steps two at a time. There are two complete strangers there, a blonde woman aiming a gun at a man, and Spencer’s training kicks in before he can figure out why she looks familiar. 

“Federal agent, hands in the air,” he barks. 

He can see the split-second when the woman thinks about turning her gun on him, but she seems to think better of it, and she sets the gun down slowly before putting her hands in the air. 

“Who are you?” the man demands. “What did you do with Sam?”

“What — Sam?” Spencer asks, panic rising in his throat. “Spencer Reid, FBI. Who —” 

“You’re Spencer?” he asks, brow furrowed. 

Spencer realizes: “You’re Castiel.” 

“Whoa, whoa, hey, gun down,” Dean interrupts. “It’s okay! She’s okay, Spence!” 

“Dean? You’re alive?” Castiel grabs him before he can say anything else.  

Spencer lowers his gun slowly. He’s starting to hyperventilate. He wants to know how Dean is still alive, yes, but he’s watching the way they embrace, the smile on Cas’s face and the way Dean’s shoulders seem to drop like he’s relaxing for the first time in a long time, and all he can think about is — 

“Can somebody tell me where the hell Sam is?” Spencer asks, voice cracking embarrassingly. 

“He’s not here,” Castiel says.

The woman looks between Cas and Spencer, eyes wide, and it’s not clear who she’s talking to when she asks, “Who are you?” 

“He’s my —” Dean starts.

Cas cuts him off by saying, “He’s Sam’s —” at the same time Spencer blurts out, “He’s an angel.” 

“Come again?” the woman asks, and when she sees the way Dean shifts nervously, she adds, “Not that, I don’t care about — you said angel?” 

“Angel. You know. Wings, harp.” 

“Not actually,” Spencer tells her, just as Cas scowls and says, “No, I don’t have a harp.” 

“Cas, Spencer,” Dean says, and he pauses, swallowing hard. “This is Mary. Mary Winchester.” 

Spencer and Cas speak in unison again, Cas in a gruff monotone as Spencer’s voice goes squeaky: “Your mother?” 

Of all the things Spencer has worried about, he never thought he would never have to worry about making a bad first impression on Sam’s parents. Sam’s parents are dead. 

Except… apparently not. Apparently Sam’s mom has been resurrected, and Spencer just pulled a gun on her. 

“Nice to meet you,” Mary says softly, with a tentative smile. 

For a second he freezes, staring at her, and his mind starts racing, recalculating, replanning, getting his worrying done after the fact, and Spencer has no idea what to say. He never made a plan for this. 

“Nice to meet you,” he responds, flushing. “Um. Sorry about that.” 

“I’d have done the same thing if I were you.” She smiles, and she doesn’t look much like Sam, but the kindness in her eyes is so very familiar. Spencer’s breath catches. 

“She’s not kidding, shoulda seen the way she pinned me when I tried to introduce myself,” Dean grumbles. Then he turns to Castiel and says, “Tell me what happened to Sam.” 

As Castiel starts to explain the details, Spencer calls Penelope. 

“FBI, office of the brilliant but under-caffeinated,” she says, slightly less chirpy than he’s used to, and Spencer realizes how early it is. Oops. 

“It’s me.” 

“Oh! Boy genius! They did it, huh? Hotch called us back in, like, as soon as the sun came back on, because apparently criminals don’t stop just because the world is ending, or whatever, but he wanted to give you a day at least — hey, are you okay? How’s that handsome lumberjack of yours?” 

“Sam’s missing,” Spencer says without preamble. “I need your help.” 

It takes Penelope approximately a minute to find the car and identify the driver, but the identity of his passenger is a little more elusive. She types away, keys clattering ceaselessly in the background, as Spencer yawns. 

“Got it! Okay, I have a cell number. If you call her, I can track it. You ready?” 

“Dean, give me your phone?” Spencer asks, holding out a hand. “You stay on the line with Penelope. She can tell you as soon as she gets the address.” 

“I can make the call,” Dean says. “I want to have a word with this bitch.” 

“Dean,” Spencer snaps. “First of all, I’m the only person here who’s trained in hostage negotiation. Finding people is literally in my job description.” 

“This isn’t a fuckin’ bank holdup, this is my brother,” Dean retorts. “It’s my job to take care of him.” 

“If you call her a bitch and start in on your threatening macho bullshit, she’s going to hang up, or worse, she’s going to believe you, and then she’ll be trying to get you before you can get to Sam. I know how to talk to people like this. If I can convince her I’m scared, that I’m not a real threat, she might give something away.” 

“But —” 

“Secondly, the only people who know you’re alive are in this room right now, which means you’re our best chance to take her by surprise when we get there, so shut up and let me do my job.” 

“You really think you can find him,” Dean says, and it’s not a question. He holds out his phone with a look of begrudging respect.

“Yes.” 

Spencer thinks, I have to. 

* * *

People aren’t all the same, but if you could quantify the concept of normal, if you could look at it statistically, most people would fall within the standard deviation. Most of their lives take an even, predictable shape, Spencer thinks. There are plenty of other people like them, and they seem to fit with each other, too, interlocking in an easy way that Spencer has always envied. 

Spencer’s got all these awkward uneven edges and strange angles. He’s not normal, and he’s always known that. 

For a long time, he doesn’t think he’ll ever find someone who’ll fit easily, not without changing him, trying to reshape him in some way. He doesn’t want to change, but he gets lonely. Most people (friends, let alone lovers) don’t last long before they get sick of his quirks. Some try longer than others, but one way or another, there’s always some jarring part of him that doesn’t match what they want. 

What if they like to sleep with the windows open, even in the winter? Or if they sleep with the air conditioning cranked up in the summer? Spencer knows he should be better about compromising on little things like that, but he really prefers things a certain way. He knows it’s neurotic. He can’t help it.  

Spencer is used to people staring blankly when he starts talking, but at what point will it drive someone away? When will they stop pretending to care about his Doctor Who opinions? When will they get bored of his info-dumping? 

And then there are the really difficult questions. How does he tell someone he used to be an addict? What if he doesn’t want to tell them about being kidnapped and tortured? What if he does, and then they start asking questions? How does he explain his PTSD, or his nightmares, or his bedtime routine of triple-checking every lock and setting his gun within arm’s reach? 

At first, when he met Sam, Spencer worried about arguments and parents and all the other normal things, but more importantly, he worried about himself. He wondered which of his irregularities would finally make Sam give up on his attempts to fit Spencer into his life. 

Neither of them sleep much, but when they do end up sharing a bed, Sam has his own routine; while Spencer checks the locks, Sam draws warding symbols, lines each window and door with salt, and sets his gun within reach. He likes the windows closed and the thermostat above 68, because, he explains simply, “Lucifer runs cold.” 

Speaking of Lucifer. Sam understands addiction, kidnapping, torture, PTSD, and nightmares, and he doesn’t ask Spencer to tell his stories before he’s ready. Sam has stories of his own. 

Sam also has his own Doctor Who opinions, and those opinions were the cause of their very first argument. Sam is wrong, but Spencer loves that he cares enough to argue. 

The first time Spencer started rambling about serial killers, he noticed Sam frowning and cut himself off, embarrassed, ready to apologize. Sam just pulled out a journal and asked him to repeat what he’d said, so that Sam could do more research on the subject later. 

Sam doesn’t expect him to change. He doesn’t try to re-shape Spencer. His life is just as weird, and by all logic they shouldn’t fit, but they do. And Spencer doesn’t feel any less himself, but suddenly he realizes that he must’ve changed along the way, because he can’t imagine his life without Sam any more; if they can’t find him, his absence is going to tear Spencer apart. 

* * * 

It’s a tense car ride, to say the least. 

Hell of a first impression, Spencer thinks again, glancing at Mary’s pale, worried face in the rearview. 

Castiel and Mary are in the backseat, and they’re trying to make small talk, but Castiel seems to be about as good as Spencer at the whole “casual conversation” thing. Sam’s told him so much about Castiel, Spencer feels like he knows him, but they’ve never actually crossed paths before. 

And then there’s Dean, who’s got his jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. Spencer gives him directions, and he grunts or nods, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

Dean intimidates the hell out of him, but they’ve always gotten along fine, maybe because Spencer’s never yelled at him before. He’s very aware that arguing with Dean Winchester is usually fruitless at best (and deadly at worst), but he’s never been good at holding his tongue when he’s upset. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer manages to mutter eventually.  

“Huh?” Dean looks at him, frowning. 

“About earlier. I didn’t mean to — um.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Dean says gruffly. 

“I was upset. I’m sorry.” 

Dean shrugs, and he hesitates before adding, “You were right.” He looks as surprised to be saying it as Spencer is to hear it. 

Spencer blinks at him a couple times before hurriedly saying, “Turn left. There.” 

Cas and Mary are having a quiet conversation about the weirdness of technology, and Spencer is about to join them when Dean speaks up again. 

“Garcia — she said something funny.”

“Uh oh.” 

Dean snorts. “Nah, not like that. Before she hung up, she told me not to worry. Said of everybody she knows, Sam probably has the second-best odds of escaping any poor sap who tries to abduct him.” 

“Second best?” 

“That’s what I said. But apparently that title belongs to you.” 

“I wouldn’t bet on it. All I can do is talk myself out, he’s stronger.” Spencer gives him a crooked attempt at a smile; it feels awkward on his face, but he means it when he says, “He’ll be okay.”

* * * 

The funny thing is, Spencer has been in this situation before. 

When it was Maeve, though, he panicked, because all he could think about was how she must feel: scared, helpless. Spencer has too much empathy sometimes. Imagining Maeve’s helplessness made him feel like he was drowning. 

This is different. He’s not exactly zen about the whole situation, of course; it feels like a piece of him is missing, but he’s clear-headed, because he knows that Sam is anything but helpless. He trusts Sam to take care of himself.  

Aside from the supernatural element, Sam’s job is astoundingly similar to Spencer’s, and he’s astoundingly good at it. The Winchesters have consulted on a couple cases, now, for the B.A.U. (Spencer’s still not sure how Hotch manages the paperwork) and they try to find cases in the same general area as wherever Spencer winds up, so they’ve gotten to work together a few times. Sam’s sheer competence at his job might be the most attractive thing Spencer has ever seen. 

Spencer used to imagine a quiet, mundane romance. He always just assumed he’d find someone whose life was more normal than his, and he was resigned to the stress it would cause in a relationship. He’d forget to call, he’d miss dinner, he’d have to cancel plans and be absent from so much of what constituted a normal domestic life, and his partner would be left at home, alone, all too aware of how much danger Spencer could be in, helpless to do anything about it. 

Instead, Spencer found Sam. Spencer never has to feel guilty about missing dinner, because Sam isn’t at home worrying about him. Sam is out there saving the world. 

Sam is not going to wait for Spencer to rescue him; he might not even need rescuing, at this point. Instead of worrying about what Sam is doing and whether he’s scared, Spencer can focus on his own plan. 

* * * 

He and Dean circle slowly around the house. They spot the entrance to the basement, and Dean almost runs right to it, but Spencer grabs his arm and points to the sigils around the door. 

Spencer notices movement through a window next to the back door, and when they creep up to get a glimpse inside, he sees two women. One is the blonde — the brains of the operation — and the other is stockier, clearly the muscle. 

After a quick conversation in whispers and gestures, Dean sneaks around to the side of the house opposite the basement, and a second later Spencer hears him shout. He waits a couple seconds and glances in the window again, and sure enough, the bigger woman is gone while the blonde is watching something on a computer monitor, looking agitated. Security cameras, maybe. 

Spencer is about to go inside when he sees the blonde start, look around, and grab a cattle prod. Then she’s hurrying toward a door, sliding back a heavy deadbolt, and Spencer sees a dark stairwell that must lead to the basement. 

He slips through the door and follows her. 

For a split-second, the scene in the basement almost stops his heart. Sam is lying on the floor, completely still, his head surrounded by a puddle of blood. 

But before Spencer can really process what he’s seeing, let alone react, Sam is in motion: lashing out, grabbing her by the throat, shoving her against the wall. Spencer descends the stairs quietly with his gun at the ready, trying not to make any noise that might distract Sam right now. 

Sam doesn’t need his help. There’s blood on his damp clothes and his arms are shaking as the blonde goes limp in his grip, but he’s alive; he doesn’t need Spencer’s help, and Spencer isn’t the slightest bit surprised. 

When Sam turns and sees him, he doesn’t look surprised either. He just smiles, all dimples and sparkling eyes in spite of his obvious pain as he limps over. 

“Sorry that took me so long,” Spencer says casually, trying to control his grin. He doesn’t want to holster his gun yet, so he keeps it trained on the woman and hugs Sam one-armed. 

Sam wraps his arms around Spencer, holding on tight. Spencer rests his forehead on Sam’s shoulder, taking a second to breathe as he feels missing pieces sliding neatly into place. 

“Love you,” Sam says, and the words sound like a sigh of relief. He pulls back, and he looks surprised, like he didn’t actually mean to say that out loud. 

Spencer’s about to reply when he sees the woman struggling to her feet, reaching for her cattle prod, and so instead he says, “Look out.” 

Sam steps sideways to give him a clear shot. Spencer shoots her in the thigh and she screams as she falls to the floor. 

“See how you like it,” Sam tells her, with a vicious little smile. 

“I love you too,” Spencer blurts out. 

