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steddiehyperfixation · 6 months

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not so tragic a thing after all (steddie ficlet)

Eddie has an essay due in two days. It’s a big one, the last one of the semester, of the year, the one that will make or break his grade and determine whether or not he finally gets to graduate high school.

And he can't write it.

As in, he's been sitting at his desk and staring at a blank piece of lined notebook paper for hours, bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers and twirling his pencil but not producing a single word. It's not that he doesn't understand the prompt or that he doesn't know what he's going to write about, because he does understand it and he does have ideas, he just can't write it. There's some block in his brain, something that keeps him stuck there and anxious, feeling each unproductive second slipping by like a physical thing brushing past him, but still unable to make himself write.

Eddie's always struggled with essays. Out of all the subjects, he has the lowest grade and the highest number of missing assignments in English Lit. Which is such counterintuitive bullshit because that's his favorite subject, and it's because it's his favorite subject that he's failed it every year.

It's like this: If Eddie doesn't understand a math assignment, he doesn't care, he'll just scribble in some bullshit numbers or turn it in incomplete and take whatever grade he gets with an impassive shrug and zero damage to his self-esteem. He's just not a math guy, and that's fine. Same with science or history. But he is a words guy. Eddie is a storyteller, a writer, a lyricist; words are his weapons, his outlet, his safe space, his identity. He takes pride in his ability to artfully string his words together, and a shitty grade on a shitty essay is something he takes personally. He'd rather not turn in anything at all than turn in a collection of words he's not proud of.

Right now the words aren't coming together just right in his head and so his hand refuses to move to write them. He tries to tell himself that it's okay if it's not quite right, that something written, even badly, is better than nothing written, and that he's only guaranteed to fail if he fails to turn this in. It doesn't have to be good, it just has to be done. He tries to force his hand to move, to write something, anything, but the signal isn't getting from his brain to his hand because his fingers continue to twirl his pencil between them rather than curl around it and press the lead to the paper like he wants them to. He just keeps sitting there and staring and fidgeting and not writing like he's been doing all day, all week, all month.

Eddie berates himself for being so stuck, yells and shouts and curses at himself to get his shit together and just write. But he doesn't, won't, can't. The seconds keep pushing past him and the deadline inches closer and closer and his page remains blank and he's so goddamn frustrated he's on the verge of tears.

There's a knock on the front door that makes Eddie jump and then a knock on his bedroom door that makes him shove his shamefully empty paper under a book and out of sight as Wayne pokes his head into the room to tell him, “Your boy’s at the door.”

“For Christ’s sake, Wayne, he's not my boy.” Eddie rolls his eyes at his uncle. He drops his pencil and stands, grateful for the distraction. “Told you a million times, he's just a friend.”

“Uh huh,” Wayne says, which isn't an argument but very much sounds like one, the way he drags out those syllables with a sort of deadpan disbelief.

Eddie valiantly ignores him and pushes past him to open the front door for Steve. “Hey, Harrington. What're you doing here?”

“Uh-” Steve shrugs, looking almost like he doesn't quite know what he's doing here himself. “Missed you, I guess? It's been a minute.”

Eddie's been isolating himself the past couple weeks, canceling on Hellfire and band practices and hangouts, insisting he needs to focus on his essay. He didn't realize any of his friends had taken notice.

“Oh, and I brought snacks!” Steve adds brightly, holding up the bag of chips in his hands like he just remembered it was there. “Thought you might need a break from your schoolwork.”

“Oh.” Something warm blooms in Eddie's chest and tugs a smile from his lips as he moves aside to let Steve in. “That's sweet, thank you.”

Steve returns the smile, stepping inside. “Anytime. So - how's the essay going?”

“Uh, yeah, it's kind of not,” Eddie admits with a self-deprecating sigh, running frustrated fingers through his hair. He nods for Steve to follow as he heads back to his room and pulls the stupid blank page out from its hiding place to show off his failure. “Been at it for weeks and I still can't seem to get a single goddamn word down.”

