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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years

Note

Do you have any autistic Scout headcanons? :P

Hell yeah!

I’ve actually thought about this a lot. A lot of people might think that Scout has ADHD, but I think he either has both ADHD and autism or just autism.

This is both because labeling Scout as having just ADHD is kind of a low-hanging fruit, and I also want to explore his symptoms a little more. So, in a word, I do, and thank you for asking about them!

*****************

Scout’s Spectrum:

So, where exactly does Scout fall on the autism spectrum?

First of all, he probably has both ADHD and autism, but wasn’t diagnosed with the latter until much later. This means that some of his symptoms were taken into account, but not all.

The ones that were paid attention to ramped up out of control, and the ones he didn’t hear about were stuffed away.

His ADHD symptoms include impulsiveness, need for stimulation, hyperfixations, forgetfulness, and insomnia; his autism symptoms include trouble with social skills, stimming, near inability to remember names and faces, lack of eye contact, hyperfixations again, and sensory processing issues, especially with noise and touch.

He used to have a lot of meltdowns when he was younger, usually about wearing new clothes and the amount of noise his eight brothers generated.

However, he was teased and pushed into masking nearly all the time, and made his whole personality about his ADHD, since that was what everyone accepted.

As he got older, he usually wrote off any autistic tendencies as either his ADHD or just “little habits” of his.

During his middle school years, he used energy drinks to bounce back from being exhausted every day after school. This would work, except those energy drinks would upset his ADHD, and would make it much harder to focus on even basic conversation.

After a while, he got such bad grades and had such a hard time making friends that Scout just stopped going to school altogether.

Baseball helped his focus, and the quick movement and thinking made a lot of sense to him. He never had to wait very long for the next development, and the instant gratification and community it provided supplemented what he never got at school.

With sports on his side, he rarely ever drank any energy drinks (the coach would never let them on the field), and he drank bucketfuls of water during every meet and game. Those teenage years were probably the healthiest he ever was.

However, with the amount of rumbles he got into with his brothers, and the turf wars that constantly raged in those neighborhoods, it was only a matter of time before his crime caught up with him.

After his first incarceration, he was booted from the team, which led to a downward spiral of unhealthy coping mechanisms - which included fighting someone tooth and nail whenever he could.

Even if he lost the fight, it not only catered to his impulsive nature and impatience, but also gave him roughly the same sense of friendship and camaraderie that baseball had.

One thing led to another, and by the time Mann Co. found him, Scout was a monster in hand to hand (and bat to bat) and had racked up quite the criminal record.

A perfect mercenary, ripe for the picking.

On The Team:

Scout very quickly adopted the “stupid, scrappy Boston boy” persona.

It was the only thing that made sense, and it kept him from having to try too hard in both the battlefield and socially.

Besides, that meant that he could be as silly, forgetful, and fidgety as he wanted, and no one would bat an eye.

And if he ever needed to take a break from the team, he figured everyone would appreciate the quiet.

The only thing that ever gave him away was him occasionally dissociating right when battle began, especially if the day had been stressful.

It was usually how he calmed down after a fight when he was young, but now he sometimes slid into that state when he was overwhelmed.

However, a yell from one of his teammates would usually snap him out of it.

Medic noticed this pretty early on, and wanted to look more into it, but Scout would keep making excuses not to get a mental examination.

He would blame it on zoning out, being tired, drinking too many Bonks - whatever it took for people to stop asking.

And, eventually, they did.

Even Medic stopped asking after a while - he couldn’t get a thing out of Scout.

This “try so little that when you do try it’s above average” charade worked for a long time. In fact, it went on for so long that Scout forgot how much he was actually capable of.

He began to internalize the stupidity, the exacerbation, the many comments on how dumb he was, everything.

The only time he ever gave his all was on the battlefield - moving fast, memorizing strategies, doing complicated footwork, knowing exactly how much force it took to crush someone’s skull with his bat.

That was one of the only things that he felt good doing, the only thing he could really work on without him being “found out.”

That and drawing, though he never showed the actual pieces to anyone. It was all stick figures and crooked lines with everyone else.

Sometimes, though, Scout wouldn’t be paying attention and he’d let something slip.

One time, Engineer was looking for his screwdriver, and couldn’t seem to find it anywhere.

Scout, not looking up from his comic, said, “Under the couch cushion, hard hat.”

Engineer bent down and reached into the couch, and his hand came back with his red and yellow striped screwdriver.

“Well I’ll be damned…”

At first Engineer thought Scout had just hid it, but Scout explained, still not paying attention:

“Last time we went out on th’ field, you had it on your belt, like always. But I was walkin’ by your workshop, you were usin’ a quarter to tighten a screw or somethin’. Your screwdriver had to be somewhere between the battlefield and your workshop. Engie, you’re like freakin’ clockwork. Every day, after a fight, you go to the kitchen, get a water, go to that couch, between the second and third cushion from the left, and sit there. Then ya go back to the fridge to get lunch and a beer, and ya go to your workshop until somebody needs you for somethin’. Your back loop in your tool belt is looser than all the others, ‘cause the screwdriver pulls against it when you sit down. The shank was probably in between the two cushions, and when you got up, it fell in. Demo, Pyro, and Heavy all sit on the second or third cushion at some point, so it got shimmied down. And since that’s the only time you sat down, ‘cause you woulda heard it if it dropped on the floor, and I…uh…”

“I’ll be damned,” Engie repeated, and felt the back tool belt loop. It was indeed loose.

Scout finally looked up, and realized what had happened.

“Uh, uh - l-lucky guess, huh Engie?”

Engineer squinted behind his goggles. “Yeah…real lucky…”

What ensued was Engie trying to get Scout to turn into a B.L.U Spy by chasing him around with his wrench. After a few good hits, though, Engineer saw that it was the teammate he knew and loved.

“But…how didja…?”

Scout threw his hand up, the other rubbing the back of his head where he’d been hit.

“I toldja Engie! Lucky guess! Jesus!”

Ever since then, Scout chose his words more carefully.

The Breakdown:

But, unfortunately, Scout could not pretend forever.

There was one week where Scout’s assignment count was so high that, if he wasn’t in a fight, he was on a mission.

Usually, Pauling wouldn’t trust him with so much, but no one else was available - or willing - to do the jobs.

Even when she was getting concerned about the amount of hours Scout was putting in, he blew it off.

“It’s no sweat, Miss Pauling! Their practically givin’ me the pay day. Those yahoos don’t know who they’re messin’ with.”

Over time, though, Scout had a harder and harder time staying focused and alert.

He’d sleep through alarms, stare off into space, zone out completely during briefing (not that he didn’t already do that), have a hard time hearing people in battle - even through his headset - ignore Spy’s taunts, and even forget to bring his bat onto the field.

Nothing seemed to help - Bonk!, warming up, stretching, cold showers, setting reminders, nothing.

And the team was starting to notice.

At first it was with the regular frustration - maybe Scout was just being lazy.

But as time went on, and his condition grew worse, their scorn turned into worry. They implored Medic to do something, but he had no way of getting through to Scout.

The doctor wasn’t above simply sedating him and dragging him into his lab for a check-up. However, he had a feeling that this was more than a physical issue.

The worst came when Scout was doing a routine battle with the B.L.U team on the field.

Everything had started out okay - he even remembered to bring his bad this time - but suddenly, everything was ear-splittingly loud.

He couldn’t focus on more than one sound at once, much less communicate the best course of action to his teammates.

He ended up hiding in a dilapidated shed, in a dusty, dark corner, somewhere between zoning out and panicking.

Scout’s head was in his knees, he was shaking, close to crying, when a sudden splitting of wood roused him.

A B.L.U Soldier had kicked his way into the shed, either having heard Scout or to hide from the other team.

Scout was stunned at first, but something of a blind terror filled him. He picked up his bat, screamed, and started pummeling the surprised Soldier.

At some point, he threw aside his bat and began to swing punch after punch, just like he did in his gang days when he had felt overwhelmed. Still screaming. Still crying.

By the time Scout had dissolved into a rocking, sobbing mess, the Soldier was long dead, with a gigantic pool of blood staining Scout’s shoes.

No one even knew where Scout was until a few hours later, when Spy heard a faint note of “Sexbomb” coming from Scout’s Walkman.

Scout had crawled into the shed’s framework, between the outer and inner wall, and was playing a specific verse over and over and over again, looking like he was on another plane of existence.

Spy immediately called for Medic, who had to lift Scout out by the underarms through a jagged hole in the side of the building. By then, the fight was over, so they could take him directly to the lab.

Medic’s Evaluation:

“I’m guessing zhis is your first mental breakdown?”

“Mental…doc, I ain’t crazy. Wait, you’re not goin’ to put me in a straight jacket, are ya?”

“If you’re not doing anyzhing later.”

Medic started to laugh, but quickly realized this might not be the time.

“No, Scout, everyvun has a mental breakdown at least vunce in their lives. It’s a…how do you say…a vake-up call of sorts. Vhen your body has no other options left.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“For zhe past few months, you health, both physical and mental, has been deteriorating. You eat less. You talk less. Your attacks are lackluster. You have bags under your eyes. You flinch vhen somevun yells for you. You stare off into space. Your routine, vhich usually has at least some changes, has become stringent, as if you can’t possibly expend any more energy into extra activities. You have avoided Demoman on zhe battlefield, even though you usually use him for cover.”

Medic flipped through his notes.

“I have pages and pages of your decline. However, as a scientist, I believe it is caused by zhe same source. And, though I usually respect my patient’s right to privacy vhen it comes to these sorts of matters, I believe you’ve been keeping something from me. Something that I should know as your general practitioner…your doctor.”

Scout shrugged, already shutting out the conversation.

Medic sighed.

“Maybe I tried to talk to you about zhis too soon. After all, you’ve just had a very sudden and exhausting episode. But…perhaps…”

Medic took a sheet of printer paper from his clipboard and a spare pen from his pocket.

“…zhere is an alternative.”

Scout was still unresponsive, but Medic continued.

“Zhere is a patient in my vaiting room vis a metal pole through the chest. It vill take me at least an hour to properly remove it, and a few minutes more to heal zhe area. Vhile I do zhat, vhy don’t you draw how you feel?”

Medic smiled.

“I know how much it grounds you.”

It wasn’t until Medic left that Scout actually picked up the pen, but he began drawing immediately.

For the first time in a while, he wasn’t trying to hide his strokes or scratch up the cleaner lines. No more stick figures. No more pretending.

Five minutes later, he was fully engrossed.

Medic started to walk in at one point, but, seeing how relaxed Scout was, decided to give him a few more minutes.

He deserved it.

#tf2 #tf2 scout #scout tf2 #tf2 headcanons #headcanon requests #tf2 mercs #autism #autistic community #autistic culture #red team #blu team #valve games

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ruby-whistler · 3 years

Text

therapy psa

hey there! have you ever said, “(character) needs to go to therapy! they need to get them help they need” in fandom context?

that’s cool! nothing wrong with that! i used to say and still say that a lot both before and after i went into therapy, because to put it simply, characters in nowadays’ media face a lot of very traumatizing and stressful situations in quick succession. however before i got my own treatment i had a lot of very confusing thoughts about what therapy actually entails, so as someone who has been going through cognitive-behavioural treatment (for ptsd and anxiety) for about a year, i’d like to perhaps just inform people who are unsure about the concept.

so uh, welcome to my essay! the gist of it is:

1. what a therapist does and doesn’t do 2. why that matters when talking about therapy or writing about it

just a quick note, again, that i am not licenced or professional or anything of that sort. i have an interest in psychology, but i’ve picked all of this stuff up by observing my own psychotherapist. if you feel like you need professional help, please reach out and try to schedule an appointment close to where you live.

1. so... what is therapy?

let me preface this by saying the main point of this post, which i will probably be repeating a couple of times throughout this: therapy =/= emotional support. your therapist isn’t there to hug you and tell you everything will be alright. so, what does a therapist do?

- professional diagnosis

your therapist will most likely give you sheets of paper to fill out at your first appointment, ask you questions, give you tasks to complete, psychoanalyze you and diagnose you. they will find out exactly what is going on with you; after all, they’ve been to school for that and as much as you might feel lost in your problems, they know what they are called, why they happen and how to solve them.

- instructions

the psychologist will not “therapize” you on the spot. think of it as piano lessons; you come there once to twice per two months for a one to (rarely) four hour session. most appointments sit around the one hour mark. much like on a piano session, you show off your progress in that one hour and talk about what things you’re having difficulty with. your therapist will then give you advice as to what you should try to do, and send you off for a few months to deal with life.

your therapist, and this is hard to swallow but important, will not coddle you. if you keep bringing up a problem over and over again because it seems large to you, but they keep changing the theme to something else, you might even get frustrated. but a (good) therapist knows more about your brain than you do. they’re not there to validate your feelings, they’re there to help get rid of the ones that stop you from functioning normally.

what they will do, is go; “hey. stop focusing on that so much. i know it makes your life hard, but it’s part of a larger problem. from an objective perspective, you should shift your attention to this issue and solve it instead. if it keeps happening, you do the breathing and mental exercises i taught you, but the only way to stop it is to try and resolve this underlying problem.”

a therapist 99% of the time will not have an emotional attachment to you. you’re a name in their many alphabetically sorted files from which they take out yours and check through their notes before each session. then they will help you solve your issues by explaining the things happening in your brain and instructing on how to fix them. nothing less or more. you will usually not have an attachment either, because that’s not the point of going to therapy. therapy isn’t emotional support.

- further help

if your mental health issues/mental illnesses cross a certain line, your therapist will direct you to a psychiatrist for further help such as medicine or other kinds of treatment. most therapist do cognitive-behavioural therapy, which “helps people learn how to identify and change destructive or disturbing thought patterns that have a negative influence on behavior and emotions.” however, in intense cases this is not enough. your psychotherapist will help you get the additional treatment you need.

another thing they can do is legal things! documents, things to give to your school, job, the authorities, other technical things. they are a higher authority when it comes to a lot of things, and can make your life easier.

- other

this doesn’t mean you can’t talk about life or must be all objective or only talk about the negatives. your therapist will often try to get you to view your issues in a more positive light, ask about other things that make you happy or distract you. you are pretty much free to ramble to them! they’re happy to know, and if it makes you feel better, there is no need to be all gloomy at your therapist appointments. if your therapist is alright with you rapping the entirety of hamilton at some point, or you explaining c!dream’s arc on the dream smp, feel free. if you feel happy talking about something, that’s good! you have something to latch onto and distract yourself from the hell in your brain.

i’ve learned that thinking about things that give you comfort when things get rough is a big part of cognitive-behavioural treatment, in order to stop that good ol’ thought spiral of anxiety.

2. why is this important to know?

well, i think a thing many people overlook when talking about fictional characters going into therapy is the fact that,, therapy by itself often isn’t enough.

i asked my therapist a few days ago what my family could do when i’m having an anxiety attack. she replied, “they can be there for you. they can keep up conversation, distract you from the stressor, assure you that nothing bad is really happening and that they care about you.”

this is something really important that people forget; emotional support does wonders. your friends, family, whoever, if they provide support it’s suddenly much less terrifying to go through the healing process.

a character being sent to therapy and left to fend for themselves is not a happy ending. it’s not going to heal them quickly, it will be extremely difficult to go through all that on their own. the more the people who care about you understand your struggles and try to be there for you, the less scary it gets. they’ll ground you, they’ll hug you, they’ll make you a mug of hot chocolate and they’ll hold your hand and say “everything’s ok. everything will be ok”. because the mental harm in your brain is more often than not a consequence of things being not ok in the past. remembering that it is ok now is important. having emotional support can both remind your that it’s all in your head, and assure you that your feelings are valid and people will be there for you for as long as it takes for things to finally be ok, or as ok as they can be.

as much as professional help is very important, this is vital to the healing process. having people be there for you and just having people who support you in general.

i think people should put more weight on that than just “character needs therapy.” character needs therapy and emotional support. these two go together, and character needs both. you might be, or try to be strong, but it’s comforting to be.... well, comforted. “get them the help they need” no. get them the help they need and then on top of that provide the help they need.

that’s all. just something i thought was important to remember.

- ruby

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Kismet {1}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing

Words: 3.9

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: Okay, y’all, this has been in my Word file for about a year and a half now, and I have no idea why I never posted it, but I’ve been inspired. It is mostly finished, but I will be tweaking it a little with each post. I hope you enjoy this. As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘 As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

**Very Interactive**

“Everyone, welcome, Aliya Taylor!”

The clapping and cheers were deafening as you walked down the long corridor to walk through the set doors. Once in full view of the studio audience, they stood and cheered even louder. You took a few moments to wave at them before walking down the path that led to the talk show host. Once there, you hugged Wendy and prepared for the antics.

“They love you.”

“It appears that way. Thank you so much for having me.”

“Girl, everyone wants a piece of you. why is that?”

You shrugged and scoffed. “Hell if I know.” The audience erupted with laughter. They thought you were kidding. You weren’t.

“Are you being serious?”

“Absolutely. I have no idea why. I am just this normal girl. At home, I’m Liya, the baby, the one who wears sweats and high buns. I don’t get it.”

“Oh, so this that we see now is not how you are when the cameras turn off?”

Again you scoffed. “Absolutely not. Most days, unless I’m working, I don’t wear makeup and heels I try to stay away from,” you explained.

“Wow. I mean, I’ve seen plenty of paparazzi pictures of you, and you always look so put together,” Wendy complimented.

“They must photoshop,” you joked to the audience's amusement.

For the next several minutes, she asked you questions about your latest projects and what you had planned for the next few months. After pointing out you were seen as a fashion icon, she began inquiring about your fashion inspirations. That conversation almost went on for the rest of the segment, but like the pro she was Wendy roped it back in to the hard-hitting stuff.

“So, I have to bring this up,” she began giving the audience a look that had you giggling. “For the last few months, we’ve been hearing from a particular Hemsworth who has been preaching from every ledge how you are the love of his life. Anything to say about that?”