For a second they both pause, grinning at each other like idiots, their surroundings forgotten.

Then there’s a sound from overhead, and Sam asks hurriedly, “The other one. Did you take her out already?”

“Dean’s got her,” Spencer tells him. “We should check on him, then we can come back down and deal with — Sam?” 

At first he can’t figure out why Sam’s mouth drops open like that, shocked and disbelieving. Then he remembers. 

“Dean’s alive?” Sam asks, a smile spreading slowly over his face. Spencer nods, wrapping an arm around Sam’s ribs, supporting him as he limps gingerly toward the stairs. It feels like he’s forgetting something.

There’s another noise, and then Mary is in the doorway, looking down at them. 

Oh. 

Sam turns to Spencer silently, like he’s waiting for confirmation that she’s real. 

Spencer nods. “Yeah. So — um. Surprise?” 

Sam doesn’t actually seem all that surprised, because… of course he doesn’t. He blinks at Spencer a couple times and then he grins. 

“You met my mom before I did,” Sam says, breathless and amused, and grabs the banister to haul himself up the stairs. Spencer laughs and follows him, smiling to himself. 

It’s not your average “meet the parents” scene, but somehow, it fits Sam and Spencer perfectly. 

Nothing about their love story has been normal. Why start now? 

.

.

.

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds #supernatural #sam winchester x spencer reid #spencer reid fic #sam winchester fic

[softstanwrites]

Try Again

soulmate au! sunwoo x reader 

wc: 3230

notes: trying again hopefully this gets in the tags this time. 

check out my masterlist, pinned on my blog. 

“I’m sorry but no. I have to go now.” 

I froze where I stood. This is the moment that I had been waiting for all my life. The moment where I feel that euphoria that everyone described. The tingling fingers, the weightless, the jelly-like legs. The moment couldn’t be more romantic. Wintertime but not freezing. Soft snow falling catching on my clothes and in my hair. I was leaving the restaurant, where I celebrated my friend's birthday. He was walking in when our eyes met. I stood there feeling it all, my heart beating wildly, only to be shot down in an instance. 

He walked away from me and into the building and I tried to stop the tears from falling down my face. I wanted to run but I needed to take one last look at him. I turned and watched him catch up with another woman, he kissed her on the cheek and she smiled brightly at him. I felt sick to my stomach. I watched as she talked to him and he responded casually before moving to the host’s desk. She turned back towards the entrance and for a second we made eye contact. She was beautiful. Long hair that flowed so effortlessly, a soft feminine face, cherry lips, and bright eyes. He wanted her, not me. 

Embarrassed, I looked away, pretending to be distracted by my phone. I tapped away at the screen, hoping that she would look away from me and wouldn’t catch the sadness that washed over me. By the time I had looked up, both of them were gone, probably on their way to their table to enjoy their time together. 

Everyone has a soulmate. Things have been like this since the dawn of time. When you’re young, they tell you that you could meet your soulmate at any moment. No one ever knew when it would happen but you would know when you did. The feeling is something you’ve never felt before and the only thing that you will be able to see, at that moment, is your soulmate. Most people go looking for their destined other half, others wait for destiny to bring them together naturally. No matter the path you take, you will meet your soulmate during this lifetime. Statistically, 87% percent of soulmates stay together and build a future together. But the other 13% are rejected and decide to live their own lives. I was now a part of that 13%. I was rejected. 

I spent weeks isolated and crying in my apartment. Grieving for the future that I could have had. I had tried to hide it from my friends. Most of them had found their soulmates or were still waiting to be guided to them by destiny. But when I didn’t respond to them for a while, they came over and confronted me. 

“You know we aren’t leaving until you tell us what’s wrong?”

“Kevin,” A shaky breath left my mouth. I didn’t want to cry in front of them. They didn’t need to be caught up in my sadness. “I don't know what to tell you. There’s nothing to tell you.”

“Love, you look like you’ve been crying for days,” Jacob said, taking a seat next to me on the couch, placing a mug of warm tea in my hand. I thanked him softly and he nodded before wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Just tell us what happened. You’ve ghosted us since Eric’s birthday.” Kevin came closer to the two of us on the couch, trying to coax an answer out of me. But I stayed silent. I didn't want to admit it. I didn’t want to be seen as unwanted. 

“Alright, if you don’t want to tell us right now, then that’s okay. But can we at least stay here and cheer you up a bit.” Kevin asked, tentatively. I nodded and I could see a smile grow on his face. “Good because there’s this movie I wanted to watch with you but you missed movie night last week.” 

I could feel myself become more relaxed as the hours passed. It was nice to be around them again and reminded me of how much I missed them, especially hearing them banter with each other. The two of them were going back and forth, trying to figure out if a hotdog was a sandwich when the words fell from my mouth. 

“I met him.” The two of them stopped and faced me.

“Met who?” Jacob asked. 

“I met my soulmate.” 

“Oh my god, when? Who are they? Why haven’t we met them yet?” I wanted to cringe hard at the excitement that was plastered on Kevin’s face. His smile was large and as he waited for me to delve into more detail. Jacob on the other side of me, looked just as expecting but more hesitant as he could almost sense something wasn’t right. 

“His name is Kim Sunwoo. I met them outside of Eric’s party when I left early. You know, because I had to go to work the next day.” They both nodded, remembering that night, how they had both been trying to keep me out later but finally had let me go after holding me hostage for hours. 

“Then what’s wrong, Y/N?’’ Jacob’s soft voice made emotions well up within me. I took a deep breath in forcing myself to get through this conversation without completely breaking down.

“He rejected me. He was there with someone else, another girl. When I was trying to find more information on him, I found the girl’s Instagram.” I remember coming across her account, she had tagged the restaurant in her pictures. And even though I had tried to stop myself after finding the bare minimum on my soulmate, I couldn’t stop myself from scrolling down her profile, hurting myself with picture after picture that she posted of him and with him. They looked so happy and that’s everything I wanted. “She’s his girlfriend. They’ve been together for years. High school sweethearts.” 

I watched as the shock set into their faces. Kevin tried to apologize but I didn’t let him. He was excited that I could have found the person I was meant to be with for the rest of my life. It wasn’t his fault that it didn’t end up the way that we had all expected. They spent the rest of the night consoling me, telling me that it was his loss and reassuring me that everything happens for a reason. Kevin kept telling me that there were people who didn’t live with their soulmates and still even found love. Some people had soulmates who had died and they’d gone on to live happy fulfilling lives with people who didn’t have soulmates as well. That this moment wasn’t the end for me. I pretended to agree but even then, I felt like it wasn’t possible for me. That loneliness was my only option.

They say time heals everything and well, I don’t know who ‘they’ are but, they might be onto something. It took me a while to figure out my next steps. But slowly I started to pick myself up off of my living room floor and live and again, with Jacob and Kevin by my side the whole time. We decided that we’d keep my soulmate a secret from the rest of our friends until I was completely ready to tell them and in the meantime, I tried to reimagine what my life would be like without the person I was destined to be with. It was hard, some days I found myself scrolling through his social media aimlessly until Kevin had caught me one time and called me out on it. 

“I get that he’s your soulmate but doing this isn’t going to help you better. Plus, lurking on his page like this is kinda creepy.” 

I hated to admit it but he was right. From then on I stopped checking his page and from there it only got better. I started to hang out with my friends more and I even went on a couple of dates. I was starting to become a bolder version of myself. Unknowingly, in the past, I had let the idea of finding my soulmate hold me back for so long. It stopped me from taking risks and opportunities that I'd never even considered before so when my job offered me a chance to work in a different country, I took it without hesitation. I didn’t even know where I was going at first, but I was excited to find out that they were sending me to help establish a new branch of the company in Thailand. When it told my friends they were happy for me although a little sad that I would be leaving them for 6 months. They all helped me pack up my small apartment and sent me off with well-wishes at the airport, telling me to be safe and to make sure I called them when I finally touched down. That day, before I boarded the plane, I blocked him and his girlfriend, so that every time I went back to either page it would be blank. It felt symbolic of me starting over again. 

My time in Thailand, came and went and it was winter time again when I returned. I was left to my own devices for a couple of hours, I planned to stay with Jacob, who was still at his job until I could get a place of my own. Having nowhere else to go, I decided to settle into a small dive bar that I used to go to all the time with my friends. The bartender greeted me warmly and indulged in all my stories about Thailand. From behind me, the front door swung open and a group of loudly talking people walked in. The bartender excused himself from me to go tend to the group who had made themselves comfortable on the other side of the bar.

Now by myself, I turned back to the drink that I had been nursing for a little while and threw my head back, drinking it all in one swift motion. I shook off the chill from the alcohol and that when my eyes met his.

From across the bar, amongst the group of people that just came in, stood Sunwoo, staring back at me. A warm sensation flutters over me, familiar to the first time we met but not quite the same. It isn’t uncommon for soulmates that haven’t seen each other in a long time to relive that initial rush but the feeling was stronger than what other people described. Maybe because it’s been so long. I knew he felt it too, as a small gasp left his lips. The rush of warmth was stopped as reality hit me again. As much as I enjoyed this feeling, I would never lead to anything between the two of us and sadness filled the hole that cozy feeling left. Immediately, I started to pack up my things, shoving my phone into my purse and shrugging my coat on as fast as I could. I pulled out a 20 dollar bill to cover my tab, a little too much but a nice tip for the bartender who kept me company all this time. I gathered my things as fast as possibly shoving my wallet and phone into my purse but before I could leave the bar, a soft hand was placed on my shoulder. I looked over to see no other than Sunwoo standing there with a nervous look on his face.

“Y/n, right?” He knew my name. Something I didn’t think he’d know seeing as how he brushed me off the first time we met. I nodded not trusting myself to speak. I watched as he took in a deep breath gathering himself. “Could I buy you a drink?” 

“I - I um …” I wanted to say no but the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. He kept his eyes on me hoping silently for me to say yes. 

“Is everything alright over here?” From behind the bar, the bartender nodded to the two of us, obviously sensing that something wasn’t right. 

“Uh, yeah. Everything is good. I um,” I trailed off taking a glance back towards Sunwoo, who had taken his hand off my shoulder and was looking at the ground quite solemnly. “He was just going to buy me a drink.” From the side of my eyes, I notice Sunwoo perk up and look at me bewildered that I had accepted his offer and, to be honest, I was surprised at myself too. 

We sat down at a table on the opposite side of the room, he had already finished his drink, swallowing it down nearly in one gulp while mine stayed untouched. I couldn’t bear to look at him, scared that the sadness I had worked so hard to suppress would come bubbling out of me so I chose to stare out the window. This was beyond awkward. What do you say to the man that broke your heart? I glanced over to him and his eyes were staring into the cup between his hands. I was starting to get annoyed, he wanted me to stay here so why wasn’t he talking? He was the one who rejected me. I looked down at my phone. 5:34 pm. Jacob would be home by now. 

“Look, I have to go. My friend is waiting for me and - ” I said getting up from my seat but before I could get far enough away his hand grasped on to mine. Shivers went up my hands and through my whole body. Another thing that happens with soulmates but it had just dawned on me at that moment was that it was the first time we touched skin to skin.

“I’m sorry. Please stay.” He looked up at me from his seat, his pleading desperate but quiet. Nearly washed out by the noise in the bar. I sat back down, finally looking him in his eyes. 

“Fine but I do have someone waiting for me.” I couldn’t hide the annoyance in my voice. “What do you want from me?”

He was quiet on the other end of the table. I could see him pressing his thumbs together anxiously as he tried to gather himself as I watched in silence. 

“Why did you block me?”

“Huh?” 

“On Instagram. You blocked me. Why?”

Now I was struck silent. How did he know that I had blocked him? 

“That was a long time ago, how did -”

“Six months ago.” 

“How did you know I blocked you?” I asked warily. He breathed out like he had been holding his breath this whole time. He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. It seemed like he was willing to talk so I copied him, getting more comfortable in my chair. 

“After we met, I tried not to think much about you. I was happy, in a good relationship, and I didn't want to change that so quickly, especially because we had been together for so long. Everything was fine for a little bit but I did feel bad for how I treated you that night. I want you to know that I should have never done that and I’m sorry.” I nodded, understanding where he was coming from and he continued. “Everything was fine for a little while. But she told me about an account that was watching all of her Instagram stories but didn't follow her. When she showed it to me, I recognized you immediately. That when I started checking up on your profile.” 

“I didn’t mean to stalk or anything I just wanted to know about my soulmate,” I said blushing and embarrassed at the fact that I had been caught this whole time. I took a swig of the drink in front of me hoping it would help cool me down. 

“It’s okay. I did the same thing.”

“What now?” 

“Well, I kept up to date with you on your account. So much to the point where my girlfriend started to notice. She kept asking about it but I just told her that it was nothing. But one night she kept pushing it and I finally told her that we were, you know, soulmates.” he said gesturing between the two of us. “We got into a big fight over it. She was mad that I didn’t tell her. Eventually, we talked it out and we broke up. She didn’t want to keep me from my soulmate. We’re still friends, however at a distance, and she tried to encourage me to talk to you. But I was too scared too. I was afraid you’d reject me as I rejected you.”

I watched him closely, noticing the weight he carried on his shoulders. Saying all of this must be a lot for him. 