“Hm.” Steve frowns a little at the paper for a second, but his attention appears to be far more focused on the book the page had been shoved under: a well-worn copy of Romeo and Juliet. He smirks as he picks it up and reads the title aloud, teasing, “Didn't take you for a romantic, Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It's what the essay's on.” He snatches the book back before Steve can start to flip through it and read anything he's written in the margins. “And it's not a romance, it's a tragedy - which is exactly what I was going to write about, actually, if I could just write it.” Eddie sits down heavily in his desk chair, glaring at the blank paper. “Was gonna argue that people tend to focus too much on the romance of it all, but they're missing the point entirely, and this tendency to over-romanticize the story completely overshadows and trivializes the actual themes of the play. It’s not about love, not really, or at least not in the ways people think. It’s-”

His tangent stops short as he notices Steve beginning to rifle about his room - setting the bag of chips down on the nightstand, grabbing a pencil off the desk, scooping a random spiral notebook (his math notebook, as it happens) off the floor. Eddie turns sideways in his chair and looks at him strangely. “What are you doing?”

Steve turns the notebook to a blank page and sits down on the edge of Eddie's bed, already starting to scribble words across the paper. “I'm taking notes,” he says, like it's obvious. “Don't let me interrupt you.”

Eddie's eyes narrow. “Are you patronizing me?”

“No, no, of course not.” Steve's reassurance is quick and comes with a rapid shake of his head. He looks over at Eddie, expression earnest and genuine as he says, “I’m just interested in what you have to say. I wanna know what you think Romeo and Juliet is about. If it's not romance, what is it?”

Eddie regards him skeptically at first, answers in a measured tone and glances warily at the pencil continuously scratching ‘notes’ onto Steve's paper. But the more he speaks and the more Steve engages with such honest reactions of interest and encouragement, the more Eddie gives into the tide of thoughts in his head and lets them spill from his mouth with increasing enthusiasm: He describes the inherent tragedy of a life cut short which could've been prevented, rambles about the reality of being young and stupid and consumed by emotion, rants about the mortality rate of blind bigotry and prejudice, and waxes poetic about love itself being something tragic and dooming, occasionally grabbing the book and reading out lines of the actual poetry to illustrate his points.

When Eddie's well of words on the subject eventually runs dry, Steve continues writing for just a few seconds longer before he glances up with a grin and stands to toss the notebook and pencil onto the desk next to Eddie. “There's your essay,” he announces. “Well, kind of. You might want to rearrange it a little-”

“Steve,” Eddie cuts him off, staring at the open notebook covered in the scrawl of Steve's handwriting with wide-eyed disbelief. He looks back up at him. “You wrote my essay for me?”

Steve shakes his head. “You wrote it. I mean, it's all your words exactly as you said them, all I did was transcribe it.” He shrugs. His tone and expression are still casual and light, but the hunch of his shoulders and the way he shoves his hands in his pockets now speaks to a sudden shyness as well. “You said you just couldn't get the words down, I know what that's like. I get that way too sometimes - just…stuck - where the thoughts and the intention are there but the action is just frozen. It helps to talk it through, but it also helps to kinda separate yourself from the task a little too. I thought if I could do that first step of getting the words on paper for you, it might make it easier for you to copy some of it down and then start to write it and reorganize it on your own, might get you past that block…”

Eddie kind of really wants to kiss him right now, feeling young and stupid and consumed by emotion. He leaps to his feet and hugs Steve fiercely instead. “Thank you.”

Steve nearly stumbles from the force of the hug and lets out a startled laugh before returning the embrace. “Don’t even know if it worked yet. Thank me after you finish your essay.”

Eddie shakes his head against Steve's shoulder. “Thank you just for trying - just for being here, even. I’m sure there are much better ways you could've spent your Saturday than listening to me ramble about Shakespeare, but you stayed here anyways and made an effort to help me when you didn't have to. I appreciate it.”

“Nothing else I’d rather do. I like listening to you talk; I like how passionate you are about your opinions, even if they are a bit cynical.” Steve pulls back with a smile, squeezing Eddie's shoulders for a second before dropping his hands. “It's gonna be a killer essay.”

Eddie beams at him, the warmth in his expression a reflection of the glow that's unfurling in his chest again. He plops back down at his desk and picks up his pencil, hovering it over his own blank paper as he looks over the words - his words - that Steve had written. He takes an anticipatory breath…and starts to write.