You were prepared for this, it was expected. It was Wendy Williams, after all. Shrugging, you have a clueless look. “Nothing to say. This is actually the first I’m hearing about that,” you lied.

Wendy didn’t buy it, and the look on her face said it. Holding your ground and tapping into that acting skill, you kept a straight face and let the stare down run its course.

“Wow, you have an unwavering poker face.” The audience laughed around you, but you still kept a straight face.

“I don’t know what to tell ya’, Wendy,” you responded with a shrug for emphasis.

“All right. So, are you single?”

“I’m single, not looking and very happy,” you announced. The cheers around you were unexpected, but you liked that they were on board with it.

“Any particular reason why?”

Sighing, you sat back in your seat. “Relationships are hard. They take a lot of work, and I require too much to be in a relationship.”

Wendy cackled, which sent you into a tiff of giggles. When the two of you settled down, she continued.

“What does that mean?”

“Not much really just relationships are distractions, huge, huge distractions, and I would just rather enjoy my time, my life and work which includes helping people, changing lives, making lives better and focus on me. Relationships are just not for me, so I don’t want em,” you declared.

Wendy looked shocked and speechless, but she began nodding. “I understand. After my highly publicized divorce, I am also in the mind frame of nothing serious. I’ll have my fun, but a serious relationship is a turn off for me.”

You raised your hands in the air to praise her statement. “So you’ve been traveling a lot, right? We see pictures of you with your two best friends Amaya and Alicia.”

Your smile was wide then. “Yes, yes. We’ve been traveling and enjoying life. I’ve worked so hard for so long, and rarely do I take a vacation, so I took a little time,” you explained.

“That’s good. What do you think about the polls fans have created about who they want to see you with?”

That was news to you. “What?”

“Yeah. There are so many polls that are fan-made asking who people want to see you date,” Wendy explained.

“Who are the contenders?”

“Zac Efron, Robert Pattison, Theo James, Michael B Jordan, the names are endless,” Wendy listed off. You could have laughed, but you kept it in and just decided to nod.

“Any preference?”

“Who am I to have a say?” The laugher erupted around you again.

Thankfully the conversation steered back to your work, and that was where it remained for the next five or so minutes until the end of the interview. After signing a few autographs and taking a few fan pictures, you made your exit and toward your next engagement. It was going to be another long day. This was the eighth straight day that began at four in the morning only to have your head hitting your pillow well after two in the morning.

After three more interviews and two meetings, you made it home at the time you expected. Sleep was not in the cards for you, especially since it had been years since you’d had a good night’s sleep without sleeping pills. Insomnia is what the doctors diagnosed you with. While everyone in LA slept or got six to eight hours of sleep, you rarely got four. It was a condition you’d managed to find a way to live with after all these years and resigned yourself to never being normal in that department. You didn’t dwell on it because that meant opening back up the box you’d neatly put away out of sight that was wrapped in pretty bows as tight as possible. You’d worked hard to keep your Pandora’s box bound tight, and it was an endless daily struggle to keep it that way.

-Two Weeks Later-

“I’m not used to be early,” you whispered to your assistant, who nodded. She knew it was true.

“What time is this supposed to be?”

“Two,” Pamela responded. Your golden Cartier watch said it was four till. Just as you were going to speak, the doors opened up and in walked three men, one of which was your manager Rob.

“Aliya, so glad you could make it.”

You shook their hands and exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before getting down to the nitty-gritty. They spoke about a movie project that was planned for filming in the fall that they believed you were perfect for the lead role. As they described the plot and the intentions of the filming, you nodded along and took a few mental notes. As they spoke, several boxes on your list were checked off. You hated roles where black women were typecast, hated roles that degraded black women, and hated those cliché movies that were so predictable one usually regretted seeing them. These days you liked more adventurous roles, even roles that had you getting into the action genre. Why should men have all the fun of being action stars?

After a chat about the film, they gave you a rough draft of the script which you read through on the spot. It read like a classic action romance that had the lead female tackling female stereotypes of being the damsel in distress then turning around to being able to hold her own. You were intrigued and told them such. After asking your questions, the conversation turned to salary. You were prepared for them to lowball you because you were a woman and a black one at that. When they came in with five million, you didn’t bother speaking. Rob knew that you wouldn’t take it. You knew for a fact that other actresses would have been offered more. Their second offer of ten million sounded a lot more reasonable, and that was the contract you signed on for.

Three hours from the start of your meeting, it ended. As Rob finished up the details with the director and producer of the film, you made your way to the elevators with Pamela beside you. As you walked, your face was buried in your phone checking email after email and sending off message after message.

“The creative team is wondering if you’re still okay for the photos for the next publication,” Pamela inquired.

“Uh---was that the set that was done at the Botanical Gardens?”

“Yes.”

You stopped for a moment and thought about what she was asking while never taking your nose out of your phone. After a few moments, you nodded. “Yeah, tell them to send me the complete issue, and then I’ll get back to them in a few days,” you instructed.

You heard the “ding” of the elevator and waited the amount of time you expected it would take for the doors to open, then you stepped forward. Slamming into a hard wall, you began to fall backward with a yelp. “Oh my god!”

You prepared yourself to make impact with the floor, but that impact never came. Instead, you felt strong, muscular arms wrap around you. Those arms held you close, and you felt like nothing in the world would dare hurt you while there. When you looked, you were held captivated by the most intense pair of blue eyes you’d ever seen. They were eyes you’d seen in passing before, but eyes you must have overlooked until now. Henry Cavill.

The man was gorgeous. You’d always thought he was attractive the few times you’d see him in magazines or even watched his movies. It was a fact that you didn’t dare dispute. Why would you? With him, this close you couldn’t believe just how gorgeous he was. One man definitely had no business being this beautiful, you thought to yourself. You couldn’t believe his attractiveness. You should have been immune to it being an actress who’d dealt with some of the industry’s finest but here and now you felt like a fish out of water. You’d never had this strong of a reaction to a man before.

“Are you all right?”

You saw his mouth moving, but you couldn’t hear a word he said. His arms around your waist tightened. You now had a perfect view of his completely symmetrical face that had the most chiseled jaw you’d ever seen. His skin was flawless, and the stray curl on his forehead was calling your name, begging you to reach out and just touch it.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” His voice finally broke through the hormone-induced haze in your head.

“Oh my god. Yes. I’m okay.”

Henry’s eyebrows were etched together, giving you an inquisitive look.

“Are you sure?”

“No.” You sounded as if you were faint, and honestly, you kind of felt like it too.

“Let’s stand you up. Here we go.”

Slowly Henry set you up onto your feet before he let you go. Once he did, you wobbled, which had him reaching his arms out to you again to steady you. “I’ve got you.” His British accent was heaven. It was enough to have you staring at his mouth every time he spoke.

“Are you okay?”

Realizing how you were behaving, you remembered just who the hell you were and cleared your throat while straightening your back.

“Yes, I’m okay. I’m—I’m sorry,” you began.

“No, it was probably my fault. I was so wrapped up in my phone.”

“Me too,” you blurted out. The two of you smiled together, and it was right there you felt your heart skip a beat. Again, you cleared your throat and looked away from his hypnotizing eyes. “Uh, I’m sorry again. However, I am—uh—late for another meeting,” you finished.

“Absolutely.” Henry stepped to the side, giving you access to the elevator. After bending to retrieve your phone that had made its way into the elevator, you leaned onto the wall of the car, waiting for Pamela to file in. As she did, your eyes met Henry’s again, and that was where they stayed. It wasn’t until the doors closed, and you were somewhat alone, did your body begin to relax. Slouching back, you pressed your palm to your belly, hoping to calm the butterflies you felt fluttering away.

“Holy shit,” you whispered out loud while fanning yourself.

The remainder of the day, you were not your usual self. Normally you were a force to be reckoned with and able to charm any exec or paparazzi. That was not the case after you left the building. You were dazed and flustered. You even had a hard time following the meetings that followed. Your head just simply was not in the game, and that was a first for you. Your father had taught you long ago that keeping your head in the game was the best way to achieve all your goals. He taught you everything he knew, and your mother taught you then some.

You knew just who he was. Henry Cavill. You’d seen all the movies he’d been in regarding Superman because he was your favorite superhero. You’d seen his Mission Impossible movie and even his Man from U.N.C.L.E movie. He was all the buzz now because of his massive casting as Geralt of Rivia in The Witcher. Everyone had his name in their mouth.

At the most inopportune time, you found yourself thinking back to his face, his eyes, or his mouth and reminiscing about the feel of his arms around your waist. It was embarrassing. You felt like an amateur. You didn’t get starstruck. It wasn’t a thing for you because you’d been around celebrities since very early in your career. This was a first, and it was quickly getting old. Thanks to how long the day ran, you only had time to run home to quickly change your clothes in order to make your flight out of LA that night.

Once the plane took off, you were reclined back in one of the luxurious seats with a glass of fruit-infused Perrier water and a bowl of kettle corn. It was then you were finally able to catch your breath and relax for the first time for the day. Moments of quiet and slow were far and in between for you. For the most part, it was done purposely so you didn’t have too much time to think. You’d quickly learned that an idle mind invited painful memories.

Grabbing your phone, you snuggled in the seat and opened it up, ready to either scroll through Instagram or work a little bit. It didn’t take you long from unlocking it to realize this was not your phone. Once you unlocked it, the wallpaper was of an adorable dog on one side and a picture of a large family on the other.

“What the hell?”

Sitting up, you tucked your feet under you and continued to scroll through the phone. Immediately you went to pictures. The first few were interesting shots of pieces of tech and then several pictures of the same adorable dog. The more you scrolled, the pictures got more and more interesting. When you came across a picture of Henry audibly gasped.

“Oh shit! Shit, shit!”

Slowly you put the phone on the table before you and looked around the cabin to see if anyone was watching you. You felt as if you were doing something wrong. Realizing no one was paying any attention to you, you drank down the water and raised your hand for the stewardess.

“Yes, Ms. Taylor.”

“Have we taken off?”

“Yes, we’ll be landing in London in six hours,” the stewardess informed. Clenching your jaw, you nodded.

“Okay, can I have a bottle of champagne, please.”

“Absolutely. Any particular brand?”

“Surprise me.” She nodded and walked away. In her absence, your eyes stared at the phone on the table and contemplated your options.

A few moments later, the stewardess returned with the bottle and a filled glass.

“Thank you.” you dumped the fruit from the bottom of one glass into the champagne flute and gulped down half of the glass. Your eyes again landed on the phone.

“Don’t do it Aliya, don’t do it.”

Flexing your fingers, you tried to suppress the urge to go against your better judgment.

“It would be a major invasion of privacy, Aliya. Don’t,” you reiterated.

Before you even finished the sentence, your hand was reaching for the device.

“Oh, screw it.” Grabbing the phone, you unlocked it again, and while thanking the tech gods, there was no passcode on it. “Technically, I don’t know whose phone it is. I do have to get some information. Right?”

You nodded your head, accepting you were having a full-on conversation with yourself. You continued to scroll through his pictures. The majority of them are of him smiling, showcasing those perfect teeth and his perfect face. Some were him in makeup chairs, others in a house with perfect lighting, others were him at random times. After a few swipes of your finger, you’d entered pictures that looked to be of family. You could see the resemblance between him and the men and a little bit around the eyes of an older blonde woman.

Noting that they all looked happy and loving, you continued looking through more. Your finger stopped moving when you came upon a brunette with dark eyes and blonde with blue eyes. Both women looked relatively young but somewhat attractive in a simple way. You began to wonder who they were. After scrolling a little more, you got your answer seeing a few pictures of him kissing both women. That had you stumped and wondering who the women were and if Henry Cavill was a good-looking playboy.

You didn’t know how long you scrolled, but when you ventured into the shirtless ones, you scrolled a lot slower. The man was built like Greek God by Hollywood standards. He had like zero percent body fat and one hundred percent muscle definition. You didn’t even realize you were practically drooling until you got to a picture of him suggestively nude. He laid in a bed with a blanket aimlessly thrown across his groin, which left little to the imagination.

“Lord have mercy up in haven for all things that are holy.”