“But by the time I had the courage to do so, you had already blocked me. So when I saw you I thought ‘Fate must be giving me another chance’ so I took it.” It took a moment to process everything I was hearing but it had lit a tiny spark in me about all the possibilities for us but I needed him to ignite the flame and make it bigger. I needed confirmation to hear the words from his mouth. 

“So what do you want from me, Sunwoo?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“A do-over. A chance to make this, us, work. I know I messed up and I regret it every day but I was scared. I never thought that I was ever going to meet my soulmate, so when I finally did, I was too scared to take the leap. But now I’m ready, I just hope I’m not too late and you haven’t given up on me yet. I want you, Y/n. ”

I turned my head away from him, wiping the small tears from my eyes after hearing the words that I always wanted to hear. My soulmate wanted me. I didn’t have to be lonely and bitter for the rest of my life or hide the fact that deep down I still yearned after the idea of being with the person that was perfectly made for me. It was like everything was falling into place. I took a deep breath, collecting myself before looking at him again. 

“Fine, but if we do this we start from the very beginning. No hard feelings or anything. Just two people, soulmates, getting to know each other. Deal?” 

“Deal.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. 

We stayed there for the rest of the night, talking like I had imagined we would have a whole year ago. I nearly forgot about Jacob, who let me know that he was extremely worried about me after the fact. That night I could feel the sadness I had held on to for a whole year slowly dissipate and be replaced with the excitement for my future with him. I was ready to smile with him, laugh with him, be happy with him. I was ready to do everything together, from cheesy over the top dates to simply spending time with each other. I was ready to try again.

#the boyz imagines #the boyz reactions #the boyz scenarios #sunwoo x reader #kim sunwoo

[werevulvi]

I wanted to write a bit about sex segregated spaces, in regards to people who pass as the opposite sex. This is not actually about trans people, as much as it is about the safety, integrity and general rights of male-passing biological women. I am not the only gender non-conforming woman who gets tossed out of female only spaces, based on the false presumption that we’re men. I do not care about validating trans women, or even trans men, for that matter. I care about real life practicality, risks and safety for ALL women, not just those who look conveniently clearly female, which starts with accepting that some women, whether they've medically transitioned or not, pass as male. And none of them should have to feminise themselves to access female only spaces. Whether that be to ensure safety from males, or to just take a leak.

The fact that I choose to keep my beard has almost nothing to do with that I'm male-passing. It may be my strongest "male" feature, but it's hardly the only one. I still pass as male with a clean shaven face, which makes shaving my beloved beard rather pointless, in my opinion. I would realistically need to go through more than just facial hair removal to pass as my own sex again. I'd probably even need facial feminisation surgery, hair transplant, voice feminisation and full body hair removal, at the very least, to even get close to passing as female again. But even then, I'd probably STILL be read as a trans woman, i.e. male. And even IF I did all that... WHY should I have to mutilate myself (a second time) by buying into harmful patriarchal beauty standards, which would worsen my dysphoria and reduce my comfort in my own skin significantly, to be allowed the safety of male-free spaces?

Does that sound feminist to you? Because to me, it's incredibly misogynistic, and strongly counterproductive. To uphold patriarchal gender roles for the safety of women... is the most insanely anti-feminist double standard I can possibly ever think of.

To lay out my argument on this topic, I'm going to use my own experiences as examples a lot. Mostly because I cannot with any conscience speak for anyone else than myself, at least not in such detail and with such harsh judgement. But I'm sure a lot of my experiences are applicable to other masculine women as well.

First off, I still consider myself gender critical, but my allegiance to radical feminism has been waning lately. This is mostly due to that although I agree with the base premise of radfem, I tend to disagree with the proposed solutions to almost all of the issues, because to me they come across as unfounded beliefs (yes, BELIEFS) that "it would just work" without much of any evidence to back up such a claim.

And when it comes to trans people, I've noticed a lot of... shall we say, willful ignorance, going on among many radfems, which does affect opinions on gender abolishion as well as sex segregated spaces to appear rather... intellectually dishonest, to be frank. Although this is not intended as a call out by any means, I merely want for people of all sides of the radfem/gender critical/pro-trans fence to stay critical and keep questioning everything, even one's own beloved ideology. Which I don't see a lot of. Instead I see almost religious defending of radfem as the ultimate/perfect ideology... oh, guess where I've seen that before? I've come to believe that "hivemindedness" is probably part of every possible ideology out there. Even radfem.

So, anyway.

One thing I come across time and time again is the belief (yes, I dare say "belief") that people never pass as the opposite sex, although it's mostly directed at trans people, this very much applies to people who are just gnc as well. Let's not forget that. And this belief seem to often lead to that transitioned/gnc people can just use the space intended for their biological sex, no problem. However, this is not the case. There is a problem. Very many trans people, and some gnc people, pass well enough to at least blend in enough to not raise much of an eyebrow among the opposite sex, and to most definitely stand out as an outsider among people of the same sex. OR they pass barely enough as either sex, and thus stand out as an outsider among both the same sex and the opposite sex, which can cause similar problems with single sex spaces.

There's also the thing that it generally is easier to pass as the opposite sex among complete strangers, compared to people who know you/your background. They tend to read you differently, depending on that.

At least in my experience, complete strangers assume I'm male and don't even as much as raise an eyebrow about how male I come across as. They accept their false assumption at face value. And why wouldn't they? 99,97% of people who "look like me" are biologically men. Then people who know I'm transitioned, but didn't know me pre-transition, tend to see me as a female who looks very convincingly male, whether that makes me a masculine woman, trans man, or any other (female) label in their eyes. They claim to be able to "see" my female nature, yet they somehow had no idea before I told them about my true sex. Then people who know about my history and saw it happen from the time before my transition (now only really my family) never quite succeeded to see me as anything other than a gnc woman. To quote my dad: "You look like a woman who's trying to look like a man." Although I'm sure my mom and sister don't have quite as harsh views about me, lol. They still seem to see me the way they always have, regardless of what name or pronouns they use for me.

This matters, because although people who know I'm transitioned and may even have witnessed my transition from the beginning, struggle to see me as a man (which I respect entirely and I'm VERY careful to not push wanting to be seen/read as anything in particular, but also, people do not want to be rude, especially irl) that does not go for people who have never even seen me before the moment I walk into... say, a public bathroom. To them I cannot possibly be anything other than a man, and it's almost impossible to change their view of me as male once their brains have registered me as such. I need to conjure up pretty fucking compelling evidence to shatter that view they have of me.

This is important, because it means I cannot feasibly use female only spaces, unless someone else (who is also female) vouches for me and explains my situation for me. This is, most likely due to people being more likely to believe an unlikely explanation when it's told by someone else, because maybe I could be lying; and only someone of the same sex as me can accompany/escort me into female only spaces, obviously. But even then, there's a ton of tension around my presentation. An air of distrust, basically. The question that hangs in the air: "Is that a trans woman?" even after they've been given a thorough explanation of my situation. It's uncomfortable for everyone involved. Imagine how it goes then if I'd just show up unannounced, and without someone to vouch for me. I just get booted on sight.

Yes, I can whine about this all day, but that is NOT my point.

My point is that I'm either directly, or implicitly, unwelcome in female only spaces, despite being biologically female, because of my transitioned appearance... despite I'm not even on testosterone anymore since 2 years ago. Sure, most gnc women (whether transitioned or not) don't seem to have turned out quite as passable as me, but clearly, it happens. So let's stop pretending that it doesn't.

So with that in mind, I don't always have access to a gender neutral space. Like for example when I travel with the ferry that goes between my island and the mainland of my country, there is only men's bathrooms and women's bathrooms. No third option. That's a 3 hour boat ride, and with my coffee drinking habit, I will need to pee at some point or another while aboard that ship, alright. And no, peeing in the ocean is not an option, as squatting over the railing would be incredibly dangerous, and most likely not even remotely allowed. Granted, I don't take the ferry often, it's just the most clear example I can think of. Because it's my only means of transportation to/from the mainland, except from flying, which is incredibly expensive, less reliable and obviously an environmental hazard. So when I do have to use that ferry, I'm kinda stuck with my choices.

So then, am I better off going with the men's or women's bathroom? I am much more likely to be left alone to do my business in the men's, so even though that is not the space I want to be in, nor do I think it's "right" for me to be there, sometimes it's even a bit scary, other times even impractical if there's only urinals and no stall, and it's absolutely not validating at all - it's the only bathroom that I can realistically use, without too much trouble. And I don't want trouble. But I also hate having to put my own safety on the backburner for the perceived safety of other women, who are not actually at any higher safety risk when left alone with me.

So, onto the more general, political aspects of this issue:

Women in male only spaces may be less of an issue in regards to safety, at least for the majority of people (men) in that space, especially if the woman in question passes as male. No one gives a fuck, generally. But problem is then that she is at far greater risk than the majority of people (women) would be with a single male, in a female only space. As I think a group of women against one male is generally less risk towards the women, when compared to a group of men against a single female, which can be extremely dangerous for her. Although I've so far never been faced with any sort of violence in a male only space, let's not pretend that my presense in a male only space is somehow LESS dangerous for me, than how dangerous the presense of ONE male in a space with a whole group of women, would be for those women. Statistically and realistically, I'm at a far greater risk than they are, and no, I do not have any more choice in the matter than they do.

Thus, this kinda skewed idea of safety and choice, becomes a question of ethics, I think.

Furthermore, I'm a person of principles, and it wouldn't sit right with me that if males should never under any circumstances be allowed in female spaces, but females could be allowed in male spaces. I refuse to be a hypocrit on purpose! No, if males should never under any circumstances be allowed in female spaces, then females should also never under any circumstances be allowed in male spaces. OR, if females CAN under some special circumstances be allowed into male spaces, then males should be allowed the same in female spaces. Both of these solutions pose serious problems, which I keep seeing being brushed under the carpet a lot, and that annoys me.

But if we go with the first idea, of barring people from using opposite sex spaces altogether, then where the fuck do I pee? Should I utilise my "right" to use female spaces, despite making everyone uncomfortable and feeling threatened by my presense, as well as risking being kicked out and forced to use the equivalent male spaces anyway, which is exactly what that idea is meant to prevent - or should I completely avoid being in places which I know does not have a gender neutral bathroom, such as the ferry? Would that not be discrimination? Which is the most reasonable option here, what is the most practical, what's wrong and what's right? Do I even have a RIGHT to use female bathrooms, and if so, how do I prove it, considering my ID still says I'm male?

Trans men aren't gonna be nearly as willing to use female only spaces, and trans women definitely not eager to use male only spaces. But aside from that validation factor, I have the exact same struggle as trans people do on this particular point. Quite often they do toss and turn at which bloody bathroom to pick, not just out of validation, but because they genuinely struggle to figure out which one is the best option for them practically. Especially if they don't quite pass as either sex, and most and foremost just wanna do their business without unneccesary drama.

Also, to clarify: barring trans people from opposite sex spaces is NOT discrimination, as they never belonged there to begin with - but leaving them with no other option than to pee themselves, is. Which means that I think it's fucked up to barr them from those spaces BEFORE having solved the problem of "if they can't go there, then where?"

Perhaps I'm the only one around here who cares about males' integrity, safety and human rights. But even if so, I should not be the only one to care about gnc females' integrity, safety and rights. Male-passing females, whether transitioned or not, whether bearded or not, are still female, and if we don't want them in female only spaces, and not in male only spaces either; why? Because they "chose" to medically transition and/or dress in men's clothing?

Yeah, well, in most cases of transitioned females, they transitioned because of dysphoria, which no one chooses to have. It's a medical condition. Barring people from spaces they'd otherwise be welcomed into, due to the visual outcome of the treatment of their medical condition... is ableism. Barring a woman from a female only space she belongs in, solely because her unusual physical appearance freaks you out... is ableism. Also, simply being gnc and being viscerally uncomfortable with presenting femininely is also not a choice. And even if it was... shouldn't it be? That's why I cannot roll with that sorta solution. I dunno if it counts as a form of discrimination by definition, but it just smells a lot like it from where I sit. That it's no more right to toss me out of, or give me trouble, in a women's bathroom, than a masculine women who also passes as male but who has not medically transitioned.

That said, however, women's safety DOES matter a lot to me. Hence my reluctance to join their spaces, despite being a woman myself. I guess, what I'd want is complete sex segregation to work in my favour, but I can't promote a rule that would discriminate against me. I'm sorry, I just can't. I desire FUNCTIONAL sex segregated spaces, but realistically they cannot function. Truth is that the only womens spaces I've been allowed into since I began passing as male, are "trans inclusionary" ones that openly allow in trans women, ironically. I care about the safety of other women, and their right to have their own spaces... but not at the expense of my own rights, as a fellow woman. To say otherwise would be a crime against myself. I really wish this could be solved in some way that would work in practice, but honestly I don't think it can anytime soon. Not without some seriously tried and proven, practical and humane methods to check what sex people entering single sex spaces actually are.

That is the reality that people have to face. And personally I'd rather focus on women's rights than trans rights, but as a woman who's medically transitioning, I'd shoot my own foot no matter which one I'd choose. That's quite a dilemma.

So where my opinion stands on this right now, is basically this: I think female only spaces should only be for biological women, but I'm reluctantly okay-ish with males who pass as female utilising female only spaces, and vice versa for females in male only spaces. However, this does not feel ideal at all. It's a compromise. Ideally, I want such spaces to be entirely sex segregated, and for even people who pass as the opposite sex (like myself) to be allowed into spaces of their biological sex. My appeal here is both realistic practicality with the reality that some people really do pass as the opposite sex, as well as the safety, rights and integrity of male-passing women.