Steve was right, restating the words once they've already been written down by someone else does depersonalize it enough to make Eddie finally able to write it and it does get him past that initial block. Soon he's able to move on from simply copying down the words and begins to add new ones and make edits. A laugh escapes him like a cheer, a short burst of something giddy with satisfaction and relief. He's writing, and writing and writing and writing, the words flowing from brain to pencil to paper perfectly and with ease, the way it should've been from the start.

Steve hangs off to the side at first like he's trying to give Eddie space to work, but ends up slowly drifting closer. When Eddie cheers, Steve's hand goes to his shoulder again, giving it another squeeze, encouraging and proud. His hand then stays there, thumb idly rubbing across Eddie's shoulder blade as he watches the other write. Eddie feels like he's got electricity running through his veins.

Somewhere within the next hour or so, three pages and two sheets of paper later, Eddie slams his pencil down and sighs with finality, “Done!” This earns him another shoulder-squeeze from Steve and a bright smile when Eddie looks up at him. “You are a fucking lifesaver, Harrington, I don't know what I would've done without you.”

“Glad I could help,” Steve says, his smile turning sheepish and his hand finally dropping from Eddie's shoulder as he gives a modest shrug and adds, “I’m sure you would've managed on your own, though.”

“I wouldn't have. I would've failed,” Eddie says seriously. “I was fighting an epic battle against my brain and I would've lost, would've doomed myself to yet another year of pointless high school existence, if you hadn't swooped in and saved me like a goddamn knight in shining armor.” He cracks a grin and stands to dip into a melodramatic bow. “I am forever indebted to you, my liege.”

Steve laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. “You're being dramatic.”

“I’m allowed to be.” Eddie straightens and grabs his essay off the desk, holding it up and shaking the papers. “This is my golden ticket out of high school, man, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Well then, we should celebrate.”

“We can finally eat those chips you brought.” Eddie moves around him and reaches to grab the bag of chips on the nightstand, but Steve catches his hand.

“Screw the chips,” Steve says. “This calls for a proper celebration. How about we go get dinner somewhere? My treat.”

Eddie glances down at his hand in Steve's. “Are you asking me out, Romeo?” he asks as he looks back up, a teasing edge to his grin so he can play it off as a joke if he needs to.

“Depends.” Steve rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie's hand, eyes flicking across the other's face almost nervously. “What would you say if I was?”

Eddie’s smile softens and he finally curls his fingers around Steve's hand. “I'd say yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yes,” Steve says, his face breaking into a bright and beautiful grin, “I am absolutely asking you out.”

Another cheer of laughter bursts out of him, giddy now for an entirely different reason. “What are you waiting for then, big boy?” Eddie holds Steve’s hand tight, already starting to drag him from the room. “Where are you taking me?”

Steve laughs as well and lets himself be pulled along for a second before taking the lead as they head for the front door. “You’ll see.”

To Wayne sitting on the couch watching some game on the TV, Eddie shouts over his shoulder in passing, “Finished my essay, we’re going out to eat!”

Wayne nods in acknowledgement. His eyes flick to the boys’ joined hands, a knowing smugness in his expression as he mouths subtly to Eddie, ‘Your boy.’

Eddie just grins in response, and then he’s out the door.

Steve takes him to a diner, Eddie’s favorite one, and it makes his chest warm again that Steve knows that. They grab a booth in the corner, hidden from prying eyes. Steve makes fun of Eddie for dipping his fries in his milkshake, Eddie makes fun of Steve for covering his directly in ketchup. It’s all talking and laughing and easy banter, same as it’s always been since they’ve been friends, except now Steve holds his hand and hooks their ankles together under the table and peppers smooth compliments into the conversation that have Eddie grinning and blushing like crazy. The famed Harrington charm is in full effect, moves and lines he’s sure Steve’s used hundreds of times on hundreds of girls, but now they’re just for him, woven so easily into the dynamic that already exists between them, and Eddie basks in it.

It’s the best first date he could’ve asked for.