Pressing his phone to your chest, you closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths then continued. You quickly transitioned to his messages. Most were work-related. Six names down, you saw a woman’s name—Francesca. Not too far below hers was another—Abby. Though your curiosity was at an all-time high, you ignored it and exited his messages. For the next fifteen minutes, you scrolled through the remainder of his pictures until you dropped it back into your purse to alleviate any more temptation to ogle his body. That was when you used the champagne to distract yourself, but it was no use. All you could think about was Henry’s literal ten pack.

~~~~~~~~~~

-Henry-

“Bollocks!”

The flowery wallpaper that stared back at him was the only thing he needed to see to know this was not his phone. It was then he realized his phone must have gotten mixed up with yours due to the mishap in front of the elevator. Leaning back in his chair, he groaned and stared at the ceiling. The thought entered his mind to look at it, especially since there was no passcode on it.

“You can’t. That’s a massive invasion of privacy. She’s a lady,” he drilled to himself.

Raising to his feet, he paced the floor of his hotel room. Most days, he felt like he lived in hotel rooms rather than his flat in London. He groaned, feeling the ache to his muscles, he needed a vacation. Working every day, nonstop was staring to wear its toll on his body. He got lost in thoughts on a possible vacation for a few minutes before the light of your phone on the table brought his attention back. His struggle was something real. On the one hand, he wanted to look so badly, but on the other, he wanted to respect your privacy.

The battle waged on for an hour until he gave in to curiosity and delved into your phone. The first place he went was to your pictures. As soon as he scrolled, he was blown away. You were gorgeous. The first few rows of pictures had you all dolled up in makeup, lashes, lipstick, and all. He spent a lot longer examining those pictures than he should have. When he got to the ones of you fresh-faced, he found himself drooling. While you were gorgeous with makeup, you were breathtaking without. He marveled in the way your skin looked to be glowing, and the way your lips looked so supple—kissable. It took everything in him to move on.

There were pictures of you with who he assumed were your friends, in these pictures you looked happy and it wasn’t long before he found a favorite one of you.

“Christ, she’s too beautiful.”

As he scrolled, he stopped in his tracks at one of you in a bikini, and his jaw dropped. Every inch of you was perfect. You had not one flaw. When you bumped into to him earlier, he realized you were beautiful and that there was a draw between you that triggered a reaction for him, one that he hadn’t fully noticed until the elevator doors closed. Sitting here now, he was fully aware of his reaction to you. Quickly he scrolled on then dropped the phone when he came across a shot of you in heels with your back turned to the camera in your underwear alone. He found himself biting his bottom lip as his imagination took over. That was when he got out of your pictures.

When he got into your messages, he began admonishing himself for what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop. He wanted to know more about you—everything really. He scrolled through those messages that looked like work until he came upon two names, Liam, and Jesse. Though he was curious, he still decided against reading them. Instead, he slide the phone to the farthest corner from him and contemplated all he’d seen and the best approach to this situation. He had to get his phone back and give you yours, but he also was filled with an overwhelming desire to know you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lee’s Note: What do you guys thing? Continue?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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fdd700 · 4 years

Text

Words: a lot idk (2,930) Characters: Logan, Roman, Patton, Virgil, Janus, Remus Pairings: Patton and Virgil are brothers (pat is older), the creative twins are, you guessed it, twins with Logan as their older brother, platonic and romantic dukexiety and roceit Trigger warnings: curses (minor), pain, pineapple on pizza (yes, disgusting, ik)

Virgil felt it the second his brain was connected, the dull ache in his right hip. He barely managed to let out a groan, trying to shift off his bad hip and onto his back. He let out a sharp breath as he hit his back. It was one of those days.

He hated those days.

The days when he was all but reduced to his bed before the sharp pain in his hip refused to be quelled. He knows he should get up, to try and stretch it out, but the very thought makes him nauseous.

“Kiddo?” He groans. “You okay?” Patton opens the door slowly, peeking in at the boy. “Bad day?” Virgil nodded and he’d never been so glad to have a brother like Patton. Patton, of course, was aware of these bad days. When Virgil was 10, he got diagnosed with a rare bone condition that affected his bones and left him in so much pain, to the degree that he was basically immobile for a year. He got over the condition fine with a lot of medicine but with lack of mobility for a crucial year in his growth, his muscle weakened and got inflamed a lot, meaning he was constantly on new exercise regimes to re-stretch and re-work the muscles into submission. His right hip muscles, the ones joining his two bones, was currently inflamed and was sticking his bones (Though this confused Patton, wasn’t that what connective muscles were supposed to do?)

“I really just want to sleep all day,” Virgil said.

“We both know I don’t want to give you The Speech,” Patton said, causing Virgil to groan loudly.

“Please, not the speech.” Patton chuckled.

“How about a compromise?”

“No,” Virgil whined. “Your compromises suck! it's like ‘do these tiresome, painfully stretches for like an hour and then I’ll give you an extra five minutes for a nap’. I would rather The Speech.”

“In that case-”

“No! I was joking, not The Speech,” Virgil said. ‘The Speech’ was an inside joke among the two. When their parents passed away, Virgil was barely 17, so 20-year-old Patton had to help Virgil navigate all his pain alone, with only Logan, Patton’s boyfriend, as a supporter. On one of Virgil’s bad days, he had tried to rouse Virgil to get through his exercise by saying anything and everything off the top of his head. When he was about ten minutes in, Virgil had snapped, saying; “Fine! I’ll do the exercise, just please, Pat, for the love of God, shut up!”. Since then, ‘The Speech’ had been the threat to get Virgil out of bed. Virgil sighed, bringing Patton back to the moments.

“Okay then, smarty-pants, how about I help you through your exercises and then we can chill for the day, I’ll even call off work.” Virgil looked like he battling himself. One side of him wanted to be selfish and spend the day with his brother, but he also knew that his brother didn’t get a lot of days off. Patton seemed to sense this. “Or, I can sit in my office all day and spam you with texts, getting no work done.” Virgil smiled before extending his hands. Patton helped him sit up, carefully and slowly, making sure not to bother the hip too much. He helped Virgil lie down on the floor (the bed was too soft and would mould to his back, meaning he wouldn’t be able to accurately do a lot of the exercises). He placed a pillow under his head, stuck on a playlist, and started the exercises.

“I hate this, I want to stop.” Patton continued to hold Virgil’s leg in place (his right ankle was placed on his left knee, and his legs were drawn up, forcing his right hip to rotate.)

“10 more seconds,” Patton said. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1, ″ Slowly, his leg was lowered back down. Virgil let out a large breath. “Only four more exercises to go.” Virgil shook his head, tears springing to his eyes.

“pat please, I can’t do five more.” Patton gently took his brother's face in his hands.

“You’ve done the hard ones, Virge, and you’ve done so well. C’mon, you only have to do three reps of thirty seconds for each one.” Virgil let out a shaky breath, a few tears escaping his eyes, which were quickly wiped away by Patton’s thumbs. “Come on, we can do this.” Virgil snorted slightly.

“This isn’t a ‘we’ situation, Pat, I don’t see you crying from pain,” he joked. Patton would be offended, he’s tempted to pretend to be, but he knows Virgil hates feeling vulnerable and uses humour to cope.

“Well, I don’t see you having to threaten your baby sibling to do his exercises,” Patton said, helping Virgil through the next exercise (place his right thigh over his left, and angling his knee at ninety degrees to stretch the muscle).

“’m not a baby,” Virgil said.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over your baby speak,” Patton said, letting go of Virgil’s leg to stretch it between exercises.

“I’m a man,” Virgil said, making his voice deep to hear his brother laugh. Patton shook his head, re-positioning his leg for him.

“Sure, you are. I’m sure big bad men have to have their crusts cut off their sandwiches.”

“No one wants to eat hard bread, Patton,” Virgil said.

“Is that so, Virgil?” Virgil nodded before he flopped his leg out of his brothers’ hands.

“Why are you positioning my leg for me, I’m not paralysed.”

“I don’t trust you to not give up early,” Patton said immediately. Virgil let out a scandalised gasp.

“Oi! You’re right, but hey!” Patton laughed, picking back up his brother's leg and finished the last exercise on his back.

“Okay, turn over. You’re gonna have to hold these yourself,” Patton said.

“I thought you said you’d help me!” Virgil whined.

“I basically just did your exercises for you!”

“Basically and literally are not the same thing,” Virgil said. “You’re dating Logan, you should know this!”

“Hush you, and finish up, I’m hungry.”

“And I’m not?” Patton gave Virgil ‘The Look’. Virgil sighed. “I’m sorry for taking my frustrations out on you, that isn’t fair.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry if I’m making you feel rushed.” Virgil sighed.

“It's fine. And hey, only two more to do.” Patton nodded. The hardest, by far, was the first one. it was an awkward position, making it hard to take deep breaths, and it hurt the most. Patton coached him through his last two before Virgil sighed, flopping down onto the ground. “That sucked.”

“Pancakes?”

“Uh, yes. With blueberries?”

“And maple syrup.” Virgil hollered before slowly standing up. He walked (hobbled) down the stairs and into the kitchen. “So, coffee?” Virgil nodded using a chair to lift himself onto the counter, not trusting his arms or hip. Patton grabbed a glass and a pain pill before handing both to his brother. “30 minutes before your meal please.” Virgil rolled his eyes but took the pill and swallowed it down. Patton began on the batter, getting all the ingredients into the bowl before handing it to his brother. “I’m gonna call work on the landline.”

“What excuse you gonna use.”

“I’m deciding between ‘I’m sick’ or ‘fuck you and your contract hours, I got more important shit to do’. Which is more convincing?” Virgil laughed.

“That’s two dollars in the swear jar.”

“How many times have I forgiven you curses?”

“Me? Curse? I’m an angel.”

“No, you’re a pain in the behind.”

“Pattooooooon!” Patton shook his head and grabbed the landline.

“Mix,” he instructed before dialling the number and leaving the room. Virgil stuck his tongue out at his brother but began mixing.

“Alexa, play Patton’s breakfast tunes at volume 4 please.”

“Playing ‘Patton’s breakfast tunes’ on Spotify now,” The machine replied. ‘Dog Days Are Over’ by Florence + the machine began to play through the kitchen speakers. Virgil had just about combined the ingredients by the time Patton came back.

“Any troubles?”

“Nope, Jessie answered the phone, and he’s chill with anything. He said he'd called Katie and she could take my shift, I just had to take her shift next Tuesday but I definitely needed to be in tomorrow - something about a big meeting, ah well.” Patton said. “This looks nearly ready. Finish that off, imma just get the pan.” Patton walked away before noticing the clock. “Later than I thought,” He mumbled. Virgil looked at the clock. It was about half one.

“How long did I sleep for?”

“I went to wake you at like half twelve, so I guess the timing does make sense.” Virgil nodded, handing the mixed batter to his brother. The two silently made breakfast - well, Patton made breakfast, humming alone to his playlist, while Virgil watched before getting up and setting the table. He yawned again, the pain in his hip moving from a stabbing pain to a dull ache. He plopped down on his chair - the only chair with a cushion for times like these. Patton smiled, handing him his plate as the two tucked into their lunch. Virgil had tried to offer to clean up, but Patton insisted he stayed sitting.

“It hurts whether I stand, lay or sit,” Virgil said. “I might as well help.”

“It's okay, I can handle this.” Virgil sighed but moved to the sitting room, setting up Disney+ on the TV. “What are we watching?” Patton asked, returning to the sitting room.

“Princess and the Frog?” Patton giggled.

“You just wanna stare at Prince Naveen,” Patton teased, handing Virgil an ice pack.

“Well, duh,” Virgil said. “Also, the songs are awesome.”

“Can’t argue there.”

-x-

The credits rolled around 4 pm and Patton was napping on Virgil’s shoulder as Virgil had switched off the current move for Black Cauldron. Patton stirred awake slowly at around 5 pm.

“Oh shoot, what time is it?” Virgil looked up at the clock beside him.

“About 5 past 5.” Patton nodded before sitting up and stretching. “What has you so tired?”

“Stayed up watching Parks and Rec,” Patton said.

“Haven’t you memorised that show by now?”

“Just about-” The doorbell rang, causing Patton to pause. Confusion took over his face before he cursed.

“Damn it, I forgot I asked Logan to come over yesterday for dinner,” Patton said and this was followed by more intense doorbell ringing. Virgil groaned.

“And I was supposed to go to the movies with the twins and Janus!” They both looked at each other, debating whether to open the door before a key turned in the lock. “Logan has a key?!”

“No!” Patton said. “I just, uh, told him where the spare key was.” Virgil shook his head but soon the house filled with Janus, Remus and Roman, screaming and Virgil for not responding to their texts and Logan asking Patton if he was ready to go to dinner. The group entered the room, noticing the two boys' guilty faces.

“Uh, Lo, about tonight-”

“No Pat, you go, I can, uh, just watch a movie and order pizza,” Virgil said.

“Virge-”

“It’s fine pat, I’ll take another pill and-”

“Oh, is your hip acting up again?” Logan asked and Virgil’s face burned. He kinda maybe hadn’t told the others about his hip issues. In his defence, he hadn’t had a bad blow out in months and it usually only lasted for two to three months maybe twice a year. He was also good and hiding bad days but today was too bad to hide.

“Your... hip?” Roman asked, looking down to the melted ice pack. Patton looked at Virgil and quickly realised he hasn’t told them.

“Yeah, he’s got a bad bruise there!” Patton said, trying to cover for him.

“Oh, okay,” Roman said. Logan shook his head.

“No, this is the muscle issues caused by his childhood condition. Why are you lying Patton?” Logan asked. Virgil wanted to bury himself further into his hoodie but he couldn’t because that would involve moving his hips.

“Logan,” Patton said softly, taking the boys arm. “let’s go to the kitchen?”

“Oh no, I said something-”

“No, sweetheart, it's okay.” Patton took the melted ice pack, gave Virgil a look that said ‘call me if you get scared’, and gently guided Logan into the kitchen. There was silence in the room.

“So,” Janus said.

“What did Logan mean?”

“Funny story actually, so uh, I had this like... bone thing when I was and it meant I was in a lot of pain so I didn’t really walk, like, at all for a year. It went away which is good, but it means that because of that, my muscles are weak and just like, throw up a fuss a lot, so it’s sort of a bitch and there’s nothing I can do a lot of the time. On bad days, I just have to stay put and not move for as long as possible.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Janus asked and Virgil couldn’t meet his eyes, he just couldn’t.

“Uh well, with Patton, it just sometimes feels like it’s all we talk about and with you guys-” he gestures to where he thinks they’re standing "- It’s different. Because you didn’t know, you weren’t always asking me and while I love it when Pat does it, it makes me feel overwhelmed and like the only thing people see is this ‘poor kid’. I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s all I’ve got.”

“Well, if I’m honest, I’m not mad. I’m a little upset you didn’t trust us-”

“It’s not about trust. I trust you all with my life, but it’s... it’s different. I know you all wouldn’t see me differently but... I don’t know how to explain it, it’s like, I know, logically, it wouldn’t change anything, but there are days like these where I am not fun to be around and am in bad moods, and people take that personal. Or people think I’m lying because I could go nearly a year without my muscles getting inflamed. It’s not a constant pain, it’s more of a recurring problem with my muscles that gives me pain.” There was silence,

“I know you’re very anxious right now, but I hope you know you’re a dumbass,” Remus said. “What?! He is sometimes.”

“What Remus is trying to say-”

“I know what I said Jan,” Remus pointed out.

“Shut up, you loch ness monster,” Roman said.

“Okay, Prince Charming from Shrek,” Remus said.

“Very specific insult must’ve taken you months due to a lack of brain cells,” Roman quipped back.

“At least I haven’t got your face!”

“We’re twins-”

“I have a moustache-”

“I will kill you-”

“I’d like to see you try-”

“GUYS!” Janus said, shouting over the pair. “Ignore those two dumbasses, we know this is a scary thing so we’re - well, I’m not mad. I get why you didn’t say anything.”

“It’s like, the less I talk about it, the less I’m worried about it,” Virgil explained.

“Okay, now that I get,” Remus said.

“You’re a dunce,” Roman said, shaking his head. “But yes, hot topic, we’re not mad. Also, the movie we were going to see what awful, why did you let Janus pick?”

“Because it was my turn.”

“Well, who wants to watch a movie about cults?”

“For the love of god Remus, a ‘cult classic’ doesn’t mean an actual cult,” Janus said, holding his head in frustration.

“Sounds fake, but okay,” Remus said, trying to get a rouse out of the other two, who were staring at him dumbfounded. he winked at Virgil causing the boy to laugh.

“You are a dunce,” Virgil said.

“Noooo, don’t say that you have to love me!” Remus said, throwing himself (somewhat carefully) onto the emo.

“Get off me,” Virgil said, laughing. Patton reappeared with cups and soft drinks at that moment.

“Okay, since Logi-bear-” the twins giggled at the nickname, but were met with Logan’s glare behind Patton’s back “-was your ride, we figured we’d order pizza and watch movies here.”

“Sounds good,” they all said.

“As long as Virgil and Remus share a pizza. Virgil will want peppers and Remus will want pineapple and I was that kind of neggies vibes AWAY from me,” Roman said dramatically. Both boys giggled.

“That’s okay with us, princy.”

-x-

It was an hour later by the time their four pizzas arrived - Logan and Patton’s vegetarian, Janus and Roman with a chicken, pepperoni and mushrooms and finally with Virgil and Remus’ Hawaiian pizza with chicken and peppers. It wasn’t until they were all curled up (Logan resting his head on Patton’s shoulder, their hands intertwined, Roman with his head on Janus’ lap as the boy played with his hair and Virgil on Remus’ lap) and safe that Virgil let the relief and love that surrounded the room.

Yeah, he hated those days, but he loved his friends. He loved Patton, and Logan, because they had always felt like his parents. He loved Janus, who always knew the right thing to say, and Roman, who always knew the right thing to get Virgil out of his head, and Remus, who knew how to make him laugh so hard he forgets to breathe.

“Why have you got that dumb face?” Remus asked.

“My face isn’t dumb,” Virgil whispered back. Remus rolled his eyes. Virgil only smiled, letting the sleepiness catch up as he fell asleep.

Today wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

Uh,, so this was my rant post and also a lil’ one shot i had. It’s based on personal experience, so if it’s confusing, sorry. I spend like a week on this lol, so enjoy!

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imbeccablee · 4 years

Note

HAPPY BIRTH TO OUR LITTLE GREEN FERAL BOI-HC about how his birthday were when he was younger compared to now? (bonus points for Mama Inko being the only constant and for steadily more and more people being at his parties and deku having no idea how to deal with so many people who love him)

oh you KNOW I'm here for that Izuku angst!!! (sorry this is late, I didnt see this until yesterday night lmao)

before Izuku was diagnosed, he would invite katsuki and those other boys over after daycare. it would always be a little awkward bc technically those other boys are more katsuki's friends than Izuku's but their parents made them go anyway bc it was the nice thing to do

oftentimes the rest of the party would end up with the boys playing with Izuku's new toys (which made him a lil upset but his mom says he should share and not be selfish and besides, these are his friends, he wants them to like him, so its whatever. it is) and also playing Heroes (this is the one of the few times Izuku is allowed to play a hero with katsuki (bc theres no way in heck katsuki would play a villain) and Izuku LIVES for it)

usually the other boys will leave and katsuki will spend the night. this is always the best part for Izuku because, while katsuki does keep showing off, it's almost softer in a way, like the fact that it's just the two of them, alone, with the rest of the world shut out makes katsuki relax and unwind. izuku doesnt understand why katsuki isnt like this all the time. he doesnt know how to ask, either.