#female only spaces #gnc women #yes some trans people pass #but not only trans people pass #radical feminism #gender critical #ok to rb #my opinions and concerns

[roselovesa]

have you seen CHOI HYEJIN ? i heard SHE is a FLORIST at THE GREEN MEADOW. they’re 21 years old and they’ve been living in san verto for one year. they tend to be BENEVOLENT & MAGNANIMOUS, but rumor has it they can also be CAPRICIOUS & FINICKY. 

｡*    ❪       📂   𝐂://STATISTICS.

name: choi hyejin 

age: twenty - one

sign: pisces sun / libra moon ( click )

sexuality: bisexual

gender: cis woman ( she/her/hers )

occupation: florist , pianist, & composer 

alignment: chaotic neutral

｡*    ❪       📂   𝐂://BIOGRAPHY

* note: minho’s little sister !! <33 

📍   𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙽𝙴 - 𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚕, 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚔𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚊.

born   as   the   youngest   child   of   a   nurse  &   a   teacher,   hyejin’s   childhood   was   nothing   out   of   the   ordinary.   her   love   for   music   had   always   been   apparent   —  her   mother   noticing   early   on   that,   whenever   her   daughter   was   throwing   a   hissy   fit,   all   she   had   to   do   was   play   some   classical   music   in   order   to   get   her   to   calm   down

hence,   it   shouldn’t   have   been   a   surprise   that   her   father   decided   to   teach   her   how   to   play   the   piano   at   the   age   of   6.   &  by   the   age   of   9   she   was   labeled   a   child   prodigy.   hyejin   would   often   participate   in   competitions,   attend   music   camps,   &   play   in   front   of   anyone   who   was   willing   to   listen.   her   talent   was   undeniable,   truly

in   the   years   to   follow   she   would   pick   up   other   instruments   here   &   there   (   violin,   guitar,   french   horn   ),   but   nothing   seemed   to   stick   as   much   as   piano   did.   hyejin   would   also   dabble   in   writing   her   own   music,   often   with   the   help   of   her   father

&   if   there’s   one   thing   hyejin   learned   it’s   that   practice   makes   perfect.   by   the   age   of   11   she   managed   to   become   an   extremely   valuable   asset   for   her   school’s   yearly   musicals   as   she   composed   about   60%   of   the   songs   performed   <33

she   went   viral   on   social   media   a   few   times   as   well,   her   youtube   channel   accumulating   about   1.6M   views   by   her   4th   upload.   she   would   frequently   get   interviewed   around   that   time   as   well,   with   professionals   often   commenting   on   hyejin’s   bright   future

📍   𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚃𝚆𝙾 - 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚄𝚂𝙰.

her   brother   getting   injured   on   tv   was   a   catalyst   of   change.   hyejin   convinced   her   parents   to   let   her   move   to   new   york   in   order   to   take   care   of   him,   being   well   aware   her   life   had   considerably   dulled   the   moment   he   decided   to   leave   a   few   years   prior

the   move   went   smoothly,   &   with   opportunities   lining   up   in   front   of   her,   she   decided   to   get   a   bachelor’s   degree   in   music   composition,   her   accomplishments   allowing   her   to   attend   one   of   the   most   prestige   universities   in   the   city

it’s   there   where   she   fell   in   love   with   a   guy   who   she   deemed   to   be   a   mentor   of   sorts  ;  always   pushing   her   to   do   better   &   achieve   unattainable   perfection.   it   had   been   so   easy   for   hyejin   to   trust   him   with   her   work,   with   him   appearing   to   be   the   more   experienced   &   wiser   of   the   two.   he   was   a   child   of   a   famous   musician   after   all,   mastering   the   arts   of   sweet   talking   unassuming   girls   with   a   whole   lot   of   empty   promises

so   when   their   uni   announced   a   proposal   of   a   student   being   able   to   apply   for   an   internship   that   would   skyrocket   their   careers   right   into   stardom,   hyejin   was   well   aware   this   was   an   opportunity   that   couldn’t   be   missed.   her   boyfriend   mentioned   how   he   wouldn’t   apply,   seeing   his   father   could   offer   him   a   job  easily,   but   mentioned   how   she   should   send   her   work   to   him   so   he   could   look   it   over   &  help   her   out

😬

“  hey   babe,   i’m   sorry   to   tell   you   this   but   the   piece   you   sent   me   just   isn’t   that   good…   i   can’t   quite   put   my   finger   on   it,   but   the   composition   is   just   wrong.   it’s   okay,   though,   you’re   only   a   freshman   &   still   have   a   lot   to   learn,   we’ll   work   on   it   together.   but   maybe   forget   about   the   internship   for   now   ?   i’m   sure   with   some   improvement   my   father   will   manage   to   get   you   an   even   better   job…   anyways,   love   you,   talk   to   you   soon   ”

crestfallen   &   humiliated,   hyejin   accepted   the   fact   that   it   would   be   simply   too   embarrassing   to   submit   the   sheets   of   music   she’d   written.   it   was   two   weeks   later   that   her   boyfriend   abruptly   ghosted   her,   only   for   her   to   find   out   he’d   gotten   the   internship   by   applying   with   the   composed   music   she   sent   him.   he   denied   any   claims   of   stealing,   &   when   hyejin   told   her   professor   about   the   situation   he   basically   wrote   it   off   as   well

📍   𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴: 𝚜𝚊𝚗 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘, 𝚄𝚂𝙰.

in   the   next   few   months   it   felt   like   her   life   had   crumbled   down   around   her,   hyejin’s   future   career   appearing   grim.   minho   &   her   decided   to   move   to   san   verto   in   order   to   find   peace,   a   fresh   start   waiting   for   them   there

she   took   up   multiple   side   jobs   to   get   her   music   out   there   again,   while   also   trying   to   push   past   the   writer’s   block   she   experienced   due   to   stress.   on   week   days   she   would   give   rich   kids   piano   lessons   after   uni   &   bloom   under   the   praises   their   parents   would   give   her   skills.   on   the   weekends   she   would   play   at   a   5   star   restaurant,   hoping   the   right   people   would   discover   her   there

having   lost   the   comfort   music   once   gave   her,   hyejin   decided   to   take   up   a   job   as   a   florist   &   keeps   herself   busy   tending   to   flowers.   it   isn’t   her   ideal   career   plan,   but   at   least   she’s   moving   forward   with   her   life

throughout   the   years   she   kept   uploading   videos   of   her   playing   piano   on   youtube,   each   video   getting   about   900k   views   on   average.   it   allows   her   to   be   fairly   recognizable   on   her   own   accord,   although   most   of   her   fame   comes   from   being   associated   with   her   brother.   she’s   starting   to   climb   in   popularity,   though,   spending   some   of   her   time   to   focus   on   crafting   a   stronger   social   media   presence

｡*    ❪       📂   𝐂://PERSONALITY.

🦋   𝙰𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚈 - 𝚜𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚜, 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊

click me !

empathic,   romantic,   impressionable,   &   imaginative   -   hyejin   tends   to   see   the   world   through   a   rose   colored   glass  ;   the   harsh   realities   of   life   often   making   her   want   to   indulge   in   escapism.   overall   a   generous   and   kind   person

can’t   handle   pressure   well,   ultimately   she’s   a   perfectionist.   hyejin   has   a   specific   vision   of   how   she   wants   her   life   to   play   out,   &   if   anything   interferes   with   that   she   might   feel   devastated   &   defeated.   however,   she’s   quick   to   get   back   on   her   feet   &  continue   pursuing   what   she   was   working   on

obsessed   with   fairytale   romances,   used   to   read   countless   of   young   adult   novels   hoping   she’d   experience   love   like   that.   hyejin   easily   tends   to   romanticize   &   idealize   the   people   she’s   fond   of,   thinking   they   can   do   no   wrong   in   her   eyes   &   putting   them   on   a   pedestal   *coughs* minho :( 

despite   all   of   that   she   has   a   great   intuition,   hypersensitive   to   her   environment.   she’s   often   aware   of   other   people’s   emotions,   meaning   when   someone   or   something’s   off   she   usually   able   to   identify   such   things   immediately

would   prefer   to   avoid   conflict   at   all   cost   as   well,   she   doesn’t   enjoy   being   faced   with   consequences   of   her   own   actions

at   first   glance   she   can   appear   rather   stand-offish   as   well,   not   really   the   type   to   walk   up   to   someone   &   handle   small   talk   in   an   eloquent   way.   she’s   shy   &   an   introvert,   the   type   to   hide   behind   her   mother   whenever   someone   addressed   her   when   she   was   younger.   hyejin   is   only   able   to   come   out   of   her   shell   around   people   she   knows   she   can   trust

channels   all   of   her   feelings   into   her   art  !!

｡*    ❪       📂   𝐂://WANTED CONNECTIONS.

💌   𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙲 - 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜   (   open to m/f/nb muses !   )

current   flings  

will   they   /   won’t   they  

friends   with   benefits   (   one-sided,   purely   platonic,   etc…   )  

unrequited   love   type   of   thing   (   either   hyejin   or   your   muse  )  

fake   dating   au  

exes   on   bad   terms  

exes   on   good   terms  

enemies   to   friends   (   ?   )   to   lovers   /   flings   (   ?   )   to   exes   (   ?   )   (   we   can   do   this   however   you   see   fit   !   )

one   of   them   caught   feelings  (  thinking   they   had   something   special  )   &   suddenly   the   other   ghosted,   perhaps   leaving   behind   a   bruised   ego   )  

💌   𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙸𝙲 - 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜   (   open to m/f/nb muses !   )

best   friend  

good   influence  

bad   influence  

childhood   friends  

protective   type   of   friendship   (   can   go   either   way   !   )  

confidants  

someone   (   preferably   an   artist   )  hyejin   looks   up   to  

friends   who   hang   out   purely   because   it’s   good   for   their   public   image  

secret   type   of   friendship   where   being   seen   together   in   public   would   damage   their   image,   aka   them   meeting   up   in   private   !  

were   set   up   on   a   blind   date   together,   hit   it   off   in   a   platonic   way   &   became   really   good   friends   <33  

only   hang   out   because   of   mutual   friends

💌   𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙴𝙾𝚄𝚂 - 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜   (   open to m/f/nb muses !   )

hyejin’s   muse   aka   whenever   she   sees   them   she   gets   inspired   to   write   a   song   or   two   <3  

blackmailing   type   of   plots  

general   dislike   for   each   other,   they   simply   do   not   vibe  

someone   hyejin   teaches   how   to   play   piano  

rivalry,   they   see   each   other   as   competition  

have   shared   secret   where   both   of   them   are/were   involved   in   a   situation,   &  promised   secrecy   to   each   other

@foolsstarters​ 

#foolsintro #🥺 #also if you see any spelling errors .. no you didnt

[neurodiversitysci]

Ideas for a mom with decision fatigue

A mom named Emma Marris listed every decision her kids asked her to make that required a decision, on a single day. 

She concluded that decision fatigue is real and constant in her life as a mom.

I empathize. Even without children, I suffer from daily decision fatigue at work, school, even at home (when finding places for things and cleaning up). 

I wonder, though, if she could frame the problem, and respond to it, in a way that would make her life easier.

I get the impression that Emma does not believe she has a choice. Even the title of the post reads, “Every decision my kids made me make in one day.” She seems to believe the decisions must be made, by her, right now. 

I know it doesn’t feel that way, but you’re the mama, you’re the boss, and ultimately, you get to decide whether to make a decision or not. (I know, that’s another decision). 

Looking at her description of the sort of questions her kids asked, what strikes me is:

1) Most of these decisions don’t matter.

In other words: If she doesn’t make the ideal decision, the consequences aren’t serious. The child won’t even remember for long.

Can we have waffles? Can we have chocolate chips in the waffles? 

Can I mix it? Can I measure the baking powder? (Worse case scenario: a mess, which kiddo might help clean up).

Will you turn up the music?

Which of these games should we play?

OK, some of them matter a little, like “can we have ice cream for lunch?” (I doubt the answer required a lot of thought). Parents concerned about screen time might care about “can I play on your phone until you wake up?” 

But even where there are potential health consequences, making the wrong decision a few days won’t put the child in the emergency room or on a therapist’s couch. 

What matters is patterns of decisions over years.

2) Many of these decisions, the children can make for themselves. IMO, they should. 

Examples include pretty much any question that doesn’t specifically request the parent to do something, such as:

Which card should I play?

Can I watch x kid’s show?

Where is my coat?

It’s not my business to tell someone how to parent. That said, here’s an important general principle:

The more small, unimportant decisions children make in their lives, the more practice they will have making choices. The more practice they get, the more prepared they will be to make decisions when the consequences actually matter. 

School doesn’t seem to offer enough opportunities. As a result, Tumblr seems full of teenagers and young adults frantically trying to choose a major and career with no idea how to begin.

3) When decisions affect other people, the children’s decisions will have consequences. By experiencing others’ reactions, children can learn cause and effect and negotiation skills.

Can we listen to Dynamite by Taio Cruz instead of this podcast about the Mueller investigation while we make breakfast?