Perfect gentleman that he is, Steve even insists on walking Eddie to the door when he takes him home. Steve kisses him on the porch then, soft and sweet and promising, and Eddie’s starting to think that maybe love isn’t so tragic a thing after all…

Maybe he needs to rewrite his essay.

#in which i project my own academic struggles onto 3x highschool senior eddie munson #the first 500 words of this is literally just me venting lmao #wrote this instead of an essay if you couldn't tell #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #ficlet #mine #(now also on ao3 under the user brokenfandoms)

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rollercoasterwords · 1 year

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like. ok i am going to spell it out

the reason having conversations about representation can be productive in the realm of like. tv or movies or published fiction is that

a) those forms of media are outside the realm of your control. like. most individuals do not get much of a say in the creation of film and most individuals never publish books, etc. BUT

b) those forms of media are largely driven by audience consumption. they exist in a profit economy and rely on reaching an audience to survive. so it does matter what the audience thinks, because a bigger, happier audience = more money

ergo, yelling about liking or disliking something is essentially one of the only ways you can make a difference in those forms of media. it can be productive to push for lesbian rep in tv shows, for example, because if consumers are putting their money where their mouth is then it incentivizes the people who do control what gets made to make things that consumers will want to buy.

but none of that applies to fanfiction.

do you see where i'm going with this? generally speaking, fanfiction is something made as a hobby by individuals who are writing stories that they want to see. because there is no profit, it doesn't really matter what an audience wants; at the end of the day, people generally aren't going to be motivated to write stories for free in their spare time if the story isn't something they themselves want to write. if someone is choosing to write stories about men over writing stories about women, that is not automatically or inherently misogynistic.

additionally--this is a space where you can control the media you consume! if there's a story you want to read, you can just write it. like. it's fanfiction. you can literally just write anything you want to see.

"oh but i'm not a good writer" "oh but that takes so long" "oh but that's so hard" "oh but i don't want to write it, i just want to read it"

okay? go search for the stories you want then. there are tons of people writing wlw fic in this fandom; you can find them if you try.

"yeah but the wlw fics aren't as good--" fuck off

"yeah but there aren't as many--" THEN WRITE SOME. or find a fic writer who writes wlw fic and shower them with praise if you really want to encourage them to keep writing. aside from writing it yourself, supporting wlw fic writers is the most productive thing you can do if you genuinely feel that this is a serious issue.

but when you complain that there's "not enough" wlw fic, you are approaching fanfiction in the same way you would approach media created within a profit economy. you are acting as if fic writers are obligated to provide you, the consumer, with certain types of "content," which deteriorates the boundaries that keep fanfiction outside the consumer economy and protect it as one of few community spaces left that has not been entirely swallowed by the chokehold of capitalism. is there a conversation to be had about how misogyny might play into the popularity of mlm vs. wlw fic? sure! but that is a nuanced conversation that cannot be boiled down to a one-sentence tweet or a single comment on tiktok, and trying to simplify it down to a punchline does more harm than good.

#i am quite literally sick and tired #so this is perhaps not my nicest essay in terms of tone #but whatever i needed 2 vent the frustration of seeing the same mind-numbing discourse over and over and over again #ranting and raving #txt

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trans-axolotl · 5 months

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emailed my feminist disability studies professor to say "sorry i know that all the assignments from the second half of the semester are due tomorrow and i've already got extensions for all of them but also someone i love got incarcerated this week and three other people i love are in the hospital and one of my best friends just found out that all of her family were murdered in Gaza and we're all still grieving our comrade who was murdered in a transphobic hate crime five weeks ago and i think i might have a broken rib from a cop again and it's really hard to try to care about schoolwork when all my time is spent being in the streets and trying to make sure my loved ones can survive right now"

#personal #vent #murder tw #thinking that they will give me an extension they are one of my only cool professors #and they believe about putting disability justice values into action #i just cannot. i don't have it in me to do discussion posts and essays and tests right now #and i think out of any class i would hope someone teaching feminist disability studies would get it #feeling like right now i just need to keep going and keep going and keep going #thinking about anger and grief and love and what it means to love people enough to fight for them #thinking about how i don't want to let go of this anger