this of course ends with his fifth birthday. the months following his fourth, he eagerly awaits the arrival of his quirk, but it never shows. a week after his fifth birthday (which had been even more awkward and embarrassing since his quirk still hadn't manifested), he is diagnosed. and, well, nobody wanted to go to his party after that.

the kids thought he was weird and lame and the parents were afraid their own kids would hurt him somehow if they were to come over, because they all believed the quirkless to be weak and fragile. this of course also meant that none of the kids were allowed to invite him over to their parties, the only exception being katsuki's. and then katsuki fell off a log into a shallow river and izuku tried to help him up and, well.

he still invites people, oh yes. the first few years, he makes little invitation cards drawn in all might colors and an enthusiastic "you're invited!" on the front. inko, the sweetheart, helps put them in envelopes and carefully stored them in Izuku's backpack and Izuku passes them out. the first time no one shows, izuku is devastated. the second time, after yet another year of being downgraded and belittled and beaten and ignored, he is still devastated, but he is not surprised. the third time, it aches and aches and aches, and he decides he's not going to make cards anymore. it's just a waste of time and paper.

inko tried so very hard. those first few birthdays After were completely unsalvageable, but after the third (when Izuku accepted no one would come) they got better. izuku was still sad and inko was still guilty, but they always had a lovely time with katsudon and cake and all might specials. sometimes, his dad would even remember to call and wish him a happy birthday. izuku was- well, not happy, but content. he had his mother. he had his conviction, his dream. what else could he need?

(he steadfastly ignored the longing, the ache. nothing he could do would fix it so there was no point in dwelling on it. it was stupid to feel that way anyway. his birthday was just another day of the week, the month, the year. it didnt matter. he shouldnt feel so bad about it. it didnt matter)

he didn't even think about telling all might his birthday. by the time he was 14 going on 15, he didnt really care about it. it had just been a day he got a gift or two from his mother, his favorite dinner, and a night spent rewatching all might documentaries or movies or interviews. you know, like basically every night, but like, older this time. so he doesnt mention it and all might never brought it up, so his 15th birthday comes and goes like every other birthday did after his 8th.

the truth of the matter was all might figured Izuku would mention it at some point during his training, like offhandedly saying he had to get home early so he could have a celebration, or make small talk about what he'd gotten, or even ask for the day off. but Izuku never did and all might felt too awkward to ask when it was (he didnt want to seem too eager to shower young Izuku with presents like something deep inside him begged for with a vengeance, even though he very much wanted to give Izuku literally anything he asked for. it is a troubling feeling), so all might just assumed his birthday hadn't come up yet.

then all might finally gets a look at Izuku's file, since all might is now a teacher, and sees 07/15/XXXX written and probably breaks the speed of sound with how quickly he calls izuku

"why didnt you tell me about your birthday!!" "wh- I mean- it's just not that big of a deal, I didnt think it was-" "NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL???"

he takes Izuku out to a very belated and nice birthday dinner and has to force an incredibly rare piece of decommissioned all might merch from his early days into Izuku's hands. despite his embarrassment and initial reluctance, that day is ranked in the top ten of his favorite days.

izuku doesnt learn his lesson, however, and neglects to tell his newly acquired friends about his date of birth. the only reason they find out is because all might, having been passing them by at the end of the school day, wished him a happy birthday.

"IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY????" "uraraka please its not a big deal-" "I have to disagree midoriya, today should be special!" "I mean, I dont think birthdays are all that important either" "THANK YOU todoroki"

(and then Izuku thinks for 2 seconds WHY Todoroki thinks birthdays are unimportant and gets sad again but we're not focusing on that rn)

ochako DEMANDS that they celebrate bc theres no way in hell she's allowing her best friend to go without a birthday celebration with friends, but Izuku insists that they at least wait until summer vacation starts in less than a week, especially since he cant just come home with three friends without telling his mom

ochakos like >:( for a second, but concedes bc that's fair and then she launches herself at Izuku and gives him a big ole hug and says "happy birthday!!!" izuku's all sputtering and blushing, and then he feels a hand on either arm and Iida and Todoroki give him warm smiles and wish the same and it takes a good five minutes for his face to calm down and for him to come out from behind his arms once Ochako releases him.

so he tells his mom that his friends want to come over to celebrate soon and inko is just like 😭😭😭😭😭 because FINALLY her boy has GOOD FRIENDS who want to CELEBRATE HIM and Izuku freaks out cuz his mom is crying but she waves him off and tells him to tell the dekusquad that they can come over on saturday and that they can spend the night and that they'll have a wonderful time!!!

izuku relays two-thirds of that information in their group chat and they all agree and then basically Izuku is dreading the weekend bc the few birthday parties he's had with his "friends" before hadn't been all that great (besides the sleepover part with katsuki, though their current animosity kinda makes the memories bittersweet), and like, while he knows objectively Ochako, iida, and Todoroki are Much Better than those boys from his childhood, he just doesnt have a good frame of reference for how these things go.

anyway, so Saturday comes around and Izuku is just listlessly lazing around while his mother finishes cooking ("let me help you mom-" "nuh uh, this is for YOUR celebration mister, you arent doing a THING today), and then theres an enthusiastic knock on his door, and when he goes and opens it his friends greet him with yet another cheer of "happy birthday deku/midoriya!!"

izuku smiles because its sweet even if he doesnt particularly care about birthdays, and invites them in. they set their presents on the table and Izuku's like "you didnt have to!!" and Ochako's like "NONSENSE" and Iida is like "how could we show up at your birthday celebration without presents???" and todoroki's like "any chance to spend endeavour's money on things he wouldnt like is a chance I will never not take" and Izuku is just like akdjajdhajsb when his mom finally comes and greets them

and like. it's nice. it's really really REALLY freaking nice. Izuku didnt realize how much he was actually missing having people with him in his home besides his mom until they were there. there's a wonderful warmth filling his chest as they all eat his mother's homemade katsudon and talk about school and how excited they are for the upcoming summer trip. and when heroes come up, they ask him about different quirks and how they work and what he thinks of this hero and that hero and the only time he's interrupted from his tangents is when he stops himself because he's embarrassed for talking for so long. and then they smile and prompt him some more, saying they love hearing him talk about the stuff that interests him, and can anyone really blame him for bursting into tears?

his friends are alarmed but his mom just smiles, tearing up herself, and she asks if he'd like a big hug, and he nods, face burning bright, and then they all gather him in a warm, enveloping embrace, and he wonders how in the hell he survived without this for so long?

he's so warm and loved and for the first time in forever he feels happy during his birthday celebration.

his 16th birthday party is so incredibly different from the parties he held before he was diagnosed and from the birthdays he spent with only his mother. he'd forgotten that feeling of being cared for by people who didnt need to, or rather he'd never really known it. there's a slight twinge that it took so long for him to learn this feeling, but it's completely overshadowed by the pure elation he feels at finally being able to breathe and relax and let himself be loved.

his friends still look concerned and they obviously have questions, but they dont pry as they all continue with the party. he opens their presents and cries again and then they watch a ton of hero movies and he cries a little more. iida worries he'll dehydrate himself and Ochako fuckin loses it and Todoroki has such a soft look on his face and GOD how has Izuku lived without friends? without THEM?

it's late when they turn in, with futons and mountains of pillows and blankets surrounding them on the living room floor. izuku is nestled between Ochako and Todoroki, and he stares at the ceiling as his friends doze around him. he can feel his heart beating in his chest and, with amusement, he feels his eyes watering again, but he blinks the tears away and whispers thickly, "hey guys?" once he gets sleepy questioning murmurs, he breathes in deeply and says, "thank you." in response Ochako and Todoroki schooch closer until they're cuddled on either arm and Izuku can see Iida doing the same on the other end of ochako. then Ochako mumbles, "anything for you, deku" to which the other two boys agree. and Izuku tries to not get choked up and fails again, but its okay, because its safe here and his friends are surrounding him with warmth and love and Izuku falls asleep happy.

(their second year they have another party, of course, but this one is bigger, with the whole class. it's in the dorm, which is fine bc he doesnt think his mom's apartment could hold all of them. it's just as wonderful as his 16th birthday. he managed to hold his tears back during nearly the entire thing, and the only reason he broke was because katsuki came up to him with a perfectly wrapped box, because everything katsuki does is perfect, and shoved it into his hands with a growled well wishes. katsuki yells at him and the class laughs good heartedly as he weeps, but Izuku is just focused on katsuki, who looks soft and relaxed and nearly identical to the version of him that Izuku saw so, so long ago. and as Izuku thanks him for the present and katsuki berates him cuz "you dont even know what it is yet you idiot open it already", izuku feels a new happiness bubbling up in him, because he's so incredibly glad katsuki has been able to heal as well)

#boku on hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #midoriya izuku #deku #bakugou katsuki #uraraka ochako #iida tenya #todoroki shouto #happy birthday to my beloved son #whom i love with all my heart

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trombonesinspace · 4 years

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Typhoid Mary: feminist femme fatale?

“Season 4 was going to be Typhoid Mary, Alice Eve [who played the role in Iron Fist], we were doing a kind of...I had a much different version of her than what Raven [Metzner] had done in Iron Fist. I was kind of rebooting what she was going to be like, and we were going to do a, you know, kind of a warped love story/murder mystery kind of femme fatale, but kind of a modern-day, feminist version of it, as opposed to kind of the older, sexist kind of femme fatale archetype.”

-Erik Oleson, in conversation with Steven DeKnight, SaveDaredevilCon

As I said yesterday, I have some thoughts about this! If you want some opinions nobody asked for, about a storyline that may never come to pass, you’ve come to the right place! Let’s dive in.

A femme fatale is a character type with quite a history, that can take various forms. She is always an attractive woman who brings ruin to the man who gets involved with her. But sometimes she is deliberately manipulative, while sometimes she is more a victim of circumstances. She may be evil, or she may be sympathetic/tragic. But whatever her moral alignment, she has two defining traits: sexual allure, and some form of negative consequences for the hero as a result of his involvement with her.

A woman who schemes against the hero, and succeeds in harming him, but without using feminine wiles? Not a femme fatale. The Marvel TV universe has featured several examples on different shows: Madame Gao, Mariah Dillard, Alexandra. And, ironically, the version of Typhoid Mary who appeared in Iron Fist. (We’ll get there.)

A sexy woman who tries to manipulate/damage the hero, but fails? Also not a femme fatale. I wish I could give some examples, but sadly I can’t think of any, in dramas at least. Our current media culture loves a sexy manipulator, no writer ever seems to introduce one into a dramatic story without making her succeed in her schemes, to some extent at least.

Which is unfortunate, from my perspective, because I loathe sexy manipulators. It’s a character type I really dislike, whenever I encounter her. As soon as she shows up, I know the hero is going to fall for her bullshit like a chump, and I’m going to end up respecting him less as a result. I could try to unpack my feelings about this a bit more, but that would probably make a post all on its own, so for now I’ll leave it at that.

This doesn’t mean I hate all femmes fatales—it really depends on her motivation and her behavior. If she isn’t trying to harm the hero, and it happens due to circumstances, then I might like the character, but the story becomes a tragedy. Which is not necessarily bad. Just, you know. Tragic.

Anyway! Let’s talk about Typhoid Mary.

Mary Walker is a woman with Dissociative Identity Disorder (multiple personalities), and high-level combat skills. In the comics, she is also a mutant with mental powers. She appeared in the Daredevil comics starting in 1988.

In this original version, her personality fragmented due to childhood abuse, leading her to vow as an adult that no man would ever hurt her again. Her personalities are: Mary, who is timid and gentle; Typhoid, who is adventurous, lusty, and violent; and Bloody Mary, who is even more violent, sadistic, and hates all men.

Mary becomes romantically involved with Matt Murdock, who is cheating on his girlfriend, Karen Page, to be with her. At the same time, Typhoid is trying to ruin him, having been hired to do so by the Kingpin. Matt can’t tell they’re the same woman, because when she switches personalities all her bio signs change (voice, scent, heartbeat, etc) so much that he can’t recognize her. (Uh, sure.) She may also be using some of her mutant powers to confuse his senses. I haven’t read the comics, I’m relying here on what I could learn from the internet.

Eventually Typhoid drops him off a bridge, but then Mary finds him and gets him to a hospital, saving him. Karen is with him when he wakes up, but he breaks her heart by calling out for Mary.

This storyline...does not thrill me. As I said, I haven’t read it, but comics writing about mental illness is generally neither nuanced nor accurate, and comics writing about women circa 1988 is also not great, by today’s standards. And comics Matt’s disastrous love life is legendary—cheating on your girlfriend is bad, Matt! Don’t do it!

I have, however, watched season 2 of Iron Fist, where we get a different version. This Mary Walker is a US army veteran, special ops, who was captured by the Sokovian military. Her personality fragmented due to the brutal abuse she received from her captors for nearly two years, until she finally escaped. She got a medical discharge from the army after being diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Her personalities are: Mary, who is innocent and naive; and Walker, who is a ruthless, coolly efficient mercenary-for-hire. The existence of a third, ultraviolent personality, previously unknown to either Mary or Walker, is revealed near the end of the season.

Mary meets and befriends Danny Rand, while Walker is hired by his enemies to stalk him, and eventually capture him so they can steal his Iron Fist powers from him. She later changes sides, getting hired to bring down Davos, the season’s main villain, by Joy Meachum, his former ally.

There are clear parallels to the Daredevil comics storyline, albeit in less extreme form—Mary befriends the hero, but isn’t romantically involved with him; her more violent personality works against him and fights him, but doesn’t try to destroy him.

I enjoyed this version of the character more than I expected to, for a couple of reasons. For one, she is never the out of control, “crazy” stereotype of a person with mental illness. Both Mary and Walker are more-or-less functional adults, managing to live a strange hybrid life, aware of each other’s existence even though they don’t share memories.

But what I especially like is that she isn’t sexualized, at all. It’s incredibly rare, in my experience, to see a young, female antagonist opposing a male hero, and not have her be sexy. Older women are exempt from this obligation (see my list of examples above), but the young ones always vamp it up, and I am so tired of it. I am not opposed to sexy women, but I am very opposed to the requirement that all women must be sexy. (Unless they’re old.) Male antagonists aren’t required to be alluring, so why should women be? (Yes, I know why. I just don’t like it.)

There’s also a lot of potential YIKES in sexualizing a woman with a severe mental illness, which was caused by (among other things) repeated sexual violence. Could it be done in a way that isn’t super problematic? It’s possible, sure. Am I assuming that most television writers would give the subject the respect it deserves? NOPE!

I’m really glad they chose to just not go there. Walker is extremely good at what she does, takes no shit from anyone, and (almost) never gets riled up. After everything she’s been through, nothing in her present life has the power to faze her, and none of the men around her have the power to intimidate her. It’s pretty great!

She isn’t the least bit coy or seductive, and, equally refreshing, none of the men try to sexualize her or hit on her. Everyone Walker talks to knows she is a highly skilled professional, and they treat her accordingly. Or, when someone does disrespect her, it’s never gendered as far as I can remember, and it stops as soon as she calmly states what she’s going to do to him if it doesn’t.

As for Mary, although she has a more feminine appearance than Walker (hair down and loose, makeup), she is also not sexualized. Her friendship with Danny, who is in an established relationship with Colleen Wing, is platonic, and no one else tries to hit on her that I remember.

So this is the version of Typhoid Mary that Erik Oleson was going to reboot, into a femme fatale. Only, you know. A feminist one.

I...have some questions. What does that even mean? What does feminism mean to Erik Oleson? Let’s be real, the idea of a woman becoming an ultraviolent, sadistic man-hater as a result of sexual trauma would have been seen as feminist in some circles, back in 1988 when that version was written. So what, exactly, did he have in mind?

As I said before, sexual allure is a necessary component of a femme fatale. So she was definitely gonna be sexy. And you know now how I feel about sexy female antagonists. As for the “warped love story” part...Matt wouldn’t be cheating on Karen, since they aren’t together (please, for the love of mercy, don’t have them get together right before he meets Mary, we did that once and I do NOT want to see it again), but I am still not a fan of Matt/Mary as a couple.

Her Dissociative Identity Disorder raises some serious issues around consent, and even if the show chose to ignore that, there’s still the issue of past sexual trauma. Unless Oleson’s reworking of the character was going to include a completely different back story, a Matt/Mary relationship would mean Matt unknowingly having sex with a woman who has suffered brutal sexual abuse in her past. Not to mention, having sex with her that only one part of her personality actually wants.

Is it possible for someone with Mary’s past trauma and present mental illness to have a positive sexual relationship? In reality, of course! In the hands of writers with only a layman’s knowledge of psychology, on a show that loves to torment its hero, I wouldn’t bet on it. How do you suppose our poster boy for Catholic guilt would react when he inevitably finds out the truth?

Plus, aside from any issues around Mary herself, Matt starting a relationship with anyone other than the handful of people who already know his secret identity, means a whole new round of Matt lying to someone he cares about. Does anyone really want to see that? I know I don’t. Sure, maybe he’d tell her eventually, but how long would they have to date before he decided to trust her with the truth?

I’m not opposed to the Mary Walker from Iron Fist appearing in Daredevil, if the writers could come up with a new story for her (i.e, don’t just have her repeat all the same plot beats with Matt that she already did with Danny). But bringing her in as a femme fatale really doesn’t sit well with me. We’ve already seen Matt in an ultimately destructive relationship with a sexy, violent, morally grey woman. I really don’t want to watch Round 2: now with multiple personalities!

Of course, maybe we never will. The quote at the beginning of this post is from just a couple of weeks ago (July 25 2020), so Erik Oleson still seems to think it’s a fine idea. But obviously we don’t know yet if there will ever be a season 4, or who the show runner will be if there is. He may never get to make the story he was planning.

So yes, I realize I’m merely speculating about a completely theoretical story that may never happen. But I wanted to write this anyway. I had a strong “ugh, no” reaction to the idea of a feminist femme fatale Typhoid Mary, and I wanted to go deeper and pick apart my reasons for not liking the idea.

To the three of you who have read this all the way through to the end (this post is nearly 2000 words, yikes), thank you for indulging me! These are, as always, my own opinions, and YMMV.