Let’s say Child 1 wants to listen to Dynamite over breakfast, and turns it on. Child 2 wants to listen to something else, and complains. Or Mom wants to listen to the news, and complains. Child 1:

a) Learns Child 2′s or Mom’s current preferences. (And over time, Child 2′s or Mom’s preferences in general).

b) Has the opportunity to negotiate for what they want. (Probably the easiest for a young kid will be something like “one of us listens to this now/the other one chooses what to listen to next”).

4) Mom needs a brain break. If she takes one, she can set an example of self-care!

If I were her, I would tell those little ones, 

“Mom needs a break right now. Please ask me again in [5, 10, whatever] minutes.” 

(It’s important to set an amount of time that’s possible for someone at the child’s stage of development to wait. It probably won’t be enough, but any break is better than none).

Especially at first, and when very young, kids will keep asking. She’ll have to repeat herself. That might feel frustrating and discouraging, but the effort won’t be a failure! She’ll get a slight reprieve, and her kids will learn that:

a) Sometimes people need breaks.

b) When people need a break, they can ask for it. 

c) When people need a break to rest, they shouldn’t be interrupted unless it’s an emergency.

d) When the break is over, people will be happier, nicer, and more fun. (This is the reward).

Of course, poor Emma will have to explicitly, repeatedly, explain what’s an “emergency” question, and what questions can wait. “Back in my day,” parents had rules like this for when they were on the phone. (And when there was an important program on TV or radio, because you couldn’t record back then). 

Kids tend to over-estimate what counts as an “emergency.” So she’ll have to explain, repeatedly and in different ways, that “Fire” or “someone is bleeding a lot” is an emergency, but “I want a popsicle” or “My sister’s looking at me funny” is not. 

Eventually, children will learn what’s an emergency and what isn’t, and gain a concept of “relative urgency” or “relative importance.” 

Emma may need to set a timer, because young kids, and many neurodivergent ones, haven’t developed a sense of time. Ideally, the timer will have a visual as well as an auditory component (such as a Time Timer). Children will stop asking “how much time is left?” if they can see the answer. Eventually, they’ll get used to the process of using a timer, and maybe improve their sense of time. 

Finally, in the process of waiting through Mom’s break, kids can learn how to wait. Waiting is a skill. Perhaps even multiple skills. For example, young kids who can wait for a reward may use strategies, like distracting themselves (see: research on the “marshmallow test”). 

Learning to wait is a win for:

a) The child. They’ll find waiting less painful, and get less negative feedback from adults.* 

b) The mom, who can regain some mental energy. 

c) The child’s teachers. If you’ve observed a classroom with children about ages 3-7, you’ve probably seen that teachers constantly stop the class to ask students to be quiet.

*You know that famous statistic about how children with ADHD get thousands more reprimands than children without ADHD? How much it harms their mental health? Imagine how much of a difference it’d make to reduce the number of reprimands a young child gets, whether ADHD or neurotypical.

Obligatory note about how my advice applies to neurodivergent kids:

Emma doesn’t say whether the children are neurotypical. They probably are. Given my life experiences and audience, I still want to point out: 

A lot of these “life lessons” will take longer for a child with ADHD to learn than a neurotypical child. That “developmental delay of 3 years” that Russell Barkley talks about is real. (Although, the exact size of the delay probably varies from person to person).

That makes it all the more important to start teaching them early (and gently!). 

However, children with ADHD also stand to benefit more from teaching. People with ADHD are especially likely to suffer from decision fatigue. If Mom models coping skills like taking a break, children will ADHD will have strategies to try.

TL;DR Conclusion:

Emma, you don’t have to make so many decisions. In fact, you’ll probably be a better parent by delegating more small choices to your little ones, and by taking decision-making breaks. 

Hang in there! 

If I could, I’d gladly play with/take care of your little ones for a while while you take a much-needed rest.

#original post #parenting #good parenting #actually adhd #decision fatigue #decision making #executive functioning #child development #development #coping skills #time sense #education #self care

[lovemesomesurveys]

x1 Would you ever share a site password with a family member or partner? My mom and brother know some of mine for certain things and I know some of theirs.

x2 What if they asked you? Would you still decline? It would depend on why they wanted and what site. It’s not about having something to hide, but ya know I just don’t see why someone would need my password for certain things and look through my things. 

x3 Have you ever misjudged whether or not you could trust someone? Yes.

x4 Has anyone ever told you they couldn't trust you? I don’t believe so. I’ve been told by people that they feel comfortable talking and telling me things and that I’m easy to talk to.

x5 Who in your family has the prettiest eyes? I’m envious of my dad’s blue eyes that I did not inherit.

x6 Do you think that fishing and hunting are wrong? Why or why not? >> I don't think they are inherently wrong. I think hunting for sport is unjustifiable, but that's only one type of hunting, and not even the most common kind, I'd assume. <<<

x7 Would you ever want to go on a fishing or hunting trip? No. That’s not my thing at all.

x8 What is an odd food item you would like to try, or have tried? I’m picky and particular about my food, so I don’t know. It would depend what the odd food item was. There’s a chance I might not find it all that odd and be willing to try it. 

x9 When|If you drive, do you go the speedlimit? I don't drive.

x1o Are you an aggressive driver? Or more passive-aggressive? >> ---

x11 Describe a hairstyle you had as a little kid? My hair was in a single braid or two braids quite often. And I had bangs.

x13 Are you good at thinking abstractly, or "outside of the box"? Sometimes.

x14 What routine of yours would you most hate to break? My coffee routine.

x15 What is your favorite crayon color name? *shrug*

x16 When someone doesn't like you, do you think it's 'cause they're jealous? Ha, no. I never think it’s because of that. I can’t imagine why anyone would be jealous of me.

x17 Do you ever assume people are jealous of you? Why or why not? No. Because like I said, I can’t see why anyone would have a reason to be. 

x18 Has jealousy ever ruined one of your friendships|relationships? No.

x19 What is one restaurant you would NOT recommend? Hmm. I don’t know. I haven’t really had a bad experience at a restaurant.

x2o What would you consider an unacceptable first date? Hmm. Inviting you to a family dinner would be one. First dates should be more laid back I think and a time to be able to talk and get to know each other first. See if there’s a connection and if you want to keep seeing each other. It’s not the time to introduce you to the family and get to know them and vice versa on a first date. It would be awkward and probably intimidating. It wouldn’t give you and your date time to talk without interruptions and other people’s input. And if it doesn’t work out it would just make things awkward. 

x21 What was your last conversation about? Yesterday my mom and aunt went to visit my other aunt who lives out of town and had to have an outpatient procedure. They went to check on her at her house and visit for awhile, so she was just telling me about that.

x22 Do you believe that love exists|is true? Yes.

x23 What would you say to someone that did not believe in love? >> I don't even know how to respond to that. It really would be like saying "I don't believe in sadness", to me. Like... okay? I mean, I guess. <<< lol yeah.

x24 Does failure feel worse when you actually tried? It definitely adds to the hurt when it’s something you really put your all into and worked really hard for; something you really wanted. 

x25 Does success feel less sweet if you didn't work hard for it? There is a great sense of accomplishment and pride when it’s something you worked hard for and put your all into. Succeeding is a good feeling and it’s still going to feel good I think even if you didn’t work hard for it, but yeah I think it adds to it when you do.

x26 Would you rather listen or speak, in general? Listen, definitely. 

x27 Do you like to ask the questions, or be asked? Uhh. I guess ask the questions if I had to choose.

x28 Does smalltalk bother you? Why or why not? It’s just awkward and I get uncomfortable. I’m not good at it.

x29 Who is your favorite person to debate or discuss with? I don’t like debating. 

x3o Does the being in your reflection meet with your approval? No. I don’t like how I look or who I am right now.

x31 Are you more likely to praise or insult yourself? Why? I’m always putting myself down. My mind is full of negative thoughts about myself that like to play on a continuous loop. I’m very hard on myself. 

x32 Name a memorable character from the book you're reading|read? Autumn Trent. She’s a forensic psychologist and I find her character very interesting. 

x33 Are there any friends you won't be friends with much longer? I don’t have any friends anymore.

x34 Would you ever want to have a pen-pal? Not now, but I did have one before in the 3rd grade.

x35 Do you enjoy cloudy days? Why or why not? Yeah. I just love that kind of weather.

x36 What was the last delicious thing you ate? My ramen earlier.

x37 What does music mean to you? For so long it was a big part of my life, I listened to it everyday. I was always really into music and got excited about new music coming out. This past year, though, it started to lessen more and more. I haven’t been listening to music at all this month. It’s weird. I don’t know why.

x38 Would it bother you to be forgotten after death? It’s sad to think about. I don’t think my family would, though. But then when they’re gone I would be. *shrug*

x39 Do you tend to prefer healthy or unhealthy snacks? Unhealthy, definitely.

x4o Has anyone ever asked you for diet advice? No.

x41 What do you tend to think of those that are far overweight? I don’t tend to think anything. 

x42 How about those that are far underweight? I’m too underweight myself due to health reasons. You don’t know what someone is going through. 

x43 What was the last level of math you took? Statistics in college. It was required.

x44 To you, what is "being productive"? Working on something, getting something completed, taking care of business. 

x45 Do you feel lucky to live where you do? Why or why not? I am fortunate to have a roof over my head. I don’t particularly like the city, though.

x46 Would you ever want to trade lives with someone else? Maybe for a day. Ha, I don’t know who would want to trade with me, though.

x47 Would you rather help others, or just help yourself? I want to help others and help myself. I haven’t been doing much of either one these past few years. :/

x48 Do you like being busy all the time? No. I’m never busy now, but back when I was in school I very much enjoyed having time to just chill and do whatever. I needed to have that time because I got so easily stressed, overwhelmed, and burnt out. And when I had a bit of a social life, I wasn’t someone who had to hang out all the time. Like, I didn’t have to do something every weekend.

x49 Or would you prefer having nothing to do? Well, these past few years I haven’t had the energy or motivation to do much of anything and also due to health reasons I just haven’t felt up to doing a lot. I like doing the few activities I do everyday that don’t require much and being able to lounge around.

x5o You get one day with the world to yourself; how do you spend it? That actually sounds scary, no thanks. I wouldn’t want to be completely alone like that. It would feel too quiet and too weird and I think I’d be really anxious.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

[slasherscream]

Imagine having hanahaki for Billy and Stu but not acting on it cause they already have girlfriends. And for extra tension they totally planned out to murder you but you started violently coughing up flower petals and that's making everything to gosh darn complicated.

you could not have named a prompt more to my tastes anon (a little gore warning bc you know …. blood flowers and what not-) 

You’re part of their little high school “friend” group. Close enough to fall hopelessly in love with them both but distant enough so that you manage to not be too obvious about it. 

You can settle for their company; for the occasional glance your way, a laugh at one of your jokes, a bit of roughhousing from Stu or a smirk from Billy when he thinks you said something clever. That’s all good enough for you        it has to be. 

Billy has Sidney and Stu had Casey. Eventually Stu doesn’t have Casey and for a brief moment you get your hopes up …. ! Then he gets with Sidney’s best friend Tatum. So even the slightest bit of hope died a miserable death as quickly as it was conceived. Hooray.

You tell yourself it was for the best anyway. Stu moving on from his break-up so fast. Being with even one of them would be a dream but … only partially fulfilling as you’d like it to be. You didn’t just like them you loved them, totally and completely. You think it’s a bit of a #No-No to date one half of a best friend pair while being just as in love with the other part of the duo.

So by all means your plan is to just just mull over your feelings quietly until you all graduate and go your separate ways forever and you’re forced to move on from your first bit of unrequited love through the merciful workings of life and growing up. 

Solid plan. Perfect plan. A++ planning. 

Except you get …….. sick. The sickness. 

At the onset of it you didn’t think for even one second that you had it. 

It happens. Of course it happens and you hear about it happening but it doesn’t happen to everyone. The odds of catching it are statistically one in a hundred. 

How could you        just some kid in high school fucking beat all the odds in order to get hanahaki of all fucking things?

You thought you were just coming down with a really bad flu until you stay home from school one day, unable to get out of bed from exhaustion until you were forced to run to the bathroom feeling like you needed to throw up. 

You didn’t throw up. Not really, at least. First some blood and gasping for air, feeling like you were suffocating but unable to call for help until … flowers. Fucking flowers. 

You were so mystified at first you started laughing. Blue and yellow flowers, covered with specks of blood that stood out brilliantly across their coloring.  

Sunflowers, the yellow ones. The blue ones you took to a flower shop to find out what they were. The girl behind the counter looking very concerned with the … you know … Blood! Until you had another coughing fit right there in the shop. Then she just looked sad for you. Hydrangeas, she told you after she got you some water, these blue ones are hydrangeas. 

 You guess correctly and easily that Stu’s flowers are the sunflowers and Billy’s are the hydrangeas. 

Stu just likes how sunflowers look: bright and eye-catching and cheerful. No rhyme or reason to it. He likes flowers in general and buys them often for girlfriends whenever some catch his attention but the truth is he just likes looking at them. They’re just a nice, small part of life and sunflowers are the biggest and brightest flower he knows. Why wouldn’t he like them best?

