i need like validity and shit

4

happy 18th birthday, noora amalie sætre ♡ april 6th, 1999

“what an awesome guy you are. i just can’t help but wonder what happened to you that gave you such a big inferiority complex, that shitting on a young, innocent freshman’s emotions makes you feel big and cool. never got any validation as a kid? didn’t mommy ever compliment your drawings? or was it daddy, who never showed up to your graduations? you didn’t have hair on your dick in seventh grade and got picked on for it? whatever it was, you need to get over it and start acting like a human being. stop walking around like a fucking cliché.” 

  • Me: ewww fanfiction is grossss it's so disrespectful to write about real people like that
  • Also me: yass👌💯 hit me up👆👀 with that gay shit™💩👏 I haven't slept😴😴💤 in 3️⃣ days pls🙏just validate💯 my ship⚓️⛴ fuck🖕😾 my responsibilities👀😒 I just need this angsty shit😈🗣👊 about my favs💕😫

and also in all honesty it was easier to watch adele win over taylor winning over beyonce bc at least adele was like “hey bey thank you for what you do for the black community and for women in general and for music” like she took most of her time up there to be like listen your work is not ignored and it is not under appreciated the way you change the game inspires and empowers so many and taylor was just like “when people tell you no or try to take you down @ kanye you just keep going” like idk what hardships she met other than the normal ones in the music industry but gd give respect to adele for acknowledging the work and impact beyonce has on the music industry (and the world i mean) 

So my friend at church went to seminary with Shaun King and told me he dropped out after one semester because he thought he was the shit and didn’t think he needed schooling to open his own proper church. He opened a church, it flopped, money disappeared. He’s started organizations, they flop, donation money disappears. She said he stopped making GoFundMe’s because they constantly called him on his shit (which we’ve seen other activists like DeRay and Netta do) and that he’s untrustworthy. She hates him because he does pain porn and spreads Black death, pain, and suffering without trigger warnings and with very little motivation outside of making sure he’s front and center in these discussions and I feel VALIDATED.

I KNEW IT. That’s why his ass got me blocked.

so anyway mikael is nonbinary

  • and the balloon squad has known for a bit now. 
  • mikael was terrified when they first asked the squad to use they/them pronouns. they had a whole powerpoint ready on gender and social constructs and the grammatical validity of they/them used in the singular.
  • but in the end they didn’t need it. as soon as they said “nonbinary” the squad, after staring at them for three interminable seconds, broke into loud chatter
  • “no no bro it’s like how you feel inside or some shit” “yeah like Jorunn at school!” “what ‘bout Jorunn?” “sh-they like asked the teachers to call h-them they and shit” “oh yeah i remember!” “that was badass, man!” “yeah i heard they just straight up walked to every teacher they had in bakka and even the principal!” “no i heard they just asked their dad to write a letter or some shit” “yeah well…” “yeah can you imagine doing that, man?” “naaaah! i can’t even look at the teachers in the face i’m so fucking stressed all the time”
  • and that was kind of it? the conversation quickly sidetracked to the euro 2016 and what were norway’s chances to make it to the finals and mikael joined in without even realising
  • the weight in their stomach lifted and they could breathe again and that was the end of it.
  • one day, a few months after their coming out, mikael walks in the bakkoushs’ flat with their nails painted a deep shade of russet
  • they figured that a lot of rock’n’roll-type guys wear black nail polish and no one cares
  • and they like warm shades of brown. plus they kind of look black. from a distance.
  • the minute they walk in though, elias grabs their hand and sticks it so close to his face that mikael can feel their friend’s breath against their fingers
  • mikael feels the familiar twinge of anxiety in their guts and prays for a swift and merciful death
  • but elias releases mikael’s hand and asks “can you do mine?”
  • two hours later, sana bursts into elias’ room because she could smell a sickeningly potent chemical scent and she thought the squad had finally managed to create mustard gas by mistake and kill themselves
  • she stares at the mess of cotton swabs drenched in acetone, the floor stained in a rainbow of nail polishes, the entire balloon squad bent over each other’s hands, sitting on the floor, tongues sticking out with the effort, looking like three years old asked to try and colour inside the lines for once
  • “are those my nail polishes, elias?”
  • “faaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeennn” the squad cowers, nudging elias towards his sister, and mikael pales. they feel responsible.
  • sana pinches the space between her eyebrows and takes a deep breath in
  • “hand me the goods, elias” she says, waving the squad out of her way.
  • when she sits on her brother’s bed, it turns into a makeshift throne and the squad approaches her and offers her their hands for inspection
  • except for mikael who starts trying to clean the floor of the mess the squad made without damaging their painted fingernails
  • and they can’t contain the smile that pulls on their cheeks so hard it hurts
  • but in a good way.
Caring what other people think about you is just part of being young. The sooner you can learn to let go of your attachment to other people's validation, the sooner you begin to live your real life before retirement.