#daredevil #typhoid mary #femme fatale #long post #oh look I wrote a dissertation

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greatfay · 3 years

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controversial opinions?

Cold pizza actually not good. Tastes like angry bacteria.

There’s a completely separate class of gay men who are in a different, rainbow-tinted plane of reality from the rest of us and I don’t like them. They push for “acceptance” via commercialization of the Pride movement, assimilation through over-exposure, and focus on sexualizing the movement to be “provocative” and writing annoying articles that reek of class privilege instead of something actually important like lgbtqa youth homelessness, job discrimination, and mental health awareness.

Coleslaw is good. You guys just suck in the kitchen.

Generational divides ARE real: a 16-year-old and a 60-year-old right now in 2021 could agree on every hot button sociopolitical topic and yet not even realize it because they communicate in entirely different ways.

Sam Wilson is a power bottom. No I will not elaborate.

Allison’s makeover in The Breakfast Club good, not bad. She kept literally and metaphorically dumping her trash out onto the table and it’s clearly a cry for help. Having the attention and affection of a smart, pretty girl doing her makeup for her was sweet and helped her open up to new experiences. Not every loner wants to BE a loner (see: Bender, who is fine being a lone wolf).

Movie/show recommendations that start with a detailed “representation” list read like status-effecting gear in an RPG and it’s actually a turn-off for me. I have to force myself to give something a try in spite of it.

Yelling at people to just “learn a new language” because clearly everyone who isn’t you and your immediate vicinity of friends must be a lazy ignorant white American is so fucking stupid, like I get it, you’re mad someone doesn’t immediately know how to pronounce your name or what something means. But I know 2 languages and am struggling with a 3rd when I can between 2 jobs and quite frankly, I don’t have the time to just absorb the entire kanji system into my brain to learn Japanese by tomorrow night, or suddenly learn Arabic or Welsh. There are 6500 recorded languages in the world, what’s the chance that one of 3 I’ve learn(ed?) is the one you’re yelling at me about. Yes this is referring to that post yelling at people for not knowing how to pronounce obscure Irish names and words. Sometimes just explaining something instead of admonishing people for not knowing something inherently in the belief that everyone must be lazy entitled privileged people is uh... better?

Stop fucking yelling at people. I despise feeling like someone is yelling at me or scolding me, it triggers my Violence Mode, you don’t run me, you are not God, fuck off. Worst fucking way to "educate” people, it just feels good in the moment to say or write and doesn’t help. Yes I’ve done it before.

Violence is good actually.

Characters doing bad things ≠ an endorsement of bad things. Characters doing bad things that are unquestioned by the entire rest of the cast = endorsement of bad things, or at the least, a power fantasy by the creator. See: Glee, in which Sue’s awfulness is constantly called out, while Mr. Shue’s awfulness rarely is because he’s “the hero.” See also: the Lightbringer series, in which the protagonist is a violent manipulator who is praised as clever, charming, diplomatic, and genius by every supporting character (enemies included), despite the text never demonstrating such.

Euphoria is good, actually. It falls into this niche of the past decade of “dark gritty teen shows” but actually has substance behind it, but the general vibe I get from passive-aggressive tumblr posts from casual viewers is that this show is The Devil, and the criticism of its racier content screams pearl-clutching “what about the children??” to me.

Describing all diagnosed psychopaths as violent criminals is a damaging slippery slope, sure. But I won’t be mad at anyone for inherently distrusting another human who does not have the ability to feel guilt and remorse, empathy, is a pathological liar, or proves to be cunning and manipulative.

It’s actually not easy to unconditionally support and love everyone everywhere when you’ve actually experienced the World. Your perspective and values will be challenged as you encounter difficult people, experience hardship, are torn between conflicting ideas and commitments, and fail. My vow to never ever call the cops on another black person was challenged when an employee’s boyfriend marched into the kitchen OF AN ESTABLISHMENT to scream at her, in a BUSINESS I MANAGED, and threaten to BEAT the SHIT out of her. Turns out I can hate cops and hate that motherfucker equally, I am more than capable of both.

Defending makeup culture bad, actually. Enjoy it, experiment, master it, but don’t paint it as something other than upholding exactly what they want from you. Even using makeup to “defy the heteropatriarchal oppressors!” is still putting cash in their pockets, no matter how camp...

Not every villain needs to be redeemed, some of you just never outgrew projecting yourself onto monsters and killers.

Writing teams and networks queerbaiting is not the same as individuals queerbaiting. Nick Jonas performing exclusively at gay clubs to generate an audience really isn’t criminal; if they paid to go see him, that’s on them, he didn’t promise anyone anything other than music and a show. Do not paint this as similar to wealthy, bigoted executives and writing teams trying to snatch up the LGBTQA demographic with vague ass marketing and manipulative screenplays, only to cop out so as not to alienate their conservative audiences. And ESPECIALLY when the artists/actors/creators accused of queerbaiting or lezploitation then come out as queer in some form later on.

Queer is not a bad word, and I’ve no clue how that remains one of few words hurled at LGBTQA people that can’t be reclaimed. It’s so archaic and underused at this point that I don’t get the reaction to it compared to others.

People who defend grown-woman Lorelai Gilmore’s childish actions and in the same breath heavily criticize teenage religious abuse victim Lane Kim’s actions are not to be trusted. Also Lane deserved better.

Keep your realism out of my media, or at least make it tonally consistent. Tired of shows and movies and books where some gritty, dark shit comes out of nowhere when the narrative was relatively Romantic beforehand.

Actually people should be writing characters different from themselves, this new wave in the past year of “If you aren’t [X] you shouldn’t be writing [X]” is a complete leap backward from the 2010s media diversity movement. And if [X] has to do with an invisible minority status (not immediately visible disabilities, or diverse sexual orientations and gender identities, persecuted religious affiliations, mental illness) it’s actually quite fucked up to assume the creator can’t be whatever [X] is or to demand receipts or details of someone’s personal life to then grant them “permission” to create something. I know, we’re upset an actual gay actor wasn’t casted to play this gay character, so let’s give them shit about it: and not lose a wink of sleep when 2 years later, this very actor comes out and gives a detailed account of the pressure to stay closeted if they wanted success in Hollywood.

Projecting an actor’s personal romantic life and gender identity onto the characters they play is actually many levels of fucked up, and not cute or funny. See: reinterpreting every character Elliot Page has played through a sapphic lens, and insulting his ability to play straight characters while straight actors play actual caricatures of us (See also: Jared Leto. Fuck him).

I’m fucking sick of DaBaby, he sucks. “I shot somebody, she suck my peepee” that’s 90% of whatever he raps about.

“Political Correctness” is not new. It was, at one point, unacceptable to walk into a fine establishment and inform the proprietor that you love a nice firm pair of tits in your face. 60 years ago, such a statement would get you throw out and possibly arrested under suspicion of public intoxication. But then something happened and I blame Woodstock and Nixon. And now I have to explain to a man 40 years my senior that no, you can’t casually mention to the staff here, many of whom are children, how you haven’t had a good fuck in a while. And then rant about the “Chinese who gave us the virus.” Can’t be that upset with them if you then refused to wear your mask for 20 minutes.

Triggering content should not have a blanket ban; trigger warnings are enough, and those who campaign otherwise need to understand the difference between helping people and taking away their agency. 13 Reasons Why inspired this one. Absolutely shitty show, sure, but it’s a choice to watch it knowing exactly what it contains.

Sasuke’s not a fucking INTJ, he’s an ISFP whose every decision is based off in-the-moment feelings and proves incapable of detailed and logical planning to accomplish his larger goals.

MCU critique manages to be both spot-on and pointless. Amazing stories have been told with these characters over the course of decades; but most of it is toilet paper. Expecting a Marvel movie to be a deeply detailed examination of American nationalism and imperialism painted with a colorful gauze of avant-garde film technique is like expecting filet mignon from McDonalds. Scarf down your quarter pounder or gtfo.

Disparagingly comparing the popularity and (marginal) success of BLM to another movement is anti-black. It is not only possible but also easy to ask for people’s support without throwing in “you all supported BLM for black people but won’t show support for [insert group]” how about you keep our name out your mouth? Black people owe the rest of the world nothing tbh until yall root out the anti-blackness in your own communities.

It is the personal demon/tragic flaw of every cis gay/bi/pan man to externalize and exorcize Shame: I’m talking about the innate compulsion to Shame, especially in the name of Pride and Progress. Shame for socioeconomic “success,” shame for status of outness, shame for fitness and health, shame for looks, shame for style and dress, shame for how one fits into the gender binary, shame for sexual positions and intimacy preferences, shame for fucking music tastes. Put down the weapon that They used to beat you. Becoming the Beater is not growth, it’s the worst-case scenario.

Works by minorities do not have to be focused on their marginalized identities. Some ladies want to ride dragons AND other ladies. The pressure on minorities to create the Next Great Minority Character Study that will inevitably get snuffed at the Oscars/Peabody Awards is some bullshit when straight white dudes walk around shitting out mediocre screenplays and books.

Canadians can stfu about how the US is handling COVID-19 actually. Love most of yall, but the number of Canadian snowbirds on vacation (VACATION??? VA.CAT.ION.) in the supposed “hotbed” of my region that I’ve had to inform our mask policies and social distancing to is ASTOUNDING. Incroyable! I guess your country has a sizable population of entitled, privileged, inconsiderate, wealthy, and ignorant people making things difficult for everyone, just like mine :)

No trick to eliminate glasses fog while wearing my mask has worked, not a single one, it actually has affected my job and work speed and is incredibly frustrating, and I have to deal with it and pretend it’s not a problem while still encouraging others to follow the rules for everyone’s safety and the cognitive dissonance is driving me insane.

It’s really really really not anti-Japanese... to be uncomfortable with the rampant pedophilia in manga and anime, and voice this. I really can’t compare western animation’s sneakier bullshit with pantyshots of a 12-year-old girl.

Most of the people in the cottagecore aesthetic/tag have zero interest in all the hard work that comes with maintaining an isolated property in the countryside, milking cows and tending crops before sunrise, etc. And that’s okay? They just like flowers and pretty pottery and homemade pastries. Idk where discourse about this came from.

You think mint chip ice-cream tastes like toothpaste because you’re missing a receptor that can distinguish the flavors, and that sucks for you. It’s a sort of “taste-blindness” that can make gum spicy to some while others can eat a ghost pepper without crying.

Being a spectacle for the oppressive class doesn’t make them respect us, it makes them unafraid of us. This means they continue to devour us, but without fear of our retaliation.

Only like 4 people on tumblr dot com are actually prepared for the full ramifications of an actual revolution. The rest of you just really imprinted onto Katniss, or grew up in the suburbs.

Straight crushes are normal. They’re people first, sexual orientation second. Can’t always know.

The road to body positivity is not easy, especially if what you desire is what you aren’t.

You’re actually personally responsible for not voluntarily bringing yourself into an environment that you know is not fit for you unless you have the resolve to manage it. Can’t break a glass ceiling without getting a few cuts. This one’s a shoutout to my homophobic temp coworkers who decided working a venue with a drag show would be a good idea. This is also is a shoutout to people who want to make waves but are surprised when the boat tips. And also a shoutout to people who—wait that’s it’s own controversial opinion hold up.

Straight people can and should stay the fuck out of gay bars and queer spaces. “yoUrE bEInG diVisiVe” go fuck yourself.

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robinskey · 5 years

Text

In My Mind (Steve x Hopper! Reader)

Request: Steve Harrington x hopper!reader where the reader has mind reading powers?

A/N: I was trying to find a way to connect the reader to the MKUltra experiments (like maybe her mom was an unknowingly pregnant test subject, like Terry Ives), but the timelines didn’t add up. So the reader is the daughter of Hopper and his ex-wife and older sister of the late Sara Hopper. I like the way it turned out, so hopefully you do, too! Thanks for requesting, anon. :)

Any text in italics are the thoughts of others.

Warnings: Some language (it’s all Stevie Babey’s fault, though, so you can’t be too mad about it)

“Are you excited for your first day of high school?”

The words are spoken by your father, who’s driving with the wheel in one hand a cigarette in the other. A thin haze of smoke clouds both the air and your esophagus. Usually, you’d chide him for his unhealthy vice. This time, however, you let it slide; he needed the nicotine to calm his nerves.

When your dad initially offered to drop you off on the first day of the new semester, you resisted. After all, you had your own car, and, considering you’d been able to navigate the big city for most of your life without incident, you were pretty sure you could find your way to Hawkins High. (Besides, as you’d told your father, “the new kid already starts at the bottom of the food chain, even without her daddy dropping her off.”)

If you were any other moody teenager, you probably would have insisted on driving yourself. In fact, that’s what you were about to do when you felt an overwhelming wave of guilt and disappointment wash over you. The emotions weren’t your own; they belonged to your father. Yet, the feeling was strong enough for you to sense without even trying. Dad plastered a fake smile on his face, but his disheartened thoughts bounced around your head.

God, you idiot, she’s a senior in high school. Of course she doesn’t want her old man around when she’s trying to make new friends. You’ve already missed your opportunity to be there for all her “firsts”.

“Actually, you know what? It might be nice to have a chauffeur,” you said.

You’ll never forget how wide he beamed.

Thus, when he refers to the start of your eighth semester of high school as your “first day,” you happily play along.

“I’m excited for a fresh start,” you say, watching as the car passes by a frost-covered field. Despite the bitter cold, the sun shines down on the earth. Bright white patches of snow glitter in the light.

“Me, too, kid.”

Your father’s uncharacteristically quiet tone draws your attention to him. He stares back at you with glimmering irises. You don’t need to tap into this mind to know exactly what he’s thinking-or, more precisely, what he’s thinking about.

***

Once upon a time, you had been relatively close with your father. Your mother worked long hours at the office, trying to climb the corporate ladder, so you saw him a lot more often than you did her. He helped you and Sara with your homework and coached your softball team; the two of you were certified daddy’s girls.

Then, tragedy struck: Your sweet little sister was diagnosed with cancer. Despite their best efforts, the doctors couldn’t save her. Sara’s death wounded your mother deeply, but it destroyed your father. The deep depression into which he fell led to the dissolution of their marriage.

Because your father was barely in a state of mind to take care of himself, let alone another human being, your mother received full custody in the divorce. You stayed in New York with your mother, and your father moved back to his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana. His decision to leave felt like abandonment when you needed him most.

The two of you spent five years without seeing each other in person. You rarely even spoke over the phone, unless he drunkenly dialed you or you called him-which, after he repeatedly answered with slurred speech, you eventually stopped doing. He missed holidays and birthdays, only occasionally sending a card in the mail, which often arrived several months late, and never invited you to visit.

All that changed in the fall of 1984, when your father invited you “home” for Thanksgiving break. He even offered to pay for your flight to Indiana. Hoping to mend your relationship, you agreed, headed to the airport after school, and arrived in Indiana that same day. Your father was waiting for you at the gate with a cheesy grin and a container of your favorite candy. After a tight embrace and a waterfall of shared tears, you spent the next few days catching up on five years of lost time. He introduced you to El, showed you around Hawkins, and took you to all his favorite places to get a bite to eat. You quickly understood why your dad had wanted to return to this little town; at the end of the trip, you didn’t want to leave it.

“I want to move here,” you told your father on your last night in Hawkins.

“You can always stay with me.”

He didn’t realize you were seriously you took that offer until you called him a few weeks later.

“You actually want to come live with me?” he asked, shock evident in his tone.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Don’t you want to wait until graduation?”

It sounded like your father didn’t want you to move. But, as Dad later told you, he wanted you to come to Hawkins more than anything. He just wanted to make sure you were thinking things through-that this was actually what you wanted, not what you thought you should do.

“I’ll stay here until the end of the semester,” you said, “but I don’t want to miss out on another six months of time I could spend with you. I can finish my senior year in Indiana.”

“If that’s what you want.”

It was what you wanted.

***

At least, it’s what you thought you wanted. The way your stomach twists into a pretzel shape as you pull up to the school makes you doubt your conviction. You ramble about your fears of being accepted as you gather your belongings.

That’s when a firm hand lands on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re going to kill it today, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Dad.” You press a quick kiss to his cheek, then hop out of the car.

“And remember,” he says with a pointed finger, “if anyone treats you poorly, take note of their name. They may need to receive a visit from the Hawkins Chief of Police sometime down the road.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smirk tugs at your lips.

“Bye, Sheriff!” you call over your shoulder.

As you walk into the school, you swear you can feel a hundred sets of eyes boring into your soul. Anyone else would have been be able to dismiss it as their own paranoia. However, you could hear the thoughts of your peers even louder than their whispers.

Who is that?

Was that the Sheriff’s car?

Where did she come from?

The rapid-fire unspoken questions continue for the rest of the day. When the bell rings for lunch, you start to panic. If there’s one thing more terrifying than starting in a new school where you know no one, it’s walking into a high school cafeteria when you have no one to sit with.

Thankfully, a curly-haired girl from your homeroom spots you in the hallway. She invites you to her table with a friendly grin that makes you feel instantly at ease. You chat as you make your way through the lunch line.

After you get your trays, Nancy leads you to a corner of the cafeteria where two guys are already sitting across from each other, making casual conversation. The one facing you has pale skin and terrible posture. He greets Nancy warmly and smiles at you politely. After his initial reaction of who the hell is this, his thoughts turn more positive: Another girl for Nancy to befriend. That could be good for her.

“Y/N, this is my boyfriend, Jonathan,” Nancy says, taking a seat next to him.

That’s when the second boy finally turns around.

Big, brown eyes lock onto yours. They’re framed by thick, dark lashes. Other than a few freckles, his rosy complexion is blemish-free. And that hair-his mane is composed of fluffy brunette curls that simply defy gravity.

You’re really glad he can’t read your mind because you can’t stop thinking about how you’ve never seen a human so...pretty.

Luckily for you, he’s thinking the same thing.

Damn, she’s gorgeous. Why have I never seen her before? Oh, shit-I’m staring. Come on, Steve get it together. It’s just a girl, and you’re-you’re King Steve Harrington.

“King Steve Harrington”? Does this guy really call himself that? You chew on the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. Steve licks his cotton-candy pink lips nervously.