Blue hydrangeas, mostly a filler flower. Billy hasn’t seen many in his life and flowers rank incredibly low on the list of things he gives a half damn about       but he’d sometimes sit with his mother when she’d go through old photo albums. Pictures of him. Pictures of them. Pictures of her wedding day. Hydrangeas on the tables. A bouquet of them in her hands as she walked down the aisle. There were other flowers mixed in … white roses mostly, because hydrangeas work best as a flower that’s not the main act. Secondary. But while the roses had been expensive his Mother would always trace her fingers over the hydrangeas in the pictures only. Her favorite, she confessed, and so they were instantly Billy’s too, even all these (bitter) years later. 

Life continues on much in the same way it did before. Maybe you laugh a little less and hang out with everyone even less than that but you’re fine mostly. You’re in the early stages and most of your days are good ones. You have a while before you have to figure out what you’re going to decide to do.

You tend to get caught up in your own little world but even you can’t zone out so much that you miss the brutal murder of your classmate Casey and her boyfriend Steve. You do feel bad, all things considered (your months of jealously and depression only for her to dump one of the boys you loved so much for some rando jock?)- 

But while everyone else’s discussions and conversations have an undercurrent of fear you have a calm about you. If all things continue on at the rate they’re currently going you know exactly how you’ll die. Love will be what kills you. How Shakespearean. You don’t have the time to worry about the killer among you. 

That’s why you drag yourself home early from school. Even though you’re not particularly stressed out by everything going on the energy of everyone else is stressful enough to cause a flare up. You spend the rest of the afternoon in misery, your flowers the only thing keeping you company. 

The sun sets and you’re laying on your couch watching something romantic and sappy because you weren’t feeling shitty enough as is. The phone starts ringing. The phone starts ringing fucking relentlessly. You ignore it and keep watching your movie. 

Your own thoughts (all longing and “I bet that’s how Stu kisses” and “Billy’s eyes are that color”) dooming you to another fit right after you’ve just started to calm down. 

The phone is still ringing endlessly but all you can do is focus on the fact that you need air. You feel like you can’t breathe. You literally can’t breathe. The flowers are suffocating you. The feeling is becoming more familiar but no less terrible each time it happens. Night air sometimes helps. 

You stumble out your house, desperately gasping for cool air. You don’t make it far off the porch before you’re on your knees coughing and gagging. You hate the tickling, choking feeling that has become oh so familiar these past few weeks. It’s not long till flowers of blue (hydrangeas) and yellow (sunflowers), covered in blood are laying at your knees. You’re so exhausted all you can do is start to cry.

Little do you know you’re being watched. The calls you’d been ignoring all night, too miserable with your aching throat to answer, had come from the town’s new amateur serial killers.

Billy was already in your house by the time Stu made the first call, all according to plan. This        this was not according to plan. 

They reconvene and put their plans of killing you on hold. Nothing is more tantalizing than a mystery and they never imagined you to be hiding such a big secret. It’s clear that no one else knows what you’re going through and you instantly have their attention because of the air of secrecy. They’ve never known someone with the disease before and they want to ….. see it in action? 

They watch your interactions with everyone around you carefully now. The sudden awareness of all things you and how you react to the world and people around you is what makes it so obvious what’s going on. You’re in love with them. 

You’re so in love with them it’s literally killing you?

billy: we can’t NOT fuck them- stu: yeah we can’t NOT fuck them

Hate to inform you that they’re bastards but just knowing how much you’re in love makes them fall a little in love with you instantaneously. Is it narcissism? Probably. Also though?? Highkey it’s the thought of someone being that desperately in love that does it for them. They’re obsessive, ‘would die and kill for you’ type of boyfriends? They’re looking for high class love energy this is TOP TIER for them. They’re ultimate ideal. 

Billy’s ideal because it feels like a guaranteed, hand-written contract that he will not be #Abandoned. 

Stu’s ideal just because he’s got a naturally obsessive…lowkey dependent romantic streak in him in the 1st place. He’s just clingy. He’s just #Like that. 

Honest ……tea….the stalking that proceeds to happen is legendary. Also their plans speed up because they need to get a move on. Now that they’re in love with you they don’t want you to die because you’re so super bummed out over them. The idea of it is nice and whatever because it’s rock solid proof of how you feel but…the reality is not nice at all. 

Every-time they notice you running off to the bathroom or staying quiet at lunch because you’re afraid you’ll cough up petals just from being close to them? Kinda breaking their hearts :(((( They just want to make you feel better already. Every-time you pass Stu in the hall and give him a pitiful smile he wants to just blurt out those three magic words and fix everything. Billy has hit him many a time….stick to….the plan. 

Which isn’t to say you weren’t getting to Billy too. You’re his lab partner for science and he caught you staring at him with your fucking…puppy dog eyes and he dead ass got lost in the soft emotions that was just laid out all across your sleeves for everyone to see!!!

billy vc (referring to your vulnerability): bitch you live like this? 

How !! The!!! FUCK!! Didn’t !! They!!! nOTICE!! tHIS!!! BEFORE!!! 

They are on you like white on rice as soon as it’s safe to be. I want to fucking….imagine they would ease you into how fucking in love with you they are but they’d just throw your ass into the deep end of the pool. 

You’re trying to cough up flowers in peace behind the school and where in the fuck did Stu come from?? None of your business but he’s rubbing your back and cooing at you and the simple gesture of kindness makes the flowers melt away like cotton candy. Oh boy when you pull yourself together….the look on his face is intense. 

Offers to give you a ride home and sweeps you up off your feet before you can say no or explain away the flowers (internal panic). 

He deceptively does not mention what happened. Seems calm as he turns on a movie and pulls you close in a way you try to pass off as Stu being Stu. No….he’s trying to be #Romantic but also trying to wait for Billy to get here so they can do this as a team. But if he doesn’t at least hold you he’ll explode. 

They drop the bomb on you that they know you’re sick because of them with no mercy they both don’t have any fucking tact. Don’t worry you don’t have time to freak out because they start kissing you. They have waited a long time to kiss you!! They don’t have anymore patience!! It takes awhile to actually have a genuine talk because they can’t keep their hands off you. 

You’d be lucky if they didn’t tell you about their serial killer hobby then and there because they’re 99% sure you’re ride or die since you didn’t get or even look very deeply into the surgery that would’ve fixed your little problem. If you were gonna die because of how much you loved them you can live with the reality of them being murderers :))). Smooches, sweetheart! 

Hate to say it but Billy and Stu have collected some of the flowers you leave behind at places and preserve/keep them. Stu and Billy find the whole thing very romantic in a morbid way? I can’t express enough that this is their dream mix of gore and romance. It might as well be a fucking soulmate thing to them for how they react to it.

I’m so sorry that once you’re in the relationship and therefore trapped that they reveal the world’s creepiest collection to you and they do it with such …pride…no shame….

Stu standing there with the goofiest grin on his face ….Billy wrapped around you like an anaconda, nuzzling your head with his as they reveal fucking like ….they take you into Stu’s room for the first time and OH …isn’t that nice?? You know those glass framed preserved butterfly decorations some people have in their house? Yeah       that but with your blood stained flowers. It’s literally their most prized and favorite possession. They will never get rid of it. It’ll be hanging front and center in y'all’s living room one day. 

They’re gonna marry your ass right outta high school they’re so into it!! This is the no escape scenario. Someone start playing here comes the spouse. 

#billy loomis x reader x stu macher #poly ghostface x reader #stu macher x reader #billy loomis x reader #stu macher imagine #billy loomis imagine #slasher x reader #billy loomis: i'm not a romantic #reader: catches a love disease that kills them over him #billy loomis taking off his clothes: shut up and get naked i love you too #stu macher who isn’t a pussy and doesn’t claim to not be a romantic: in tears #billy is spiritually in tears #such bastards tbqfh

[flo-ggs]

Who We Don’t See On TV

In 2018 and 2019, there were a total of twenty-six recurring transgender characters who appeared on television, including streaming services. About one in six Americans report that they personally know at least one transgender person ("Where We Are On TV"). More than ninety percent of American households watch television on a regular basis (Leavitt 41). What this means is that for five out of six Americans, the only trans people they ever see—and this is assuming there are any—are a handful of characters on TV. If you live in America, and pay any attention, you know that vitriol directed the way of the trans community is pervasive—and it's not so hard to imagine feeling the same way if your only experience of trans people comes from Fox News and Ace fucking Ventura. That's just one example—but media in general presents a skewed perspective of just about every minority group, with one obvious exception.

Cultivation theory provides a psychological model for how media alters our perception of the world around us. The information we take in and the stories we're told change the way we contextualize what we see, reshaping or reinforcing the framework on which we hang our experiences ("Cultivation Theory"). If you see a Muslim committing an act of terror on television—and then see the same thing happen again and again—you'll begin to draw a connection between the two ideas. That's an obvious and simplified example, but there are innumerable subtler ways in which media builds connections between concepts that gradually become part of our own perception of the world. It's worth examining what connections exactly are being drawn, who's drawing them, and how exactly they're changing the world we live in.

Essentially every demographic—with, of course, the exception of one very special minority group—is drastically underrepresented in entertainment media. There are many subtle issues with the state of diversity in entertainment, but this isn't one of them—it's a simple fact that our math is just off. The selection of people who are represented in media differs significantly from the actual population—the world of entertainment is not like ours. A study of 900 films released from 2007-2016 found that 31% of speaking roles were female—a demographic which famously constitutes almost exactly half of the population (Smith 6). This is as clear-cut as it gets—I fail to imagine what a reasonable explanation for this inequity could sound like. Other statistics featured in the report are the total 1.1% of movie characters who were LGBT (far fewer than exist in reality) and the 2.7% who were depicted as disabled (the real-life statistic is closer to 1 in 4), among others (Smith 8, CDC). The simple fact of underrepresentation is far from the extent of the problem; there's also the issue of the quality of that representation, which is overwhelmingly inadequate. 

While a great diversity of characterization exists among ingroup characters—just about every white man that can be written, has—minority characters tend to be constructed from a limited bank of stereotypes. Characters from the least-represented demographics suffer the most from this oversimplification. Indigenous Americans, for instance, are very seldom seen on-screen, and when they are, they're depicted most often not as modern people but as 18th and 19th century stereotypes (Leavitt 40). The less we see of a group of people, the flatter and less realized those few glimpses are. It's clear that the majority-white population of writers who rely on other media for cues on how to represent marginalized groups, in the absence of diverse characterizations, are falling back on decades- or centuries-old stereotypes to tell their stories, and in that way, ill representation begets ill representation. That brings us to the problem of artists. A hefty majority of the people producing mainstream art are, not surprisingly, the same kind of people we see in front of the camera—white fellas. In the timespan covered by the Annenberg study, women made up 4% of film directors, while 6% were Black—and directors of other ethnicities were sequestered to an even more vanishingly small niche. The common factor is that every aspect of the entertainment industry is full to bursting with white guys, despite them being a comparatively small portion of the population.

The big question is: why is this an issue? And the answer is obvious and intuitive but nonetheless it's going to take a few pages to answer here.

In 2017, the most popular dream career among children in the US was to be a doctor. In 2019, two years later, more children aspired to be internet personalities than any other profession (Taylor). Children now feel that they are living in a world where "Youtuber" is a viable and fulfilling career. Which is to say that the landscape of media children were consuming palpably altered their worldview—they're identifying themselves with the people that entertain them, wishing to model their own lives after theirs. Media doesn't just entertain us—it is, in part, a substance with which we construct our self-image and our expectations of the world around us. This is especially true of young people, and when young people are presented with entertainment that belittles, stereotypes, or simply omits them, it can inflict real damage. It's been demonstrated that exposure to television is associated with lower self-esteem in all children with the exception of white boys—striking evidence of both the reality and real negative outcomes of  inadequate representation. The messaging may not always be clear to us, but it gets through to children: you are not the type of person that we value. 

One group that is constantly and severely devalued in this way is indigenous Americans. Contemporary depictions are so infrequent and negative as to subject them to what is known as "relative invisibility"—an almost total absence of any realistic or aspirational representations in culture (Leavitt 41). The effect of this pattern of representation is far from negligible. A study of indigenous American students found that greater exposure to media with indigenous American characters actually led to increased negative feelings about themselves, their place in the community, and their future aspirations (Leavitt 44). It's apparent from this result that a greater quantity of representation is not, on its own, an inherent positive. Exposure to a narrow and largely negative range of portrayals of oneself can narrow and negativize one's worldview and self-image. It's easy to imagine how one's dreams for the future could begin to feel futile if the only professions media seems to think you're suited for are mystical wise man and noble savage. Quantity of representation is not enough—in fact, if the quality of representation is lacking, greater saturation can actually do more harm than good, causing real harm to marginalized people whose self-identity and mental health may be damaged by poor portrayals.

When films and shows with stereotypical representations of indigenous Americans are released, indigenous Americans aren't the only ones watching. The same is true of Black people, Muslims, queer people, and every other heavily stereotyped community. While self-esteem is a real issue, we must also be concerned with the esteem in which others hold us. Prejudice presents a serious threat to many—prejudice informed in part by the media that we constantly consume. 

There are real-life political consequences of entertainment. Evidence indicates a relationship between audiences viewing negative portrayals of Black people and negative opinions about policies related to affirmative action, policing, and other race-related legal issues, as well as a general tendency to hold unfavorable beliefs regarding Black intelligence, work ethic, and criminality (Mastro). This is deeply relevant as policy regarding the legal treatment of Black people is one of the most significant issues in the public consciousness, especially in the last few years. The concept of Black people as innately criminal, reinforced by stereotypical media portrayals, has been and continues to inform the debate around issues such as police violence and reform. Voters watch movies and television—so do congresspeople—and the way certain communities look in movies and television contributes to policy decisions that will save or end lives.