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wrylu · 2 months

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idk why i'm so moody these days but i find my despair funny

aka my average day as of now

#1. impulsive silly thoughts #2. STOP FORGETTING TO EAT!!!!!!!!!!!!1 please :3 (note for myself me myself and i)#3. i get sad 🥱#4. tired #(tumblr deleted half of my tags. isnt that nice though you wont have to listen to my essay of vents nobody wanted to hear that)#vent art #wrylu #lu's canvas #negative thoughts below :) have some flowers 💐#sometimes i feel like i should get up more and spend time with my family i miss how it used to be #but you know what i suck and im practically glued to my chair and im lazy like if i was one of the 7 deadly sins i would be sloth #im surprised im not dead yet #this is purely for myself to speak my poor mind #no i actually hate this #i wanna die #i wish i was dead #not really #but still #i wish time just stopped so i can re evaluate my life #and whoa damn dysphoria makes an appearance ever #i wish i had a schlong (funny)#this is awful #sometimes i feel manipulative like i switch my emotions and personalities so hard #am i manipulating you guys??#i feel like im being sad for attention #ugh i hate that the internet is my comfort #thats bad isnt it #i feel like an attention seeker #why am i even writing this 🥱🥱#i cant wait to fall asleep forever

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r0ckyreck · 4 months

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Sally and Shadow have a similar amount of depth to their stories.

A lot of Sonic fans don't like Sally, and a lot of them attribute it to her Lore being complicated

Even though we have Shadow's story right there

Not to dis on Shadow.

Shadow and Sally have really over complicated backstories. And they both work inside the Sonic universe.

They both talk about how lost you can feel when someone manipulates you, and breaking away from people's control over you will make you whole again.

They do take one different meaning and different goal for each: Sally is a lot more focused on helping her people be free even if it kills her, Shadow's honors Maria's wish to portect humanity but will do it in his own way following his path.

Their plot lines are so strong that a lot of the comics/games stories have a big focus on them, considering how detailed their stories are. So much so that you can say Shadow & Sally have their personal Villains (Black Doom, Mephiles, Infinite) & (Ixis Naugus, the SoA, King Max).

Now, they aren't inherently tied to Shadow or Sally, but they connect to their backstories that they have a bigger connect that even Sonic does.

End of my rambling

But yeah, this is all to say that Sally works in the Sonic universe, be it JP or US.

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ellevandersneed · 1 month

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I'm beginning to realize that I am gonna have to take my own gender exploration into my own hands completely, not necessarily rejecting any kind of collaborative discovery or anything like that but for so long I've felt like I have always been placed in referenced to a standard that needs to be reached in order to properly "join" any kind of socially constructed subgroup or what have you. This could be my parents panicking at my using makeup and playing girly games of dressup with my cousins as a small child or the rigid requirements of male friendship that I could never properly fit into or the insecurity that comes with "failing" to be a "proper" trans woman or fit into any of the "new" labels I find myself increasingly trying to explore and integrate into, be they: transgender, trans-feminine, neurodivergent, autistic, bpd (honestly maybe), ocd (honestly probably not), asexual, demisexual, etc.

None of these things, these experiences, are quite the same as each other, though of course they compound and have played a large part in the internal struggle I have always had with identity. What I want to be able to say that I reject all labels completely, that I am "simply me" but things are never that simple. I cannot understand myself by rejecting these various means I have of self discovery, and I cannot reject the aspects of myself that have to shape my worldview, lest I suddenly find myself lecturing someone with a different home life, in a different economic bracket, in a different country about the benefits of certain self care regimens or behaviors that are only available to me due to the time I have, the spaces available to me, and the knowledge I've accumulated for myself.

At the same time, of course, I cannot lean fully into any given label or set of labels without destroying my own identity in the process. There is no one type of trans woman, autistic person, etc and therefore no true standard by which one can adjust to. These identities are not seperate from one another either, and I think a lot of self or professionally or socially or cosmically identified autistic trans women will tell you about the inextricable bond that exists between their autistic and trans identities.