God, how is she that beautiful?

“I’m Steve,” he says. “Steve Harrington.”

“I know,” you blurt out.

Steve tilts his head at a slight angle, confused as an untrained dog being told to sit.

“I, uh-I know your name’s Steve,” you say, which is true. “Nancy told me.”

Did I?

Before Nancy can ask her question out loud, you gesture to the empty spot next to Steve.

“Can I sit?”

Steve nods, scooting over a bit to make room. Your arm brushes his as you slide onto the bench. Your skin burns, and you’re not sure if it’s due to your own flustered attitude or the heat radiating from Steve. There’s half a beat of silence; even the internal dialogue dies down for a moment. Then, Nancy and Jonathan launch into a discussion about the fourth-period pop quiz. You quickly tune out of their conversation and into the thoughts of the boy next to you.

How long do you have to know a girl before you ask her out?

While no bullies will be receiving a visit from your father, you have a sinking feeling that the sheriff will be having words with a particular student at Hawkins High in the near future.

Tag list: @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @readinthegarden12 @broadwayandnetflix

If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3

If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)

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need-a-new-hobby · 4 years

Text

The Eyes Have It

note: this fic took like 3 days to write. hope yall like it. did it for the derek but there’s a little spencer x piper as always

Piper walked into the bullpen later than usual, two cups of coffee held in her hand. Her eyes took notice of three things. The first was Anderson trying to balance a mug on his forehead which she couldn’t judge. His job was mostly paperwork, no doubt he got bored. The second was Derek chatting with Erin Strauss. As in the superintendent Erin Strauss. Their boss’s boss. Grandboss, if you will. The third was most of the team gathered around Emily’s desk staring at Derek and Strauss. She walked over to the other end of the bullpen, dumping her bag near her desk before rolling her chair over to the girls and Spencer. “What’s happening?”

“Some moron posted a blog called ‘What Would Carl Sagan Do?’.” Spencer snickered.

“Spence, I love you but uh… I was talking about Morgan and Strauss,” she said, passing him his coffee.

“Wait. You haven’t heard?” Garcia raised her eyebrows and Piper narrowed her eyes, tilting her head at her.

“Are you gonna tell me or not?”

“Hotch is stepping down as Unit Chief. He’s been getting heat from Strauss.”

“Stress from Strauss?” Piper tried to stop herself snickering and Emily whacked her arm. “Sorry, not the time, I know. But why?”

“The bureau thinks that his ability to lead the team has been compromised ever since Foyet,” Spencer explained from behind her and she nodded.

“That makes sense.”

“It does?” Garcia scoffed.

“Well, yeah.” Piper shrugged. “Last week, he practically launched himself unarmed and unprotected into a hostage negotiation. Our last case, he walked away from a suicide by cop incident. Strauss’s doubt makes sense. I’m not saying Hotch shouldn’t be Unit Chief but…”

“No, I get it,” Emily sighed as she wrung her hands. “Foyet’s distracting him.”

“So, why’s Morgan with Strauss? Oh nooo….” Realisation dawned on Piper as she groaned, leaning on her elbows. “He’s acting Unit Chief, isn’t he?” Spencer rubbed her shoulder. “He’s never gonna let this go.”

“Also, rumour has it, he went to see Tamara Barnes again this morning. For coffee,” Garcia whispered.

“Penelope’s over-exaggerating,” JJ laughed. “She asked him to go to the preliminary hearing with her, that’s all.”

Emily just sighed. “So, we're just supposed to move forward without any discussion?”

“After Foyet, I think we have to be ready for anything,” Spencer remarked, looking up at Hotch’s cabin.

“I just hope he doesn’t make me call him ‘sir’,” Piper sighed, putting her face in her hands. “He’s gonna be insufferable after this.” Her head bobbed up as Morgan yelled for them to get Rossi.

“This is Megan Chertow and her friend Beena Sukarto, both 17, found 2 nights ago in a parking garage, carotids severed. This is John O'Heron, 61,” JJ briefed. “He was found dead in a wooded area 4 days ago, blunt force trauma to the head.”

“Different MO and completely different victimology,” Rossi remarked. “How are the cases linked?”

“Their eyes have been removed,” JJ tried to say casually, her mouth drawing into a line as she took her seat.

“Oh, he's an enucleator,” Spencer beamed.

“You are way too excited about this,” Piper murmured to her boyfriend.

“Wait, there’s a term for this?” JJ asked, clearly disgusted now.

“It's a rare subset of criminal behaviour, but there have been case studies of assaultive enucleators,” Hotch explained.

“The overwhelming majority of them suffer from diagnosed mental disorders,” Emily elaborated.

“And they're usually males, lack social skills, their kills are disorganized and sloppy,” Spencer added. “The typical enucleator gouges the eyes out, but he doesn't normally take them with him.”

“We need to figure out why,” Derek said, looking to Piper. “You got anything on eyes?”

“Well, typically eyes have been seen as the windows to the soul,” Piper recalled, gesturing with her pen. “In TS Eliot’s The Hollow Men, he says they have no eyes, but he really means the soul. The earliest reference to enucleation would probably be Oedipus who gouges out his own eyes because um… he sleeps with his mother and it’s a whole thing. I think in Dante’s Inferno he talks about judgement using ocular imagery as well.”

“The point?”

“Well, three points, really. One is soul, the other is guilt and the last is judgement.” Piper nodded emphatically.

“You think this guy feels guilty?”

“I’d say in this case it’s more that he feels judged. These enucleators are generally paranoid and that could have been the trigger.”

“There are noticeable shifts from the first to second murder,” Rossi pointed out. “He goes from killing in seclusion to a public place.”

“And he escalated from one victim to two,” Emily added.

“What concerns me most is there's less than 48 hours between the murders,” Derek explained. “That's why I chose this case.”

“And from what we know about enucleators,” Hotch added. “They're almost always multiple repeat offenders.”

“Exactly. Which means he's going to need to kill again soon. All right. Let's meet on the plane in 30.” Piper watched the others leave before making sure Spencer got up okay.

“Is it always gonna be this awkward?”

“God, I hope not. Derek hasn’t bullied me once all day. I never thought I would miss it.” Piper pouted as she helped Spencer down the stairs. “Are you sure you wanna come along?”

“Yeah, I’m not staying cooped up with Garcia all day.”

“Hey, I didn’t want you there either,” Penelope retorted from Emily’s desk. “Also, cookies,” she thrust out a box for Spencer. “I felt bad for not giving you any the other day. But do not expect more.” Piper laughed as she grabbed her and Spencer’s go-bags.

“You know, the last thing we need is Morgan turning into Hotch,” Emily grinned. “Another grim-faced robot. I don’t think I could handle it.” Piper laughed and the three agents got into the elevator.

On the jet, Spencer spread his leg out carefully along the width of the plane while Piper perched on the table next to him. “The colours of all the victims' eyes are different,” Emily pointed out. “So, that probably doesn't factor into victimology.”

“It's more likely what he sees in the eyes,” Spencer explained. “Case studies show that most enucleators suffer from delusions. They hear voices and see things in people's eyes.”

“Usually something evil. They're driven to enucleate to destroy the devil. It points to someone who may have been institutionalized and recently released. I can help Garcia start looking,” Piper offered.

“All right, so talk to me,” Derek directed. “What makes these attacks so different?”

“With victim one, there were multiple blunt force strikes to the head— A more personal kill,” Rossi answered.

“And he disposed of the body, maybe as a forensic countermeasure,” Hotch added.

“The next murders seemed less personal, more opportunistic,” Emily finished.

“I think we need to look at why the first victim was bludgeoned and dumped.” Derek sighed deeply.

“Perhaps the unsub knew him,” Spencer theorised. “It’s possible he said or did something.”

“Prentiss, I want you to go to the disposal site, see if you can figure out why he was dumped there. Rossi, you and I are gonna go to last night's crime scene—”

“Actually, uh, the girls' families asked to speak to our team leader,” JJ interrupted.

“All right. um... Okay, in that case, Rossi, you can handle the crime scene solo. JJ, you're with me, and, Hotch, Reid, I want you to get into John O'Heron's life, See if anything at all points to a personal motive. Piper, help Garcia narrow down mental institution records.” They nodded and Spencer moved over to the couch to spread his leg out and Piper went to make a cup of coffee. “Hey, Bishop.” She looked over at him, a little tense.

“Coffee?”

“No, I’m good. Um… listen, about you and Reid.” Piper looked up. “I know Hotch may not have had a problem with it, but uhh…” Derek was unsure about how to phrase his next directives. The last thing he wanted to do was break them up, but he couldn’t risk the team dynamic becoming tattered.

“Derek, what are you saying?” Piper swirled a spoon of sugar into her cup.

“I’m just worried that if the two of you have a… an issue within your personal relationships…”

“Der, you’re like a brother to me, you know that. If we have an issue, we’ll sort it out.” Derek nodded, breathing in deeply. “Is everything okay?” Piper placed a hand on his shoulder gently, but he pushed her away. She sighed as he moved to resume his seat and she followed, worried about Derek’s new responsibilities.

^-^

Spencer, Piper and Hotch filed into the precinct and Hotch shook hands with Detective Bartley. Piper smiled and took a seat opposite Spencer before she turned her laptop on to find Garcia. “So, I started to look up recently released mental health patients who have a history of eye gouging, eye assault, and other gross things you can do to eyes and sockets. And there's no bingo for Okie City residents.” Garcia tapped her pen against her forehead.

“Well, I suppose that’s sort of a good thing. I can’t believe he started out with eyes though. Try a history of animal cruelty.”

“Gold star to you doctor. I’ve got 7.”

“Narrow them down to eyes.”

“Oh. They’re all gone, sweet-cheeks. Sorry,” Penelope pouted.

“That’s okay,” Piper said, rubbing her hands. “We’ll get back to you soon.”

“10-4 breaker! breaker!” Piper narrowed her eyebrows as Garcia blipped away, looking up at Spencer as she mouthed Garcia’s last words.

“What’d you get?”

“Nothing yet. What about you guys?”

“Both murders were 22 miles apart which is unusual since serial killers usually have a smaller kill zone,” Spencer replied.

“What I don’t get is what he’s doing with them. What do you do with eyes?”

“May be keeping them as trophies,” Hotch suggested from his position near the murder board.

“They wouldn't keep long as trophies,” Spencer gestured with his hands. “Eyes are 80% vitreous humor, which is essentially water. After a few hours, they begin to get cloudy and wilt.”

“Any other theories?”

“There have been cases where after enucleation, mental patients have consumed the eyeballs.” Piper almost retched. “Sorry.” She waved him off.

“Nope, it’s fine. I just really hope he isn’t; you know. But if these eyeballs don’t last long, won’t he try and replace them?”

“He will. Unless he knows how to preserve them,” Spencer said. Piper frowned as Spencer gazed mournfully at the victims. Hotch tossed Piper a marker and she got up, the notion of eye consumption far from her mind.

“So, O'Heron's friends say he has a history of drunken behaviour,” Hotch surmised from his file. “But they don't know anybody with a grudge against him.”

“He was last seen leaving a bar,” Spencer read out. “Bartender on duty said he left without incident.”

“We should get Garcia to look at his financial records,” she suggested. “It’s possible he did something earlier in the day where he met our unsub.” She looked over as Emily and Rossi entered the room. Emily told them about the remote farm road where O'Heron was dumped, telling them that the unsub didn't just stumble on it, he knew the area well. Hotch told her to make a list of people who live or work near the area before turning to Rossi. Piper and Spencer listened to the senior agent’s theory of their unsub’s patience and organisation. What worried them most of all was his lack of cooling-off period between kills. Meanwhile, Derek and JJ entered looking troubled before directing Spencer and Piper to see the medical examiner. Piper nodded, sighing at having to drive an SUV as she caught the keys Emily threw her.

“Hey, does this mean I can borr—”

“Absolutely not.”

Spencer sat perched on a medical table adjacent to the victim as Piper stood in front of O’Heron. The M.E. pointed out the way the eyes had been ripped out with the optic nerves protruding, but Spencer knotted his eyebrows at the precise cuts made with the other two female victims. They returned to the SUV, Piper watching carefully as Spencer got in. They talked about the case for a while and eventually fell into a comfortable silence at the traffic lights. They’d been dating for a few weeks, but she still couldn’t believe it, especially when he started rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. She smiled and the light turned green and the moment was over. Piper started chewing on her lip as she started driving again. She was lucky to have him.

Spencer knew how nervous Piper got around cars. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t a great driver, but she was a free, interminable spirit, unrestrained by anything but her own will. So, cars weren’t a good fit. A few weeks ago, he’d have been afraid to ask her to go out for coffee, but now, he could ask her to do anything. She was happy to do anything, as long as it involved him. But with his leg in his current state, they were having trouble finding dates. She never minded though, always up for anything. They’d watched her entire French film collection, gone on midnight strolls, even just gone on bookstore dates. They’d compete to find the worst scenes in the romance novels. Each time they make the other laugh, they get a point, the loser having to buy dinner. She’d ended up buying dinner after the carousel scene in The Notebook. He was lucky to have her.

Slowly, Piper pulled up to the precinct, sighing in relief as she parked, and her body leant against the still car before pulling out the keys and clambering out. While Spencer tried getting out slowly, Piper rushed over with his crutches. They made their way inside, updating the team on their findings. “He managed to avoid cutting the sockets or the eyelids. This was precise work. The kind of work only a doctor could do,” Spencer summed up.

“He was crude with the first victim, surgical with the others. The amount of effort he's going through to remove the eyes now, he wouldn't destroy them. He's keeping them,” Piper nodded. “But there’s one good news in all of this, if you can call it that,” Piper scoffed.

“What’s that?” Hotch looked up from his file at Emily’s question.

“At least he isn’t eating them.” Emily snorted quietly and Derek told them all to get some sleep.

Spencer was still looking over the file in Piper’s room as she took off her jacket. “You know, Derek told us to get some sleep,” she said, sliding into bed with her copy of Wuthering Heights.

“I don’t mind getting a dog,” he murmured, “but who’d look after it?” Piper knotted her eyebrows as he compared the two pictures of bodies.

“What kind of dog?”

“I guess so,” Spencer muttered as she rummaged through papers. “But I prefer Richard the Third’s monologue. More…sinister.” Piper sighed, putting the book away. She got up, moving over to him seated at the table. Piper slid her arms around his neck, nuzzling his ear. She huffed at his complete ignorance of her. She brushed her lips against his ear, trailing kisses along his jawline. “Pipes…”

“Bed,” she whispered between kisses. He turned his head up to her, meeting her lips fully. His hand travelled to cup her face as his lips moved against her. Strands of hair tangled between his knuckles as she leaned in deeper. They broke away for air and Piper grinned. “You gonna stop working now?”

“Well, I’m not sure I can focus on missing eyes after that.” Piper beamed before announcing she was going to take a shower so he could change, emphasising the need to sleep. He sighed as he watched her disappear inside the bathroom, trudging over to the bed. A gentle smile played on Piper’s lips as she came back out of the bathroom at the sight of Spencer softly snoring in bed. Piper flicked the lights off as she climbed into bed next to him.

He woke to sunlight streaming from the window, noticing a small weight on his torso. He glanced to the angel snoring softly beside him, an arm gently lain on his chest. Spencer kissed her cheek softly before getting up to pull on his brace. Piper got up slowly a few minutes after, rubbing her eyes at the blinds Spencer pulled apart. Blinking blearily, she trudged over to the bathroom, brushing her teeth while changing at the same time. She left the door open while she walked out, beaming as Spencer managed to limp over without his crutches. “You’re getting better.”

“Yeah, my PT’s gonna love me after this case.”

“How could he not?” Piper kissed him on the cheek, then moved over to pack the files into a box while Spencer went to get ready when Emily burst into her room.

“There’s another murder.”

^-^

The team gathered around the precinct, discussing the latest murder. Tracy Copper died the furthest away from the other crime scenes. She was 32 and an avid jogger, according to her husband. The woman had died from a single knife wound to the neck; a cold and efficient kill. She watched Derek, Emily and Hotch leave for the crime scene and JJ pulled up Garcia on the monitor. “So, Garcia, we have the list of local doctors, but we need to narrow it down.”

“Where shall I splice, my pretties?”

“Give me a list of all doctors who've had infractions like malpractice suits,” Spencer asked from his seat next to Piper.

“Got it. Bouncing your way.”

“Narrow it down to eye specialists,” Piper called out.

“Whoo, that's still a lot of names.”

“We'll chip away when we know more,” he explained.

“Hey, wait. Before you hang up, how's my Morgan doing?”

“Fine,” he shrugged.

“I know the man is fine. How's he holding up as head honcho?”

“Well, he's stressed, but he's on top of it,” JJ answered. “Speaking of which, there is something you could do for him.” Piper grinned ear to ear as JJ detailed her plan for Derek when they got back, but her cell buzzed and she sliced her hand along her throat, showing her Derek’s caller ID.

“Hey Der. What you got?”

“He laid a trap for her. All this, plus the way he bleeds her at the neck. It's the behaviour of a game hunter.”

“Jesus,” Piper sighed, rubbing a hand along her face while Spencer squeezed her shoulder.

“Hunting's a big part of this city's culture,” JJ pointed out.

“Yeah, hunting animals is,” Piper breathed. “What triggered him to start hunting humans?”

“This guy is taking people's eyes, so, he's definitely disturbed. What bugs me is that people like this usually unravel, get sloppy. And this guy's only getting better.”

“Okay. Let us know if there’s anything else.”

“Wait, Morgan!” JJ called out before Piper could end the call. “I'm fielding calls left and right here.”

“What's happening?”

“The case made national news. They're starting to call him the Eye Snatcher.”

“All right, um, you're gonna hold a small, controlled press conference. Answer their questions but try to squash that name. I want the people to be aware, but I do not want to make a bogeyman out of this guy. Anything else?”

“You're not answering Strauss' calls.”

“She's just trying to keep tabs. She can wait.” JJ’s face seemed crushed when Piper hung up the call.

Back in the woods, Aaron watched Derek hang up and return to the crime scene, ready to get back. “Maybe you should take the time to field the call,” Hotch advised softly. Strauss wasn’t an enemy any first-time unit chief should have. Erin had her own battles and tended to take it out on the unit chiefs below her. Yes, Derek was performing admirably, but even the slightest mistake leads to mountains of inspection from the higher-ups. Morgan didn’t know how to deal with that yet. That being said, Derek’s answer was every bit as expected, polished and professional.

“Hotch, we have to set up a tip line. We have to go over JJ’s talking points. We haven't gotten the profile out yet. All of that takes priority over dealing with Strauss.”

“I understand all that.” Hotch kept his voice smooth and placating as they walked through the greenery. “Let us help you set up strategy while you talk to her. We'll regroup with you before we proceed. We have enough battles. Believe me, you don't want to fight her, too.”

“Let me get this profile out, and then I'll go talk to Strauss.” Aaron almost scoffed as Morgan walked off. Bargaining. Derek reminded him of himself when he’d started out with this unit. He couldn’t have asked for a better team with Morgan and Reid. But the team had gotten bigger now. They had Rossi, an expert negotiator, Prentiss, a master in linguistics and terrorism, Jareau, an icon with the media and a sweetheart with the families and Bishop, specialised in trauma and children and Garcia, resident hacker. With that came a responsibility. Their little family of 8 were specialists, easily relocated if the Director wished. He’d carried that responsibility of putting them to good use and he wondered whether he regretted giving it to Morgan. We’ll see, Hotch decided before following.

^-^

Piper was sat cross-legged on a desk while Derek stood where Hotch usually did, delivering the profile, having the others step in when it came down to it. “We’re looking for a white male, 27 to 35. He is driving a van or a pickup truck with a removable cab. Something utilitarian that can get bloody and wash out easily. We believe that our unsub may have known his first victim,” Derek nodded to Piper. “Yet the rest were random.”