The Latin American community deals with similar portrayals in media—they are most often shown as inarticulate, unintelligent, unskilled laborers or criminals (Mastro). These portrayals, too, are highly relevant to American politics. The 2016 presidential campaign of Donald Trump relied heavily on leveraging negative stereotypes about Latin American and specifically Mexican immigrants—they were characterized as violent, predatory, and a threat to the American way of life. Those stereotypes, however, were not invented for the purpose of promoting Donald Trump as a presidential candidate—their utility as a political tool came from the fact that this was already a popular way of viewing Mexican immigrants. The widespread stereotypes about Latin American people are reinforced and reiterated by our entertainment, and in this case, formed the foundation of a winning presidential campaign.

There are good examples, too—in the 1990s and 2000s, American support for gay marriage rocketed from around 20% to nearly 60%, an incredibly rapid change in public opinion caused largely by advocacy in the media (Baume). Gay marriage was then nationally legalized in 2015. The way people are portrayed in our entertainment has serious real-world consequences, good and bad; human lives depend on how the most vulnerable people in our society are shown to the rest of us.

The solution isn't just more. That's part of it, but as we know, increasing the quantity of representation can be harmful rather than helpful if that representation isn't also high-quality. There is some correlation between the two—a greater number of portrayals of a group generally means more divergence from stereotypes—but there's a more fundamental issue at play. There are an abundance of stories that involve characters from marginalized groups, and yet the overwhelming majority of people producing stories in the mainstream are the same white men. As a culture, we enjoy stories about different types of people, but seem to be very comfortable allowing those stories to be told to us by an extremely homogenous group of writers and directors. The entertainment industry often even seems uncomfortable allowing minority actors to play minority roles; although casting white actors to play people of color has mostly fallen out of fashion, it's still commonplace to cast non-disabled and non-queer actors to play disabled and queer characters. This isn't necessarily an unacceptable practice in itself, but it's common enough to create a sense that queer and disabled actors are being actively excluded from entertainment. Of the limited number of disabled characters who appear on-screen, only 5% are played by disabled actors (Pearson). Actors such as Adam Pearson, who was never considered for the leading role in a film about Joseph Merrick (whose condition Pearson shares), are routinely passed up in favor of non-disabled actors (Pearson). Queer actors are similarly underrepresented. As one would expect, minority representation is vastly increased by the presence of minority directors and writers—movies by Black directors have six times as many Black speaking roles on average (Smith 3). The possibility of high-quality, equal representation is clearly tied to increasing diversity behind the camera.

But—what if straight white men just make better entertainment? Maybe they make up such a huge majority of the media industry because their work is simply more valuable. From a certain angle, this is sort of true. The value assigned to entertainment is, in part, determined by the critical response it receives, and media critics are mostly white men. In 2017, 78% of the top film critics were men, and 82% were white (Choueiti 2). It's not strange to enjoy media you see yourself represented in, and it's not surprising that the media we consume the most is mostly comprised of people who look like the people who we allow to determine its quality.

The entertainment industry as it stands today is a self-congratulatory stew of white men. Most representation of anyone outside that group is done on their terms, and as such, lacks both quantity and quality. The only way to break out of the narrow range of representations of marginalized people is to inundate the entertainment business with those people. We need women, queer people, people of color, and disabled people in the media, behind cameras and in front of them. The way these people are portrayed has real and severe consequences—for their mental health, physical safety, and place within our culture. Diversity in entertainment is not a frivolous issue. It matters, a lot, and it won't solve itself. 

Works Cited

Baume, Matt. "Why Opinion Changed So Fast On Gay Marriage." Youtube, uploaded by Matt Baume, 25 June 2015.

"CDC: 1 in 4 US adults live with a disability." Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 16 August 2018.

Choueiti, Marc et al. "Critic's Choice?: Gender and Race/Ethnicity of Film Reviewers Across 100 Top Films of 2017." Annenberg Foundation, USC Annenberg, June 2018.

"Cultivation Theory." Communication Theory, 2012.

Indiana University. "TV viewing can decrease self-esteem in children, except white boys." ScienceDaily, 30 May 2012.

Leavitt, Peter et al. "'Frozen in Time': The Impact of Native American Media Representations on Identity and Self-Understanding." Journal of Social Issues, 2015.

Mastro, Dana. "Race and Ethnicity in US Media Content and Effects." Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Communication, Oxford University Press. 26 September 2017.

Pearson, Adam et al. "'Actors don't black up, so why do they still crip up?' – video." The Guardian, 10 September 2018.

Smith, Stacy L., Choueiti, Marc. "Black Characters in Popular Film: Is the Key to Diversifying Cinematic Content held in the Hand of the Black Director?" USC Annenberg, 2011.

Smith, Stacy L. et al. "Inequality in 900 Popular Films: Examining Portrayals of Gender, Race/Ethnicity, LGBT, and Disability from 2007-2016." Annenberg Foundation, USC Annenberg, July 2017.

Taylor, Chloe. "Kids now dream of being professional YouTubers rather than astronauts, study finds." Make It, CNBC, 19 July 2019.

#progress #media #film #tv #television #essay #discrimination #self-esteem #representation #wwdsotv

[jothowrote]

Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

(I wrote this unfinished TMA/Mechanisms crossover as a warm-up for Nano two and a half years ago and just found it again on an old hard drive - it’s set around season 2 TMA. I thought I’d let it see the light of day, since we live in interesting times and it hopefully might distract people for a time, like it did me.)

Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

The Jon that walked into work on Monday was not the same Jon that had been left working late in the archives on Friday night. Martin was pretty sure that anyone with eyes could see it – and perhaps eyes were not even necessary, what with the pungent aroma of tobacco and alcohol that hung around this ‘other’ Jon like a haze. Not to mention he was smiling.

Martin immediately suspected foul play. If you had read the kind of statements he had, then it wasn’t completely unusual for people to vanish and be replaced, although usually the changeling made a bit more effort to blend in.

The Monday morning had begun strangely anyway, as Martin had been surprised to find himself the first at work. Jon had become more or less of a permanent fixture at the archives, working so late and arriving so early that one could almost assume that he simply didn’t go home. The small cot bed remained untouched, however – Martin had checked. And so, on coming in to work and finding Jon’s office empty, Martin had decided to take advantage of that fact and hang around outside it, hoping to catch Jon before he mired himself in work and stage a sort-of intervention. He’d even tried to recruit Tim and Sasha to his cause as they both arrived at the institute for the morning. Sasha had said something about being too busy and slipped off – Tim had snorted and said some very rude things about Jon before vanishing into the tiny kitchenette for his morning coffee.

Not one to be deterred by something so insignificant as no back-up, Martin had squared his shoulders and continued to lurk outside Jon’s empty office. As the morning ticked by, and there was still no sign of Jon, he had grown steadily more anxious.

`He’s probably just having a breakdown at home,’ Tim said, on his way past with his third coffee of the morning. `Makes a nice change from him having it here. Just leave it – I’m not doing your work too.’

Martin decided to give it until lunch.

At one minute to twelve, the door by the stairs swung open wildly – startling Martin, who had been staring unfocused in the opposite direction at the lift doors in steadily decreasing expectation – and Jon sauntered through.

It was only `Jon’ in the loosest sense of the word. As Martin watched, the Jon-impersonator swaggered up the corridor with no limp to speak of, a bottle of something smelling strong as petrol sloshing in one hand. The other hand, Martin couldn’t help but notice, was hovering over a gun in a hip holster.

Martin was frozen in confusion and perhaps a little fear as the stranger-Jon walked right up to him and paused in front of the office door. When he made as if to open the door, Martin let out a small squeak of indignation. He was promptly engulfed in thick tobacco smoke.

Coughing, his eyes watering, Martin did nothing but watch as the stranger winked at him and went straight into the Head Archivist’s office, slamming the door behind him.

`You’re telling me that Jon’s been replaced by some kind of steampunk cowboy that looks exactly like him?’

Tim, on his fourth coffee, looked unimpressed.

`We’ve been attacked by flesh-eating worms, but this is where you draw the line?’

`Are you sure it isn’t actually Jon just having a midlife crisis?’

`It may have looked like Jon superficially, but apart from that he’s a completely different person.’

Tim squinted at Martin, and reached forward as though to feel his forehead.

`Are you feeling ok?’

Martin slapped his hand away irritably.

`I’m not hallucinating Jon dressed as a steampunk cowboy, that would be really weird.’

`And yet would explain so much. Are you sure it’s not just –‘

The door to the kitchenette slammed open and fake-Jon strolled in.

`Is that coffee I smell?’

He pushed past Tim and Tim’s gaping mouth and poured the rest of the pot into a mug. To Martin’s annoyance, it was his mug.

Fake-Jon swigged at the coffee – Tim’s thick black tar that Martin avoided – and sighed.

`Anything stronger? Only I’m out of whiskey.’

`Who the fuck are you?’ Tim said, finally getting over his shock as he watched the rest of his precious coffee quickly vanish down the stranger’s gullet. `You’re not Jon.’

`Well, I am Jon – Jonny d’Ville, to be exact.’

`You’re not our Jon,’ Martin said, his voice going embarrassingly squeaky again. Jonny d’Ville grinned, and it was a violent grin.

`Ah, sweet. Your Jon isn’t here at the moment – I’m afraid I’m what’s here instead.’

Elias, apparently disturbed by Tim’s indignant shouting, chose that moment to poke his head around the door to the tiny kitchen with a supremely disapproving expression.

`Don’t you all have work to do?’

Martin opened his mouth, but all he managed was another squeak. Tim, who had gone back to gawping, said nothing.

`Oh, and by the way, Jon – you really need to start being a little more considerate with the people who come in to give their statements. I’ve been getting more complaints.’

Then Elias paused, and looked Jonny up and down.

`And is that get-up really suitable for work?’ he sniffed.

Martin saw Jonny’s hand twitch towards the gun in his hip holster, and had a sudden moment of complete dread, but Elias had already let the door swing shut behind him.

`That’s the big boss man, then?’ Jonny asked, his grin starting up. `Isn’t he a ray of sunshine.’

He turned to Tim and Martin, his grin wide and dark. It was unsettling to see such a look on Jon’s usually sour bur harmless face.

`So,’ he said, twirling the gun in his hand, `what is it you do for fun around here?’

*

Martin had been summarily dispatched to the nearest off-license in order to provide his new boss with more whiskey, and Sasha caught him in the corridor on his way back to the archives, clutching the plastic bags and wincing every time they made incriminating clinking noises.

`What’s with the Jon look-a-like?’ she asked in a whisper.

`He wouldn’t say until he had more whiskey,’ Martin said dejectedly.

`Makes a bit of a change from the old Jon, though,’ Sasha said, grinning. `Even though they look exactly the same, this one somehow manages to look kind of hot.’

`Eww, Sasha.’

`What?’ she shrugged. `Everyone likes a bad boy, Martin.’

`He looks deranged,’ Martin hissed.

`Yeah, that too. Maybe it’s the crazy eyes, maybe it’s the leather, maybe it’s the eyeliner. Maybe it’s that he’s not stalking us all and watching our houses at night.’

`Jon’s having a hard time right now-‘

‘Oh, please don’t start with all that shit, Martin. I don’t know why you’re so desperate to make allowances for him – I mean, I know you bonded or whatever,’ Sasha made sarcastic air quotes around the word, `when Prentiss attacked us, but honestly, even you must be able to see that he’s going completely off his rocker.’

`I just… he means well…’

`He treats us all like shit, Martin. You can’t keep defending him if you value yourself at all.’

Martin gave a deep sigh. The bags clinked.

`To be honest, it’ll be nice having a break from Jon. And this Jonny guy sounds like he has loads of great stories.’

`Oh, I do,’ said a strange parody of Jon’s voice from behind them, making Martin jump. `And you can hear them, just as soon as I get a drink or four. Is that my whiskey?’

Martin nodded, and Jonny’s smile grew wider.

`Well then, let’s get this party started.’

*

It ended up being Martin, Tim, and the new weird Jon in the Head Archivist’s office, as Sasha – who had been very distant lately – had pushed off to see her new boyfriend. Elias remained completely oblivious to the change in Jon, and probably assumed they were hard at work.

Jonny poured them each a whiskey and downed almost a full bottle by himself. Then he settled back in Jon’s chair, put his feet up on the desk, and sighed.

`So, where would you like me to start?’

Tim opened his mouth, eyes wide, but Martin got there first.

`Where’s our Jon? Is he ok? Is he going to come back?’

Jonny grinned.

`Your Jon is most likely on my ship right now. No doubt my crew are… looking after him, in their own way. He’ll be back. Eventually.’

`Does he have to come back?’ Tim muttered. Martin elbowed him. `Ouch,’ he grumped. `Your elbows are really sharp.’

`Why is he on your ship? Where is your ship? Why do you look exactly the same?’

Jonny laughed, and drank some more.

`Aren’t you full of questions? I should perhaps clarify that my ship, Aurora, is a starship – and it’s not so much a question of `where’ as `when’.’

`A starship,’ Tim said, blankly.