Yet to call myself autistic and to continually seek personal evidence and experience to match predescribed symptoms feels deeply unhealthy, for me anyway. A problem I have is that it feels easy to adjust my own personality in order to properly "fit in" to a role and I'm worried that I will subconsciously begin to act in ways that do not feel natural to me in order to prove myself as autistic to fellow autistics, the same goes for my trans-femme identity. It isn't a matter of active choice either, there is a compulsive element to it that I have to consciously challenge, and to do so is deeply exhausting. Even as I write this I find myself wanting to tailor my words towards potential signals, seeking affirmation from anybody who is willing to say "but of course you're autistic, but of course you're a trans woman." There are many ways for me to react to this, but the easiest and, of course, most antithetical to the point of this essay is to agree wholeheartedly and place my identity in the hands of others, and rely on their acceptance to determine the authenticity of my experiences.

The goal, I think, if a goal can be outlined, is that I do not want to reject labels completely and thus lose (others can reject labels because we all react to this stuff differently, I am speaking of myself explicitly here) the understanding I have and am developing in regards to my relation to the world around me and my place within the grand and unjust social heirarchy we are told again and again to accept simply as "life." The goal is also to not fall wholly into the comfort of labels that simplify and restrict the human experience to a set series of rigid qualifications and exceptions, but to use these labels with a looseness necessary for continual growth and self discovery. I am still figuring out what that might mean for myself. I reject a possible dichotomy between the total rejection and rigid adherence of labels. I am trying to find a third way, and it is a third way that, I think, will be different for everyone.

#essay #vent #gender #transfem #transgender #autism #labels #who am i who am i who am i #personal

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joifee · 1 month

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i finished one of my essays

now i have to write one in like 10 days. I dunno if i am cut out for this

honestly working on this essay really made me wonder if i can write at all - it might be just me staring at what i wrote for weeks now and it sounds so stupid to me. It probably isnt but man does it read like that

and i still have to prepare for an exam next week OTL

#joifeeramble #my confidence in writing has like rock bottomed #i hope i can recover till tomorrow so i can start the second essay #I still also have a third essay but this one has waaaay more time till its due day #vent #not really vent honestly its my own fault i am procrastinating so much

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atomicengineerdetective · 1 year

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THIS SHOW

"She's so determined to make herself sad..."

"My dad didn't care if I fal, But I didnt want to fail him"

"Everyone's on edge and I don't know what to say...I wish you were here"

"I can do this, I can do this... I Can't do this"

"All I've ever wanted is to be Understood"

This show Just keeps on tugging at my heartstrings, Bringing Back every insecurity and deep rooted fear I may have Huh?

Its truly so emotional seeing characters you love so much Go through struggles that are just a little too familiar and see them overcome them.

I think I never felt as Understood and represented as I have with this show. Each new special brings back a lesson I learned long ago or something I'm still working through emotionally. In doing so It reminds me I'm not alone in my experiences. (And it does so with great animation and phenomenal worldbuilding IMO)

God I love this show so much. I dont think it's gonna be topped anytime soon.

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angelosearch · 2 months

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I wanted to share something my therapist and I discussed today that perhaps will be helpful for others.

So I have been having a great time lately, sinking deep into fandom, writing, and creating art. It's been invigorating. I am so inspired and I feel as though I have found my people.

But I told my therapist that I had a lingering sense of guilt about it. Does socializing on Tumblr make me a shut-in? Does having a lot of internet friends make me chronically online? Is it a bad thing that I look forward to spending weekends writing and painting and listening to music instead of going out with friends or traveling?

She asked me: Why would it be bad? Who told you that?

"Dateline, probably," I said. "Chris Hansen."

Truthfully, I did an independent study of technology and rhetoric in college and I know, from a psychological perspective, there are some things a digital relationship just can't do for your brain. So Sherry Turkle is probably the other answer.

But what is community? How does it form?

Communities typically form around a common geographic location, goal, or interest. Your neighborhood is your community. If you like soccer, maybe your community is your sports team and those who cheer for it. If you want to celebrate a certain deity, your community may be the people you do that with. These forms of community normally have clear physical meeting locations.

"But your main interests are consuming and creating media," my therapist said. She's not wrong. "Where can you go for that community?"