As a shy individual who spends a lot of my time beating myself up, the number one thing I hear from people in their 50’s if I tell them this about myself is this: “you remind me of a younger me”.

Point being, caring what others think is just sort of programmed into the minds of the average young person. But nobody really cares what others think about them by the time they reach their 50’s. They just don’t. They’ve lived enough life to see that it literally serves NO point. But they’re the same person. We are so attached to it that we feel like validation from our peers is literally essential to survival. But it is not, in any way, whatsoever. So many of the older people I talk to just say they feel the exact same as they did when they were in their prime, just now they are in a 50+ year old body.

So, for the love of God, stop caring what others think of you, find something you love, put the horse blinders on, and just do the shit out of what makes you happy. There is absolutely no reason, whatsoever, that you need to care about how other people are perceiving you. It is only causing you unnecessary stress, at which nothing can be gained, even if you think you’re doing everything right to keep others happy. Losing battle.

Maybe your life has become so unconsciously centered around winning other people’s validation, that you don’t even know what I’m talking about. You have a following, and that keeps you going. But you don’t really know yourself that well. You’re going to be addicted to tangible, destructive things when you get older: gambling, smoking, drinking, etc. because you can’t get anybody to care about what you’re doing anymore. Because you’re old now, and nobody really cares about what you’re doing or who you are, minus maybe your immediate family, if you have any (I know that was a harsh sentence but the right people will know what I’m trying to get at). You’re one of the type of person that seriously needs help before it’s too late. What you may think is socialization and healthy conversation with others about your life, achievements, and why you’re definitely going to heaven is just your brain subconsciously trying to get a fix of self-validation off the person: “I’m going to make sure this person knows how amazing I am and then breathe a sigh of relief ” like you just stuck a needle in your vein.

Point in summary: Just about everyone who gets past the age of 50 stops caring what others think about them because they finally see that it serves absolutely no purpose. So, if you’re young, take their advice. Get the ball rolling early. It’s easier said than done, but with a bit of courage, you can make your path by walking. We’re all made of the same thing. So trying to keep everybody happy and constantly gaining reassurance that you’re okay and everybody likes you is an addictive activity that serves zero purpose. The sooner you can legitimately stop caring what others think about you and just listen to yourself and trust yourself and your true endeavors, the sooner you have eliminated a toxic addiction from your body that will have bad long-term effects.

Edit: This was posted due to an epiphany I had recently. I should have specified that this post was meant to be directed to the people out there also like me who have done so much caring about what people think that we’re sick and tired of beating ourselves up and having a gratuitous, illogical and harmful amount of self-doubt. I didn’t say it was easy, but through some epiphanies, I have experienced true freedom from my form of this mental prison before, and from what it felt like, it’s worth it to work towards feeling this way as much as possible as early as you can in life. Just remember to treat others how you’d like to be treated, basically.

Also, it sounds like a lot of you who disagree don’t have the anxiety and self doubt like us, but still are trying to develop sensitivity to other’s thoughts about you to become better people. And that’s really nice to see.

.

C: I feel so guilty, angry, frustrated, and hurt all at the same time. I was dating this black man for a bit while I was studying abroad for a summer and I was so drawn to his sexy dark skin, beautiful muscles, athletic and hella chill personality. I eventually found out he was cheating on me for six months after I came back to the states. I wasn’t all that hurt in the moment tbh cause I knew a long distance relationship wouldn’t work and I made sure I didn’t get too invested because of that. In spite of all his lies and bullshit though we still kept in contact. Later I found out from one of his friends that he also cheated on his current girlfriend – the one i was apparently the side hoe for – with two other girls. By that time I was fuming that he even had the audacity to play that many women at once. I yelled at him for it and he kept trying to play the victim talking about how that was all a lie and literally all I do is criticize him wah wah yadda yadda.

Lately we were having a conversation about something trivial when i started complimenting myself on my looks. He hits me with a “You ain’t that pretty tho tbh.” Nigga is obviously uncomfortable with me having a decent opinion about myself. Before all the bullshit he would talk about how he almost didn’t approach me the first day we met cause he thought I was “too beautiful” and out of his league. Not to mention he was hella jealous the first few months after I came back to the states and constantly wanted to know where I was at and what I was doing.

After he made that “you ain’t that pretty” comment i hit him with a “insecure boys say insecure things 🤷🏾‍♀️” and he got off talking about how I was deluding myself and what not. I acted aloof but that comment still stung. Part of me knows that he’s hurt by the fact that I moved on so quickly after realizing he’s a cheater and never looked back despite all his shit apologies. He’s mad i don’t ever give him the validation he wants from me when he asks me shit like if i would “Kiss me one last time if you had the chance.” 🙄🙄🙄

I’m just mad af cause niggas get away with everything. Homeboy obviously fucks around with other girls cause he’s insecure and needs validation from women to feel something. Just needs us as some terrain to conquer and add to his body count. I know damn well he just used me to feel like he leveled up or smthn. I feel guilty tho cause another bw is dealing with this bullshit now and I can’t imagine the emotional turmoil of being with a sleazy nigga like that when you actually care for him. I know he’s using her like he does every other girl to feel better about himself.