“Most enucleators have a mental disorder and are frenzied and sloppy when they attack,” Piper explained. “This one has more control since he lays in wait to kill his victims, he knows how to cut them so that they bleed out. This indicates he might have a hunting background.”

“That makes us believe he may also have applied for hunting licenses,” Hotch continued. “He has some sort of medical or surgical training but fell short of making a career out of it.”

“He is killing in different areas of the city in public places,” Spencer continued, limping over to the large map. “His large kill zone could be related to some type of travel pattern in his life, which indicates a comfort with these neighbourhoods.”

“The escalation might be caused by a self-imposed timeline,” Rossi added. “He has to murder so many people, take these many eyes, to accomplish a task. He's acting on a delusion that's fuelling this murder spree.”

“A man named Herbert Mullin had a fear of a catastrophic earthquake hitting California,” Emily recounted. “Now, he believed that by killing people and offering their blood as a sacrifice to the earth, he could prevent an earthquake. He was a paranoid schizophrenic, and his delusion led him to kill 13 people.”

“He may have been in a halfway house or have been granted leave from a treatment facility,” Piper continued. “Maybe his family moved him away and now he's back.”

“Our unsub kills at night, employs hunting tactics, and is patient,” Derek concluded. “He will wait until he can be alone with his victims.” While the detective dismissed the officers on duty to their roles, Derek moved to his office to answer Strauss’s call.

Piper waited in the cold night air for JJ to finish up her conference when she saw Spencer slowly walk over to her. “Emily’s grabbing her stuff, told me to wait outside.” Piper narrowed her eyes at the multitude of officers flooding out of the precinct.

“That’s probably why.” Piper chuckled. Spencer noticed the cheerful glint in her eyes. “How’s your leg?”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore. I just want to walk properly again.�� Piper smiled sadly at him.

“I’m sorry.” Piper leaned carefully on her bike, looking mournfully at his crutches.

“For what?” He looked at her weary eyes.

“For not figuring it out sooner,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You know, I keep reliving it and uh… I keep kicking myself for being that dumb.” Her voice was soft, out of earshot from anyone except Spencer.

“Pipes, you have nothing to be sorry about. I’m gonna be back to normal in no time, you’ll see.” Piper managed a small smile, breathing in deeply as JJ approached.

“Hey, you ready to go?” Piper nodded, hooking her leg around her bike before strapping on her helmet. JJ jumped on, giving Spencer a small wave before they speeded off.

The next morning, Piper yawned as she accepted the coffee Emily held out. “‘Nother victim?” Piper blinked sleepily.

“What time did you wake up?”

“Like 20 minutes ago.” Piper yawned again before sipping her brown brain juice. “So, he killed two this time?”

“Yeah, Morgan and I are gonna go check it out.”

“We're looking for a doctor who is also a hunter and a former mental patient who happens to be cutting people's eyes out. How the hell are we gonna find him?” Piper voiced irritably as Rossi strolled up next to her.

“Trust the profile. It’ll make sense.” Piper nodded, then moved over to a seat to peruse the files. By the time the others had come back, Derek had made a major break with the case. Wes's left eye was damaged during a struggle, so it was left behind while both of Sandy's eyes were taken, prompting Derek to suggest they weren’t dealing with a doctor at all; it was a taxidermist. Spencer nodded thoughtfully, explaining that a taxidermist has all the skills and supplies needed to preserve eyes and other body parts. That was when JJ marched in and placed her phone on the middle of the desk, putting Garcia on speaker. She explained that O’Heron had written a $250 check to Lloyd’s Wild Game Shop, the establishment whose owner had died of emphysema 4 weeks ago, leaving behind a 28-year-old son, Earl Bulford, with a petty crime record and 3 counts of animal cruelty. There wasn’t any record of mental illness, she emphasised, but his mom suffered from retinitis pigmentosa, a degenerative eye disease which eventually leads to blindness and died in a car crash when Bulford was 8.

Derek directed the team to move into position, with Piper and Emily taking the bike, Hotch and Rossi in one SUV and Derek and the detective in another. The three pairs converged on the same path and Piper took the front entrance with Derek and Emily. She winced from second-hand pain as Emily shoved an elbow in after Derek noticed a small pool of blood through the main window. Hotch and Rossi moved in from the back and slowly both units merged into the middle of the shop, clearing the establishment. Hotch found Bulford’s customer accounts and the detective pointed out how each customer lived in the same area as each victim they found. They divided again based on the last two victims, with Derek, Piper and Emily taking one address near Bleaker St while Hotch, Rossi and the detective took the other.

Emily just gave Piper a disappointed look as she stepped down from the porch. Meanwhile, Hotch had found success, sort of, as the woman confusedly assented to having seen the unsub, but she wasn’t to know that. They split, calling all units to their area. The detective confirmed soon enough that they found the vehicle but not him. Hotch and Rossi decided to take the block by foot while the detective circled around in in his car. While Rossi took the east side of the block, Hotch took the west and heard screams. He yelled for Rossi, but his colleague was too far away to hear. Cursing himself, he sprinted towards the scream, shooting at the sight of Bulford leaning over the girl, a metal contraption pulling her eyelids apart. Spooked, the man sprinted down the alley and Hotch leaped over the young woman to run after Earl, pulling him down from where he was about to climb up the wall. Hotch swiftly pinned the murderer to the floor before handcuffing him. Secured, Hotch moved over to Jaime, slowly and carefully pulling out the metal contraption safely. Relieved significantly, Hotch walked out of the alley to see a beaming Piper on her bike, helmet in hand. “I see you got him.” Aaron smiled back despite himself. “I don’t remember the last time you cuffed a guy.” Her smile dropped as Derek and Emily approached.

“Detective said you ran after him solo,” Derek said, no visible trace of pride, humour or joy on his face. Not even a smirk. Emily shrugged imperceptibly to Piper.

“He wasn't far behind me,” Hotch justified.

“You know you should have waited for backup.”

“Would you have?” Aaron maintained eye contact until Derek walked away and the ladies smirked. “What?” Hotch looked between them.

“Nothing,” they cried in unison at their former boss, laughing once he was out of earshot at the irony of it all. Piper motioned for Emily to sit on the bike behind her before speeding down the sparse road to the precinct. They peeled out of their vests and headed back to the hotel to pack their things before Derek appeared, holding Bulford in tow. He dumped him next to an officer and moved over to JJ, asking if they could leave in about an hour.

Back at Quantico, the rest of the team hadn’t bothered going back into the building, opting to go straight home, except for Derek and Aaron. As Morgan finished the last of his paperwork before his second case tomorrow, Penelope strolled over to him. “You are here late,” she announced, a question embedded in the prompt.

“Reports. Hotch always stayed later than the rest of us, and now I understand why.” He glanced at the senior agent still in his cabin, working on who knows what.

“He doesn't have to write them anymore. Why is he still here?”

“I don't know. But I do know I need to get some rest. I got another case starting tomorrow.” Derek stood from his desk, packing his reports away into his briefcase.

“Um, I--before you go, can you help me get something out of storage?”

“Yes, baby girl.” His voice was sweet and smooth like caramel. “Anything for you.”

“Thank you.” Penelope beamed before taking him down the railed hallway past Rossi and Hotch’s cabins. She opened the door, letting him in before switching the lights on. “Voila!” Derek looked around at the vacated office.

“What are we doing in Hall’s office?”

“Um, it's kind of not Hall's office anymore,” Penelope grinned. “It's your office.”

“What?” Derek looked at his best friend incredulously, a smile playing on his lips.

“JJ made some calls. Agent Hall's retiring in a month, but he's finishing his caseload at home. So, while you all were away, Mama set to work clearing out the rest of his boxes and setting up an uber office fit for our acting unit chief.” She swayed slightly on the spot, waiting for his reaction. His grin mirrored her own.

“Garcia, this is for real?”

“It's kind of blah for my taste, but I figured you needed to keep up with agency standards. But…” She trailed off, moving over to the desk to open a secret drawer at the bottom. “I did make you your very own secret fun zone.” She playfully placed a light up robot-dog on the desk, beaming giddily at Derek before passing him a framed photograph of the entire team for him. He remembered the moment captured on film. It was his 30th birthday from a few months ago. He smiled as he gazed at his little family, Garcia planting a kiss on his cheek while he cut the cake while Spencer cheered. He rubbed his shoulder, remembering the dull pain of 25 punches and Piper’s sour expression when she was too tired to do the last 5. He smiled, remembering how Rossi had treated them all to drinks afterwards and how JJ kept pulling out Cheetos from absolutely nowhere. He pulled Garcia close, kissing the top of her head.

“Woman, you have lost your mind. But you are the best.”

“I completely agree. I will leave you alone to mark your territory.”

“Hey.” He stopped her before she walked out. “Thank you.” As she left, Derek sunk into his plush chair, relaxing and he gazed at his desk before pulling out his cell. He dialled a familiar number. “Listen, uh... Does that offer for a drink still stand?”

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telesthisia · 4 years

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🍍 🍎 🍉 🥭 !!

Ooooo, right off the bat with very interesting questions I will try my best not to ramble in these!!

🍍: how comfortable is my muse in their body? how do they feel about their height, weight, strength, and body type? how important is being attractive?

She’s comfortable enough in her own skin with some minor grievances that she’ll bottle up to the public but in private ask why the goddesses have forsaken her hJKA!!! I NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT BODY TYPE ASDE FROM PETITE?? UH I guess she has more of a petite pear shape? Where the shoulders and bust are small and narrow but the hips are a little wider than the shoulders! Yeah... pear sounds about right. Let’s go with that! But height tends to vary in her family but for the most part, the family on her father’s side have all been tall and she was counting on genetics to work in her favor but welp unfortunately thanks to a chronic health problem she wasn’t able to grow much aside from 5′0″ and even worse for her the form of anemia she has is a rare one that’s combined with the epic combo of heart issues affects things aside from height and that’s strength and stamina. Zelda is very, very upset at her low stamina more importantly with strength coming a close second. She can’t wield bow and arrows let alone the bow of light due to her poor strength and well, I call her a glass canon for a reason because while she has the amazing OP bloodline of goddess blood and seven wise sages coursing through her veins along with light force, it’s the fact that her magic stamina is super low that kills it for her because it’s the result of poor health issues. I swear these headcanons worked before smash came along but more or less why she didn’t fight back against Agahnim despite probably being stronger than him and why Twinrova managed to catch her so easily in the Oracle series! She feels weak, and she hates how weak she feels because she feels that she doesn’t have the amazing strength of the royals in the past to protect her beloved kingdom and people; it most def affects her self-esteem in that regard now that I think about and only adds to the problems of her being a ruler with lots of self-doubt on her abilities despite her ambition in leading her kingdom to the golden age.

BEAUTY IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER!!!! That’s more or less her thoughts on beauty in the first place and how it affects the whole “attractive” angle of the question. Truth is, while she puts time to look tidy she doesn’t care about how attractive she may seem which is rich since all Zeldas are beautiful goddesses sO SADHJVBSK! She’s more of someone who likes what’s on the inside, the personality being more of merit than the outside. Although like anyone else she would admire pretty people but that’s about it really it doesn’t go beyond what you’d normally think of a celebrity or something! :>

🍎: how stable is my muse’s mental health? have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses / and or conditions? do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and / or conditions? do they or should they attend therapy.

WHEW WELL OK!!! As someone who has diagnosed MI, gives my conditions to my own characters or rp muses, I still make sure to do tons of research and for the most part the history of mental health and how it was treated or looked upon... was not at all good back then. It’s downright horrific in some cases and depending on societies actually, so in Zelda’s time she would be undiagnosed with depression along with the trauma she’s faced in ALTTP and being kidnapped in oracles series. She has a lot of baggage to deal with but she tends to bottle things up because as ruler she cannot show any sign of weakness (weeps feeding into her insecurities of not being able to use magic as well) and well, tends to emotional detach herself to numb out whatever feels she may feel. It’s sad and I have to say hard yes that she needs to attend therapy to better herself but welp ;v; again middle ages so that’s unlikely.

🍉: which of the four seasons suits my muse best, and why?

FALL!!! I’m not saying that because spooky holiday... ok well that’s part of it actually. But in every fanart I see with her, there’s always inclusions of apples and usually fall time is best season for apples/apple picking. It tends to get a little cooler too up north so I can just imagine her wearing sweaters and enjoying hot cider after a long day of work. There’s a beautiful nostalgia to this season, along with that symbolism of change due to the drastic transformation before seasons melt into winter and I feel that encompasses Zelda best. It’s the end but also the beginning, sometimes change is scary but it’s not at all a bad thing and well I feel that mentality fits her best, esp given for her admittedly edgy romantic outlook on life. uvu

🥭 : how important to my muse is their hometown, or where they’re from? are they proud of it, or considered a hometown hero? did they move away, or do they wish to?

Cries, Zelda’s love for her hometown is the same love that could spread throughout the tiny villages dotting the maps of Hyrule SHE LOVES THE ENTIRE KINGDOM MAN!!! So while Hyrule Castle Town is important to her for sure the same could be said for the tiny villages throughout Hyrule. As such, she views each settlement in the kingdom just as important as the capital Castle Town, she feels the same pride and love and joy for the towns as she does for Castle Town that said she can’t really move away at the moment and while she wishes she can settle in Kakariko because quiet life appeals to her, she’s comfortable in the city too! She loves seeing people from all walks of life. Wants to hear their stories and man she just has a lot of love in that tiny body hweoh. NOT SURE IF SHE CAN BE CALLED A HOMETOWN HERO GIVEN HER CANON STATUS AS HOPE OF THE PEOPLE ;v; while the people of Hyrule sees her as hope and anything bad happening to her is killing off hope itself; she more or less views both everyone in Hyrule and the castle as a better symbol of hope than her because tfw low self-esteem due to perceived weakness and she feels she didn’t really do enough to be considered “The Hope of Her People”.

#thanks so much for sending these in!! very fun stuff to think about >:3c #answered.#me: i won't ramble uvu #me: rambles anyway #hyliangrace

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years

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Survey #243

honestly too lazy to think up random song lyrics here, so just have the survey.

What is the one thing you remember most about January of last year? Nothing. You look at the clock and it’s 11:11, do you wish? I never do, no. How do you think you will look 3 years from now? I pray the fuck to god I'm finally at a weight I want. And of course more tattoos and piercings. And colored hair. What would be number one on your bucket list? Meet, thank, and hug Mark profusely while ugly crying. How old do you think you’ll be when you make your will? I don't know. You get a text message. who do you hope it is? Sara. Are there any songs that you hear that just make you wanna dance? Not really, no. Do you get any of your songs from Limewire? lol how old is this... but no. I did when it was "the thing," though. You and your best friend get in a fight. Why do you think that is? I don't know. Probably said something that came across wrong over a text. What is your biggest annoyance at the time? Financial shit. You see the person you fell hardest for. What do you do? Apologize to him if he's even okay with me speaking a word to him and then letting him on his way because I don't want to make him think I'm still stuck on him. I'd wanna know how things are in his life, but I don't want him to get the wrong impression. It'd be better for both of us. Have/are you depressed? I mean I'm diagnosed with depression, but it's well-managed. At the moment I'm not *depressed*, no. Did you grow up in the United States? Yeah. Never left it, even. Do you call anybody "baby"? Besides my cat and snake, no. Who is the one person you can completely be yourself around? Sara. Are your pop-ups blocked on your computer? Yeah. Do you wear earrings on a normal basis? No. How old were you when you realized that life goes on? I don't know... This is such a vague question. But I guess probably when a childhood cat disappeared or died sometime in elementary school. Are your parent’s night owls or morning birds? Well, I don't live with Dad, but Mom is a night owl more than a morning bird for sure. She can be so grouchy in the morning. Do you like to sing? Eh. Who is your favorite author? *shrugs* I don't read enough. How many pillows are on your bed? Two. What’s your favorite thing about the holidays? Seeing my niece and nephew so excited. What is your favorite type of cake? Red velvet, baby. How many rings do you wear on a day-to-day basis? One. Have you ever been in a mental hospital as a patient? Multiple times. Probably WOULDN'T have been multiple if the psych hospitals here were worth a damn. Went to the same one like five-six times and one other and both sucked. It was a partial hospitalization program, WHICH ISN'T AS "SERIOUS" AS AN ACTUAL FUCKING PSYCH HOSPITALIZATION, that saved my ass. What’s your favorite brand of flavored water? None. Have you ever had an ulcer? No. Do you take birth control pills? Not anymore, no. I was only on them for serious period pain, but as of recently my psychiatrist wanted to test out how I do mood-wise without them, especially as it was a regular occurrence for me to be borderline or actually suicidal the day before my cycle started, and the whole week leading up to it was sketchy. So far, I've been fine - I think even better. I was on it for years, and I mean your body changes, so. Do you like soy sauce? Noooooo no no no. Do you have a good doctor? My psychiatrist is literally the reason I'm alive. That's no exaggeration. I would've killed myself by now if it wasn't for him setting my medicine right. I know I would've. My therapist is great, and my primary physician is fine. What’s your favorite store to browse around? Morph Market, ahaha. I love looking at all the reptile morphs, especially the ball pythons. Do you ever meditate on Scripture? No. Do you like poetry? Yes. Do you have expensive tastes? Nah. What is your favorite color? Pink, particularly lighter hues. Have you ever made a scrapbook? Yeah, for a little while when I was younger. What is a question you get asked too much? If my lip piercing hurt. It doesn't bother me, I'm just asked it most. Worst grade you’ve ever gotten? Zeros on things I didn't do/missed. Who are your 3 closest friends? Sara, Girt, and uh... Chelsea, I think. Maybe Lisa. What is something you have always wanted to do? Travel somewhere cool/really memorable. What are you listening to? A playthrough of The Last Guardian. God, I wanna play it so badly. Do you like the smell of cinnamon? It's one of my favorites, omg. Are you in a relationship? No. Do you like the band Hollywood Undead? Yeah. Do you like Taco Bell? Only the quesadillas, THE CINNABON DELIGHT THINGS, and fiesta potatoes. Who was the first person you spoke to today? My mom. Who was the last? I was just texting the woman who adopted Kaiju; she's catching me up on how she's doing, and apparently great! We're trying to plan a day for me to come see her. :> Have you told anyone you loved them today? Yeah. What song is stuck in your head right now? You mentioned HU, now "Bullet" is looping in my head lol. Does it snow where you live? Sometimes, but rarely a lot. What are you currently sitting/laying on? My bed. Have you ever dated a friend of one of your siblings? No. How old is your oldest living grandparent? 