In the physical world, there is no space or infastructure to support communities around all interests. There are video game clubs, sure. There are meetup groups for certain shows. But these communities are often small, transient, gatekept, inaccessible, or in far-flung parts of the country. I am sure all communities have those issues in some respect, but really - where can you physically and consistently meet up with people interested in a variety of media for free in a physical space?

Libraries? Maybe?

The internet is the space for my main interest. This is where I can go to be myself and be excited and know that I will be celebrated for it by people who feel the same. We are a community of people who love FFVIII or writing or media of all types. There shouldn't be shame in that because it is a goddamn miracle that this space exists and I can share it with people of all ages all around the world.

So, Chris Hansen, Sherry Turkle, and everyone who snickers at my internet usage: yeah, maybe there are some things I can't do/have online. But there are some things I can't have offline either!

I am not chronically online. I am enthusiastically online. I love this little corner of the internet and it's okay if it sometimes feels better than doing stuff "irl." I can enjoy being here and not feel guilty and still go afk and "touch grass" or whatever. Both can be true.

#mainly writing this to pound it into my own head because I can feel guilty about anything at anytime #it's my superpower #personal essay #journaling #kinda vent #therapy recap #personal #therapy

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kacievvbbbb · 4 months

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I feel like people compare nobara to shoko in the trio because it’s easy because they are both women and are generally left out to focus on a duo (it’s just that for the gojo trio it’s gege himself that removes shoko in favor of a duo while for the current first years he’s pretty good at showing them as a trio fandom just loves to cut about nobara in favor of itafushi) but like other than that and a similar haircut they are nothing alike. They don’t have the same temperament, disposition or even the same kind of morality views. They are literally just both the only girls in the group. It’s not that big a deal because honestly the story isn’t written like one piece or naruto where the comparisons are built into the story and are so obvious. But it’s to the point that I’ve seen fics make nobara the more “medical” of the three just to draw a line between the two of them when Nobara’s characterization in canon makes it so very hard to believe that’d she’d carry around bandages for the boys or help them dress their wounds when her personality falls more in line with “I’d rather let them bleed out that get blood stains on my loafers, they are new’”

It’s just annoying because it’s soooo obvious that the person Nobara is most like from the OG trio is Gojo. Amongst the first years she’s the most similar to Gojo in everything expect societal importance and power scaling. Especially young gojo please that could have been her twin, they’d hate each other. They have the same superiority complex, the same attitude towards saving people, the same goofy outward nature that conceals a more deeply apathetic world view (not to say that shoko isn’t apathetic I’d say she is but it’s in a more blasé I couldn’t give less of a fuck kind of way and not the this is all beneath me apathy that gojo and Nobara have), the same lack of any real care for “the weak” that gojo is eventually forced to grow out of but I don’t think Nobara ever will. They even share similar ideas of what it means to be a jujutsu sorcerer. And they are both insane in the same exact way.

Like you can’t tell me that Gojo awakening didn’t scream crazy the same way Nobara’s game of poisonous chicken with a cursed womb did. It’s just the level of power is drastically different.

Come on look at them they are the same person with different levels of power.

Again there is nothing wrong with Shoko I’m just tired of seeing them paired up because of some arbitrary trio comparison. And not to say Shoko and Nobara can’t relate like I’m sure Shoko can sympathize with the feelings of being left behind by your closest friends. Even though with shoko it’s more an emotional leaving behind while with Nobara it’s more about them growing stronger faster than her.

I love Nobara and I like shoko just fine but I am so sick and tired of actual nuance being placed into who the boys are similar too while the girls are just a cursory version oh they are both the girls of the group. Like come on

#thank you for coming to my Tedtalk #this was supposed to be a little paragraph turned into a whole essay #venting #ranting #young gojo and nobara would be at each others throats #it’d also be a minefield for anybody they just happened to be with because the strays gonna be crazy #throwing thoughts to the void #nobara kugaski #jjk nobara #jjk itadori #jjk gojo #jjk shoko #jujusu kaisen #jjk megumi #jjk geto

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real-hot-grl-shi · 15 days

Text

a thingy for my class 🧍🏾‍♀️

Tw!!!: eating/hygiene problems, depression, sexual assault, attachment issues, mentions to drugs, crying, insecurities, violence, etc.