`As for the resemblance – well, I’m only making a guess here, as I’m stuck with you and not on the Aurora – but it’s a very well-educated guess. I can only assume that when space-time tends towards infinity in universes like ours that these strange resemblances do occur simply due to statistics. And for some reason, your Jon and I have swapped places.’

`It might be something Jon touched in artefact storage,’ Martin said, biting his lip anxiously. `God knows there’s enough weirdness in there to cause something like this.’

`Why should we believe you?’ Tim asked. Jonny laughed.

`Why would I lie?’

Tim shot Martin a look. Martin shrugged.

`Good point,’ he said, taking a swig of his whiskey and resigning himself to the complete mess his life had become. `Carry on.’

&

Jon had for once made it back to his flat rather than just collapsing into the airbed in the archives, but it was late and he barely had time to register the dust and neglect before collapsing onto his bed and passing out.

He woke up with his face pressed to cold metal, which was ever so gently vibrating. He flung out an arm to feel around for the light switch, and the resultant crash woke him fully.

It transpired that he’d inadvertently upset a precarious pile of bottles, all empty and smelling strongly of old alcohol. They’d rolled across the floor, clanking and crashing as they did so, and Jon looked properly at his surroundings.

The small room, which had metal walls and apparently the entire contents of a bottle bank, was neither his bedroom nor the archives.

Jon looked around, blinked a few times, and really wished the bottles weren’t all empty.

It took him a while to get to the door without his walking stick, but using the wall to prop himself and sheer determination, he made it and began to hobble down the corridor beyond.

The background humming – along with the gentle vibration of the walls he clung to and the floor beneath his socked feet – made him feel faintly queasy. This was not helped by the panic rising up in his throat.

Something small, many-legged, furry, and glowing green dropped from somewhere above him. Jon screamed.

The small green thing squealed back and shot off in the opposite direction.

`For fuck’s sake, Jonny,’ someone said behind him, in a thick Russian accent. `Do you have to keep shooting them?’

Jon turned rapidly and lost his balance, only just catching himself on a nearby bit of pipe. The newcomer squinted at him from underneath a furrowed brow and a pissed expression.

`Just how drunk are you?’ she asked, incredulously.

Jon pulled his body, his dignity and his bravery up.

`Who are you, and why do you know my name?’ he demanded, his voice suitably strong, albeit a little squeaker than he might have liked. `And where the hell am I?’

The woman just stared at him.

`Jonny – just what have you been drinking?’ she asked. `Or – wait – did you eat that reconstituted spinach I left around the mess? I told you it killed an octokitten!’

Jon felt overwhelmed but pushed on. The woman was strange – hell, the whole situation was absolutely mental – but there were no flesh-eating bugs in sight, and that meant he wasn’t having a nightmare, at least.

Although if this was a fever dream, maybe he should go to the doctors when he woke up.

`I’m sorry,’ he said, snippily, `but do I know you?’

The woman just stared at him.

Another gently glowing creature dropped down from the ceiling, screamed at the sight of him, and skittered away down the corridor.

The woman sighed, deeply.

`You’re not Jonny, are you,’ she said, finally.

`My name is Jonathan Sims,’ Jon said.

`Hmm. Well, this is a strange day. I’ll get the others together – come with me, not-Jonny.’

The `others’ consisted of a motley selection of people in various strange outfits, some of whom were more metal than flesh.

Jon was feeling more and more out of his depth, and sure that his imagination was not so good as to dream this up.

`So, this isn’t Jonny?’ asked one.

`Isn’t it obvious?’ said another. `He’s clearly a completely different person.’

`Looks exactly the same to me,’ the woman Jon had met first, whose name turned out to be Nastya, said. `Even scared the octokittens away.’

`Are you kidding?’ said the one who’d introduced themselves as Ashes O’Reilly, quartermaster. None of the others had given their names. `He hasn’t shot any of us since we came in here.’

There was a chorus of agreement.

`Good point,’ said man who was more brass than skin. `Can we keep this Jonny? He seems a lot nicer than ours.’

`We should probably try and work out what happened,’ Ashes said, although they made no move to do so and looked distinctly bored by the proceedings.

Jon’s leg finally gave way on him, and he sagged, defeated, onto a nearby bench.

`Look,’ he said, head in his hands, `I don’t know who any of you are. I don’t know who this `Jonny’ is who you all know, but he’s not me. I just… I need to get back home. To the archives.’

They all looked at each other.

`This is definitely not our Jonny,’ said Nastya. `So what do we do now?’

&

Jonny toyed with his gun, bored out of his mind. For an archive full of creepy stories, he was disappointed in the lack of things to shoot. He supposed, if he could be bothered, he could poke about in the dreaded `Artefact storage’ the two research assistants had spoken about in such grim tones, but he didn’t think their uppity boss would appreciate him shooting up a priceless antique. Although maybe then he could shoot the boss… he hadn’t liked the look of him.

Martin – the one who seemed most upset by his supplanting the `real’ Jonathan, had talked a bit about the time they’d been overrun by flesh-eating worms, which sounded like a lot of fun – sadly, it had apparently been sorted out long before Jonny arrived.

He clicked his safety on and off, sighing. There weren’t even octokittens to terrorize. He didn’t think he’d ever actually miss the blasted creatures.

And yet here he was, pining for his ship, surrounded by dust and paper and fear. There was a story here, somewhere, but they already had a way to tell it – they didn’t need the help of the Mechanisms.

He pulled his harmonica out of his waistcoat, played a little tune. His go-to currently was the anthem of General Snow’s resistance. He felt attached to the defiant tune – he had been there just before Jack had gone down in battle, seen the kid sink his last drink.

Jack the giant killer hadn’t wanted to be made into a hero in a story he didn’t deserve, but he got made into one anyway. It made Jonny feel a little nostalgic for that bloody war, in all honestly. There hadn’t been a good war like that in a while.

The best wars were always when the two sides became mirror images to one another, in the end.

A hesitant knock snapped him out of his reminiscing. Martin poked his head around the door, his face falling almost comically.

`Oh,’ he said. `It’s you.’

`Sorry,’ Jonny grinned. `Still the wrong Jon, I’m afraid.’

Martin looked at the harmonica.

`You play that?’

`No – I keep it around for decoration. Yes, I fucking play it,’ Jonny said. `It’s something to do with my hands that isn’t shooting people.’

`Oh, good,’ said Martin, squeakily. `That’s… that’s good.’

`Anything interesting happening?’

`Not much – although Elias will probably be along soon, so you might want to… I don’t know... pretend to be more like Jon?’

`What does your Jon do all day?’

`Well, record statements, mostly.’

`On this?’ Jonny dangled the tape recorder between two of his fingers, looking at it distastefully.

`Careful!’ Martin lunged for it, knocking over a pile of statements and tripping over some dusty boxes. Empty CO2 canisters clanked around his feet. Jonny laughed.

At that moment, the ajar door opened farther, and Elias Bouchard walked into the room. He was greeted by the sight of Jonny cackling, feet still up on the desk, tape recorder still dangling from his hands, Martin on the floor and surrounded by old yellowing statements and empty fire extinguishers.

`I thought I heard you… laughing,’ Elias said, slowly. Jonny met his gaze with a violent grin.

`I tripped,’ Martin said, breathless, scrambling to his feet. `You know me, so clumsy.’ He tried for a laugh, but it sounded a little panicked.

`Hmm,’ said Elias, still locked in eye-contact with Jonny. `Well… as long as there’s not a problem.’

`Nope,’ Jonny said, still grinning.

Elias shut the door behind him.

`He knows,’ Jonny said, smile abruptly dropping as he turned to Martin.

`He knows?’

`That I’m not your Jon.’

`We all know that, though,’ Martin said, shrugging. `It’s not exactly hard to tell.’

`No – he knows. I don’t think he knows what I am, exactly, but he knows more than he’s letting on.’

`But it’s just Elias,’ Martin said, as he attempted to gather together the spilt statements. `Oh god, Jon is going to kill me – I’ve probably ruined his system…’

`To be honest,’ said Jonny, `I think he’ll be so relieved to be back that he won’t care.’

`That doesn’t sound like Jon,’ Martin said, still manically trying to make some order out of the chaos his flailing limbs had created. `He’s been struggling lately – I don’t know what this will do to him but it’s not going to be good…’

‘Well, you get on with that, then,’ Jonny said as he swung his legs to the floor, spurs clacking.

‘Where are you going?’ Martin called after him, as he swaggered to the door.

‘I’m going to look for something to shoot,’ Jonny said, winking, as he disappeared out of the office.

‘You can’t just… leave!’ Martin said, but Jonny had already gone.

#the magnus archives #The Mechanisms #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonny d'ville #tim stoker #fanfiction #crossover

[justwranting]

i'm an optimist. i tend to always focus on the bright side of things, and i sometimes forget to look at things from a more realistic point of view. these past two weeks have been very hard for me, a crazy amount of changes - i started a new job (its been very challenging for me), i have not worked out for over a year, i've tried to keep myself on track for a long time, but i can't help but feel like i can't handle it anymore. in cases like these my emotional wellbeing goes to shit and its like 'the perfect cherry on top', like here - i know you're dealing with a lot - but here's some social anxiety to make it better!

it doesn't help that i work from home now, and my day is constantly consumed by work, you can call it 'on-call', so i have to be available almost instantly per any request. this gives me anxiety when it comes to actually leaving the house - cause what if i can't do a certain thing without being able to run by my computer and handle it? and if i say fuck it, ill deal with it later, then at the end of the day fears like 'am i doing enough for the wage that i'm getting' start coming in and i start to tighten that invisible rope around my neck.

i'm not cut out to be in this type of career-based hard working society, shit, i wish i could earn a living wage without it consuming my life. i wish i could travel, film things, collaborate with other artists, but then there's that whole economy factor that literally closes me up in a cage and tells me - either work hard and let it consume your life, or don't work, do what you love and pretty much never be able to afford anything in life. i'm tired. i'm 23 and tired. i can't even imagine being able to ever have a family and be able to support it, nevermind having kids. the system is fucked, honestly.

speaking mental health - i was very depressed with severe anxiety for over a year a few years back, and i fought very hard for my life and for my mental health. it got better but never truly healed. i don't think it ever will. it's been really good lately, but whenever my life gets slightly challenging - my brain IMMEDIATELY brings social anxiety back. a simple thing like going to walmart to get some dog food now requires hours of mental preparation, and sometimes, it doesn't even happen because my mind takes over. you see, social anxiety and depression go hand it hand - first youre too nervous to go outside and do something, then you fail to go outside, despite the fact that you prepared for it for hours, and all that leads to a sense of disappointment in yourself. that disappointment, added to other similar times of disappointment eventually slides you straight down into depression. i have been able to fight this for the past year and a half, and i have faith in myself that i will be able to fight it this time, but it's getting really fucking hard.

now you may think - a good looking girl, with amazing friends, a roof over her head, has a solid amount of spending money, a job. some people can't say they have the same - but what really is the problem then? is it the childhood trauma? is it a specific event that hurt them? is it the 'dreamer' side of them being crushed? is it the whole work aspect?

i wish i knew. if i knew, then i'd probably be able to fix it, right? maybe i constantly put myself in situations that just aren't right for me. or maybe, statistically speaking, there can't be that many situations that aren't right for me, and i'm the one who's wrong?

i'm well aware of the fact that life is nothing but a big lesson, i am. it was that realization that actually helped me with my depression. i am aware of that, for sure. but i guess, my question is - is it possible to be happy without having that constant struggle of fighting to get somewhere in life? is there ever a time where you can just relax?

i've competely put aside the romantic aspect of my life. not because i'm confused, not interested or don't see any people that interest me. no. it's because i simply don't have time. is that fucking normal lmao? like is this how its actually supposed to be? i'm in actual disbelief. today, it's almost like we go into this busy world to make something of ourselves, have mindless sex to satisfy the hormones and we just hope that one of those one night stands might eventually accidently become a beautiful love story? it just doesn't add up.

and just when we think we're connected - a device in our hands let's us be virtually anywhere in the world at any time - what do we do? of course, we put on masks (not the covid kind), a different persona, and we pretend to be someone we're not.

me on instagram? oh, a real baddie. honestly a 10/10. in real life? oh im a 6 at most. laundry pile in my room, to the point where my clean laundry is in the laundry basket, and my dirty clothes on the floor. my dog has started sleeping on those clothes, and i let him. yes, i did post a selfie, however i consciously positioned it in a way where my head would cover the big ol' laundry pile, and lit up a candle - a real zen zone it is.

i've been wearing the same clothing for over 4 days now, stained with coffee and juice, crumbles of food silently hanging on those threads of my hoodie. yeah, i'm that kind of person, and no, it's not cute. of course - presented in social media it would be cute, a little quirky girl, but no, i'm the kind of girl who can't even put food into her mouth properly.

it's a hard life, and i don't think this whole novel has a solid point, other than that i'm mad and i want to rant. i'm mad and tired. i'm sad. i'm everything but happy. but i guess we're here, and we're living. should we be hoping for a happy ending, or is that only crafted for stories, books and romantic movies? i guess we'll find out. and i guess that's THE question.

#diary #writing #spilledink #my writing #spilled thoughts #ranting #covid #society #journal #rant #unknown #anon #anonymous writing #social isolation #social issues #social anxiety #depression #death of an optimist #optimistic #realistic #not art #not writing #philosophy #philosophical thoughts