80-something. Do you wear contacts? No, I wear glasses, but I wish I could do contacts again considering I desperately want an undereye microdermal but it'd look stupid with glasses, so. Contacts just annoy me. Where are the last three places you went? Taco Bell, my doctor's appointment, and the gas station. Do you ever go hunting/fishing? I would never in my life hunt, and I don't even want to fish anymore. Both are cruel (hunting more than "cruel"...) imo. I'd only ever fish again if Dad asked me to go with him, because since I was a kid, that's always been our "thing," our bonding experience. I wouldn't be able to say no. Do you know anyone who is a nurse? A lot, actually. Would you prefer to own a lapdog or a bigger dog? Sigh. Didn't think I'd want a dog after Teddy, but as of very recently, I've found myself missing the companionship of one. I don't know if I'll end up with another, though, but if I do, I'd want a medium-sized one, like Teddy was. Are you more of a cat person? Yes. What is your worst subject? Math. Do you know anyone who plays guitar? Yeah. Do you play guitar? Not anymore. Have you had to have stitches at all in the last year? No. Have you ever stayed up all night and then gone to work in the morning? No. That sounds like hell. How many relationships have you been in so far this year? It's a week into January lmao. No. Do you prefer to be single or with someone? With someone. Though now that I am single, I kinda think that's for the better right now...? Eh idk. Do you have any tattoos? Yeah. Are you planning on getting any? Oh, plenty. My Mark tribute is getting tidied up by a great artist on the 4th next month and I CANNOT contain my excitement. Did you lose your virginity before you were sixteen? No. Have you ever dated someone who had a child? No, and I never would. What are the middle names of everyone in your family? Wow yeah, lemme share that on the Internet. Where did you go the last time you took a vacation? The beach. Would you ever consider adoption? I don't want kids so like, Who is someone you aspire to be like? Man, there's a lot of people who inspire me in different ways. I think the world knows I look up to the wisdom, determination, dedication, creativity, compassion, etc. etc. etc. of Mark, I adore the heart and empathy of Shane Dawson, Steve Irwin is my absolute idol in terms of passion for animals, and Jeffree Star's work ethic is like, unbelievable. There are plenty others, but those really stand out. How do you feel about your life right now? oof What is your favorite game show to watch? Family Feud with Steve Harvey. He is so fuckin funny. How good are you in trivia games? What’s your best category? Idk. I'm probably best with animal knowledge though, judging from games I've played along with. Would you much rather test your knowledge or share opinions? I guess it depends on the subject and with whom. How do you feel about word games? Fun. Who is your absolute favorite film director? TIM BURTON. THERE IS NO COMPETITION W/ HIM. When’s the last time had to cover a coworker’s shift? Never. Have you ever had a really unreliable coworker? I've never worked long enough to know. Have you ever had to have a ring resized? No. What is a question you would never ever ask somebody? "I would never ask someone what they weigh." <<< This. I'm not a doctor, so I don't see any situation where that'd be an appropriate question to ask anyone. What sounds like a rude word but really isn’t? I'm sure there's something, but idk rn. Have you ever made a blanket? If so, how did you make one? No. How many godparents do you have? Do they care about you? Zero, I think. What is something that should not exist? Rape. Is there a word you have an emotional connection to? It sounds weird I'm sure, but "petrichor" (the smell of the earth after it rains) makes me feel... weird. Nostalgic, anxious, melancholy. Shortly before becoming a couple, Jason and I were just outside at school while it was raining, and we wondered what that smell was called. When we went back to the computer lab (where we were after exams were done), we looked it up and found out "petrichor" was the term. I remember those days too clearly for them to have happened eight years ago. How about a sound? Any emotional connection to a sound? Ummm not that I can think of. Is there something coming up that you are dreading? Not really, no. Do you ever read graphic novels? No. What is the most ridiculous product you have ever seen? Oh idk. Are there any spiders in your home right now? I mean realistically, probably? None that I know of. What was the last thing that made you laugh hysterically? I can't remember exactly what it was, but something on YouTube. I think on Game Grumps. Are there any candy stores where you live? Not that I'm aware of. Do you own any fingerless gloves? Yeah, I still have them in my drawer, actually. I wore them every day in high school. Tell me about the last animal you touched. My cat Roman. :') Have you ever witnessed a birth? Only cats. Can you see your reflection from where you are sitting? No. Wait, yes I can, though only slightly. My snake's cage is just across the room, so I can see against the glass a bit. Quick! Sniff the air. What can you smell? Cat. .-. Have you ever been in a restroom that actually had a restroom attendant? No? What was the last photo you took of? A deer! There were like, seven or eight in the field just across the road a few evenings ago. My lens didn't go out as close as I'd want, but I took some as practice anyway. I only got a few shots though; I came out to the front porch, and after about a minute, they gradually went back into the woods. What do you look for in a mate? Physically and personality-wise. Am I the only one who hates when human couples are referred to as "mates"???? Idk man it shouldn't because we're just animals, but it's weird. ANYWAY, I don't have like, a concrete vision of a partner, but I do have some set-in-stone personality/moral alignments that are musts, such as just being a generally good person, empathetic, you must love animals or shoo, be in touch with their emotions, understanding, soft stuff like that. I also have a strong preference for having a good sense of humor, I lean more romantically towards outgoing people, you gotta be laid-back and approachable... that kind of stuff. Physically, I really, really don't care, but I think we all have preferences; ex., while it really doesn't matter to me ultimately, I tend to find longer hair on guys more attractive than short. Your thoughts on bacon? Ugh, I wish I didn't love it. I wanna be a vegetarian again so badly. What are your thoughts on little kids with cell phones? If they're of an age where they may be separated from their parents semi-regularly and without the constant presence of a guardian, I'm actually for them having *simple* cellphones. Emergencies exist, and even I, someone who doesn't even want kids, would be scared knowing my child is without an easy, quick method of contact with me. Now, remember I did say "simple" cellphones; I don't believe a little kid should grow up unhealthily attached to technology (like me lmao), so especially in developmental years, I wouldn't want my kid to be glued to their phone playing games or roaming the Internet too freely. What was the last lie you told? I'm not sure. Is there anyone in particular you always try to tune out? Ugh, yes. For political bullshit that I cannot stand hearing. Do you work out? No. What was the last thing you ate with a spoon? Uhhhh probably oatmeal. What is a food that you always are in the mood to eat? Ice cream lmao. Ever held a newborn animal? Yeah. Is there anything you’re in denial about? What? Maybe, idk. Have you ever been to a Chinatown? No. Do you prefer chunky or creamy peanut butter? CREAMY. Don't come near me with chunky pb. Do you stop to pick up heads-up pennies? No. Do you make a wish when you blow out your birthday candles? Yeah, even though I don't believe it does anything. It's just for the novelty of it. Do your pets have collars? Describe them: Bentley just has a blue, average collar. Roman doesn't because he absolutely hates them. What is the last thing you searched for online? Surveys. Do you use any scented lotions? What do they smell like? No. Do you have any friends that speak any languages you don’t understand? I mean yeah, Spanish is common in America.

#survey #quiz #questions #random #bored

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pipsqueakparker · 4 years

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2020 20 Q’s

thank you for tagging me @thehoneyedhufflepuff & @neck-mole!!!

1. Do you make your bed? very rarely. i make it when i do a Big Clean of my room, or like just feel like it. But,,, very rarely.

2. Favorite number? 23

3. What’s your job? i work in logistics/processing for NYPL (and Brooklyn libraries) and i work a retail store that sells boxes and closets

4. If I could would I go back to school? i’m in library school rn and i only lowkey regret it. the thing is, i love learning, and i love being in classes, but fuck i hate school

5. Can you parallel park? that was like the one thing about the driver’s test i was really good at - i’m not confident i could actually do it today, but i did pass that section and did not fuck it up when i practiced (have not done it since said drivers test tho)

6. A job people would be surprised I had? uh,,,, i worked an after school program for pre-k - 3rd grade - idk if y’all would be surprised at that, but i know a lot of people including my family and close friends were surprised when i applied/told them i got it bc i have a known history of not enjoying spending time with children (but i have a greater desire for money and it was a private school)

7. Do you think Aliens are real? absolutely you can’t convince me they’re not

8. Can you drive a standard car? oui, i don’t get to often thanks to NYC but i can

9. What’s your guilty pleasure? watching trashy reality tv or tiktok/vine compilations on youtube? eating ice cream? (maybe that one’s just a regretful pleasure)

10. Tattoos? i currently have seven. i have ‘cur non?’ on my right forearm, which was my first tattoo, and the result of a mixture of my Hamilton phase and a re-emerging love for the Marquis de Lafayette (who i had a thing for when i was a kid but totally forgot until i got obsessed with hamilton and remembered all the books i read about him lmao), on my left upper forearm i have a purple ribbon/butterfly (like, the ribbon is the body of the butterfly and it’s got lil wings) that i got the summer my mum was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer & its currently the only matching tat i have with anyone ‘cause my sister also got a ribbon tattoo that day, then right next to that right before sr year finals i got ‘you got this’ in my mum’s handwriting from a note she sent me right before finals sophomore year, on my left wrist i have a pill & and a milk carton with an x on it that were designed by my then-friend and that i thought were really cute ‘reminder tattoos’ ‘cause i have daily medication and had just found out i was lactose intolerant, on my left shoulder i have ‘if you’re not afraid you’re not alive’ in one of my best friend’s handwriting which is a quote from tuck everlasting, which was i think the first broadway show we saw together and really the first Show That She Loved that she got to share with me in that way, and most recently (aka two days ago) i got simon’s wings and tail on the outside of my right forearm, designed by @neck-mole & built on by my new favorite tattoo artist - uh, there’s a whole post on that if you wanna know all the meaning behind it lmao. and the next two immediate ones i know i wanna do: vampire teeth/mouth on my thigh (matching tat with my roommate) & my lifelong best friend’s initials somewhere on my body to honor her. ALSO, it didn’t ask for this but anï put it so i will, too, cause why not. i have my ears and my nose pierced (on the right side), and i used to have a monroe and i really miss it.

11. Favorite color? green

12. Things people do that drive you crazy? exist? no, uh. i think just general ignorance really gets to me especially working retail, like customers that ask the absolutely dumbest shit and by that i mean “do you take this completely different store’s coupon?” or just generally not accepting what i tell them especially when they’re a-okay when one of my male co-workers comes over and says the exact same thing. but just. i don’t do well with people that are ignorant and just continue to be on purpose. also when people walk around you but then once they’re in front of you they’re so slow. and people that walk down or up the wrong side of the stairs - IN ALL AREAS OF LIFE JUST FUCKING KEEP TO THE RIGHT MY GUY.

13. Any Phobias? hahahah. a lot. spiders, the dark (i’m getting a bit better with that one), snakes, escalators (i’ll deal and use them anyway ‘cause i’m lazy but my heart rate spikes) to name a few.

14. Favorite childhood sport? uhm, i never really played sports? i did marching band in high school, which does count fucking fight me, but nothing before that. i always wanted to play soccer? but i’ve had this thing with my knee/calf my whole life so i never actually ended up playing except like in my friend’s backyard sometimes?

15. Do you talk to yourself? oh, yeah, definitely. i will frequently direct it at something whether its my computer, baz, my cat, or whatever is nearby, but yeah.

16. What movie do you adore? a lot. uhm, national treasure is unironically one of my all-time favorite movies, Hercules is a fucking bop and a half beginning to end and i watch it frequently, i love love Big Hero 6, honeslty the list goes on i love a lot of movies.

17. Do you like doing puzzles? yes!!! i don’t do them often, but i love puzzles!!! i used to do them all the time with my mamaw, ‘cause she often just had a table that we’d put it on and work on it when i was over and i love that shit. i want a puzzle table.

18. Favorite type of music? lagjowa anything. i listen to anything from broadway musical soundtracks to alternative/emo/goth to R&B, if i vibe with it i like it yknow. which surprises a lot of people, ‘cause i think most frequently i do just fall to listening to a soundtrack or pop or something closer to the alt-pop side, but like honestly. theres not a lot that i’ll be like “nah, change it”

19. Tea or coffee? coffee. i don’t drink either that often, but i really really don’t like tea.

20. The first thing you remember you wanted to be when you grew up? i think a vet. at some point i wanted to be a lawyer, yes because of legally blonde. and a teacher.

uh and i’m probably supposed to tag 20 people but i’m just gonna tag a few and i’m not sure if they’ve been tagged but here we go: @icarus-n-flames @krisrix @warriorbeeofthesea @vkelleyart

#tag game #20 qs #abt me

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sweetandsavageautistic · 5 years

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Okay, so I found an article. Thought you might be interested to see a somewhat live reaction to it.

Let’s start with the title:

Special Needs Children – A Sign from God

This is gonna be fan-fucking-tastic.

Well, I have lots I could post about today. But what is on my heart is my need to accept.

A need to accept my son's autism and what comes with it.

Yeah, autism should be accepted. We should be accepted as people. Not too bad so far.

But then this picture is just below it:

thanks i hate it.

Our son has Asperger's. That means that he has autism that is “high-functioning”.

Damn, she’s letting a kid smoke the good kush?

I have been reminded by mothers at autism support groups that I should be glad that my little one can talk. Yes, that is true and I need to be reminded of that. However, one thing that he does is talk. All the time. His mind, and hence his tongue, rarely ever shut off.

“Little one.” I dunno how old this kid is, so idk if I can say it’s condescension yet.

I will go into more of why I think this is so in a later post, but just suffice it to say that though I like conversation and interacting with my son, constant conversation and repetitive questions can be extremely tiresome.

He is awkward in public, though that has gotten better.

He has high anxiety. That comes and goes.

He has a problem with attention deficit. No official diagnosis there, but believe me, he has it. Whatever it is.

He has questions? WELL NO SHIT! HE’S A FUCKING KID. And later on you say he has attention deficits. So of course the questions can be repetitive.

He has life threatening food allergies, and extreme sensitivity to sugar. Probable issues with gluten. Sensory issues. He has phobias about things like fireworks and feathers.

Oh, but I love him.

Lady, fireworks can get pretty loud, so it’s not irrational for someone who is autistic and likely also has SPD, to be afraid of fireworks. Feathers is an interesting phobia, though, but probably reasonable for him.

He also has an amazing memory.

In 2009, he placed 3rd in a local Bible Bee competition and then in 2010 placed first locally and 27th nationally. He remembers the names of people we met years ago and while I am stumbling over their name, he reminds me.

I mean, yeah, I guess that’s pretty fucking cool for a kid to do. But that’s the thing. There are probably some allistic kids and even neurotypical kids out there with amazing memories as well.

He has such an innocent heart. Very rarely have I known him to try to do anything to hurt anyone.

He’s a kid. Kids are innocent. Why is that something so special?

He has stamina. Little things often shake his world, but he can weather “big things” like a real trooper. Like when he rode 50 miles in a Right To Life Bike-a-Thon — with a fever (we found out about the fever after he came home :-).)

Um, he’s not a “trooper.” That kid’s badass. Riding a bike for 50 miles with a fever would be an impressive feat for almost anyone to accomplish.

Ah, my son.

In any case, today has been a day of real frustration. A day of frustration at him and his idiosyncrasies, but moreso at myself. I was so impatient today.

He argued with me about not wanting to eat certain vegetables. And argued and argued and negotiated…on and on and on.

Uh.............

He had a near tantrum over being late to a hockey practice due to our car getting stuck in the driveway in a snowdrift. It took about 10 reminders for him to unload the silverware in the dishwasher and then it still wasn't done. I could go on but there really is no point.

Meltdown. The word you’re looking for is meltdown. not tantrum. There’s a fucking difference.

I was impatient because–well, because he wasn't doing things on my timetable. His disability gets in my way, takes my time and is an annoyance. And far too often I go against the command of the Bible and show my annoyance at once (Proverbs 12:16).

I need to remember the good and give thanks to the Lord. I need to accept.

“His disability gets in my way.” Well, your warrior parent “pity-me” bullshit gets in MY way, and possibly his as well, so call it even.

A number of years ago, a dear friend gave me a poem about accepting disability. We were on the cusp of getting our son diagnosed, though unwillingly. We just wanted to know what was going on so that we could deal with it better and have some real resources.

Okay, not TOO bad.

This friend had a 20-some year old daughter with autism at the time. She was in full-time Christian work in the US with her husband and I later found out that she was struggling with leukemia. I read a transcript of a conversation she had on a radio broadcast of Family Life during which she mentioned that her child had autism, searched for her on the internet and made a bold phone call.

She called me back and mentored me through the beginning stages of dealing with what we now had in our family; a child with autism.

She called, prayed and shared.

Then this past year, she died.

I had never met Kathy, but her death left a hole in my heart. She also left this poem, from The Clowns of God by Morris West, Hodder and Stoughton, 1981. I hope that it helps you, whatever your lot in life.

Still not too bad.

You Need a Sign

Treasure him…

You need a sign. What better one could I give than to make this little one whole and new? I could do it; but I will not. I am the Lord and not a conjuror.

I game this mite a gift I denied to all of you- eternal innocence. To you he looks imperfect, but to Me he is flawless, like the bud that dies unopened or the fledgling that falls from the nest to be devoured by the ants. He will never pervert or destroy the work of My Father's hands.

He is necessary to you. He will evoke the kindness that will keep you human. His infirmity will prompt you to gratitude for your own good fortune. More!

He will remind you every day that I Am who I Am, that My ways are not yours, and that the smallest dust mote whirled in darkest space does not fall out of My hand.

I have chosen you. You have not chosen me. This little one is my sign to you.

I really hope this poem is just about kids in general and not about just disabled kids.

Treasure him…

I don't know about you, but I sure needed this reminder today.

And that’s where the article ends. I’m gonna see if that poem is about disabled people.

So I found the poem on a blog of a mother with a daughter who has Edwards syndrome aka Trisomy18. This is the comment:

Cathy, Many years ago, I used to become frustrated. I did not understand why God would send a child here to earth with severe disabilities, shorten lifespans, and daily challanges. Then my special needs son came into my life with all the answers.

When God created human life, he did so in his image; loving, accepting, generous, kind and patient. Our children or God's wish for the human race. Uneffected by Satan's trials. They remain ever loving, patient and kind. They are not just a gift to those God entrust them to here on earth. I think they are also a gift he grants to himself. A reminder of what he wanted all along. His own likeness here on earth.

You honor God with the care and love you provide to Annabel. Even more remarkable is that you have rasied Tara to do the same. I love the three of you dearly. God Bless You.

With great admiration Edie

So with that, I think it’s safe to say that the poem IS about disabled people specifically.

fuck.

#nt bullshit #cw nt bullshit #cw religion #autism #autistic #actuallyautistic #actually autistic #sweet and savage autistic

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