!!please read at your own risk!!

Ok we need to talk.

Or better put it, I need to talk.

Relationships platonic and romantic have been faltering for the past few years to “situation-ships” and one sided relationships. This might be controversial but hear me out. As a person who dealt with break ups and cut offs over the span of less than three months, I am honestly more disappointed than just mad. I feel like it should be talked about more than o already is because it’s to the point that people like me get literally depressed over this type of stuff.

It feels like I’m just a rag doll being tossed around for people to toy with, but not to keep. There’s a difference between wanting someone to play, and someone to stay. Love platonic and romantic will be painful. But at least make the person feel welcome and loved until you can’t anymore. Instead of fleeing the moment something goes wrong.

Sometimes all a person needs is company. And sometimes all company needs is a person. In my school I see people one day walking with their friends and lover all giggly and happy, and the other day they’re fighting. That’s just how my recent relationships were. And I’m guilty that I let that happen to me. They talked behind my back, they put their hands on me, they insulted me. All this stuff, and I gave them nothing but grace and respect. And I was the blame when I was in my room crying myself to sleep on February 11th 2024.

I put my all into them. All my money, all my art, all my time, all my love, all my life. Hell it was to the point where I couldn’t go a day without him. That’s how bad it was. It was a point where I couldn’t even eat and take care of myself without him on my mind. Looking back at it, I feel pretty pathetic, but of course, I couldn’t just say that to myself. I would need to learn from it.

Not my ex, not my money, not my friends, but me. Friends who knew each other for a week are laughing in the hallways, meanwhile a friends friend is telling me to get her packet that she left behind. Why am I the one who is getting hurt? I deserve love just like everyone else. Maybe it’s my fashion? Maybe it’s my personality? Maybe it’s my body? Who knows. But that shouldn’t be the reason why people leave me without any thought or explanation whatsoever. I should be angry. Livid even, fighting and insulting the people who hurt me just like they did to me.

I should be crying and lashing out at everyone because I was the one who was hurt. That should make me sit in my room and not take care of myself. That should make me have 0 restraint with my emotions, like i used to. But I choose not to. I choose not to let my emotions get the best of me, like I used to. Don’t get me wrong I wish things were different. I wish I had a loving boyfriend and a fun group of friends. But at the end of the day, all I have is myself. And I learned that the hard way. Relationships are a sacred thing.

Especially to the ones that feel large emotions, especially to the ones who are passionate. Especially to the ones like me. When I was little and to this day, the doctor said that I’m emotionally mature, meaning that I have a good grasp at explaining and expressing my emotions. When I was in elementary school, I was taunted for that, being called a cry baby, or sensitive for hurting myself on the monkey bars or something. Because of that, I stayed away from anything that would actively hurt me, like needles or sharp edges. Ever since then I have learned to keep my emotions under control, or under wraps.

Take my control as a glass. And take my emotions as wine. If you pour too much into the glass. It’ll break. But not just that. It’ll break and spill. That’s what always happened to me when I was younger. Of course, I have better control because I’m more mature. But it’s not like my emotions are gone. They’re just better handled. I'm also what my father likes to call it, passionate. That means that when I get attached to something or some emotion. I latch onto it like a koala on a branch. And I don’t let go. If you show me an ounce of love or affection, then I will cling to you.

Especially if it’s romantic. And it shows. If I love someone, I will talk about them whether it’s verbally, writing or drawing it down, or just floating my mind. And that will just make me more attached, like a dopamine hit. Like a drug.

He was a drug.

And it’s my fault that I got addicted. It was my fault that the drug was forced away from me. It was my fault that the drug was taken from me. But was it my fault that the drug was bad?? No. But that doesn’t excuse my actions. The upside to me being passionate is me being self aware about the situation. Sure, I cried and cried about him for days, but I eventually paused and went through what he did to me. And I eventually realized that he wasn’t good for me.

At all.

But I’ll give him this.

He was a good lesson.

And I’m glad I learned from it.

My father told me to not fight all battles, but to pick the ones you want to fight. But how about if the battles pick me? Am I supposed to surrender? Or am I obligated to just keep fighting? Because if I am, will I win in the end?

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