The whole experience though just taught me to steer clear of insecure niggas. 9/10 they need a growth stimulator, affection dispenser, and a living, walking form of positive reinforcement in the form of a girl and that’s what they’ll use bw as. No, there isn’t a problem with seeking love, validation, and affection from your partner. But why does your growth have to come at my expense? Why does getting rid of your insecurities involve exploiting mine?

This is the first time I’ve felt insecure about my looks in a while. I’m so mad it had to be at the hands of this ain’t shit nigga.

anonymous asked:

So...Can we please have a demisexual Maggie who's never been close enough to any of her girlfriends to develop sexual feelings for them but she's actually opening up with Alex and stuff and eventually realizes that she's actually reached that point for the first time in her life which leads to her and Alex sleeping together for the first time and it's all super emotional and shit. (My grandmother told me she wants me to see a therapist so I can "get over" being demi and I kinda need validation.)

She doesn’t panic when it’s just kissing.

Kissing is nice.

And kissing Alex Danvers is spectacular.

So she doesn’t panic when it’s just kissing.

She loves when it’s just kissing.

And Alex is aggressive in the way she starts things, the way she pulls Maggie into her body – at the bar, in her living room – and puts her lips on hers, but Alex always freezes, like she doesn’t quite know what to do next, like she’s on overload.

Like maybe, she’s like Maggie. Like maybe, she doesn’t know Maggie well enough yet to want to do anything more with her.

Anything more sexually, that is. Because god, does Maggie want to do everything else with Alex.

Late night pizza and Netflix, rainy morning yoga, kissing and cuddling until they fall asleep, shooting pool until Maggie finally can win, movies and books and science and the job.

Saving the world.

Together.

Maggie wants all of it, and apparently – to her perpetual disbelief, because how could someone so powerful, so gorgeous, want her? – Alex wants all that with her, too.

And it’s gradual.

It’s gradual, the way Maggie starts wanting different kinds of intimacy. With Alex.

Gradual, the way she realizes that she’s kissing her deeper, that her hands are slipping under Alex’s shirt, that Alex’s body is arching in response to her touch and her own body catches fire at the sound of Alex’s soft moans.

That she’s breathing her own moans into Alex’s parted lips.

And that’s when Maggie panics.

Because Alex is going to leave.

Maggie’s sure of it.

Because Alex has been teasing – a lot – about how inexperienced she is, about how much experience Maggie must have, how Maggie should feel free to give her kissing tips, touching tips, ladies-loving-ladies flash cards, whenever she wants.

But Alex has slept with men. Not that she loved it, or even liked it.

But Maggie? Maggie hasn’t slept with anyone.

She’s never… wanted to. She’s never felt close enough to anyone, never known someone enough to feel for someone else what she does to herself with her own hands, alone, when she needs to cum before falling asleep.

She’s never wanted to, not with anyone else, but with Alex?

God, with Alex, she’s starting to… to want everything.

But when Alex finds out? That Maggie’s just as inexperienced as Alex is, in some ways moreso, that she’ll probably be an emotional mess – not to mention a physical one – if they keep going in this direction, if they keep taking off each other’s shirts and touching each other over bras and panting at grinding their thighs between each other’s legs?

She’ll leave for sure.

Right? Because everyone leaves. Because Maggie drives everyone away.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, you alright? Did I hurt you?” Alex is asking, jolting her out of their kiss, her thoughts, her terrors, her fears. And, apparently, her shaking.

Alex’s eyes are wide, concerned, and Maggie knows, knows, that even though Alex is amazing, she’s going to think Maggie’s broken. Going to think Maggie needs to get over it. Going to think Maggie’s weird and unworthy and too much, and she should have her coming out affair with someone who can have sex with whomever, whenever.

“I want you,” Maggie chokes out in a whisper, and it’s the first time she’s ever said it to anyone, because getting herself off at night is one thing, but sleeping with another person is completely, completely another.

They’re the scariest three words she’s ever said, and Alex? Alex just smiles, strokes her hair, kisses her forehead.

“You have me,” she tells her, her voice at once a reassurance and a question.

Reassurance because she’s there, she’s there, she’s not going anywhere; a question because yes, yes, she wants her too, but why is that making her this scared?

“I want to have sex with you,” Maggie clarifies, tears in her eyes and her body on fire and her lungs barely working, and Alex’s breath hitches.

“Yeah? Good, because I um… I’ve been thinking about it. Wanting it. A lot. And I’ve been… researching a little, and I… I want to have sex with you, too. I… if you want. I mean, I know I’ve never done this with a woman, but – ”

“I’ve never done it at all.”

There’s silence and Maggie braces herself for goodbye, braces herself for laughter, braces herself for mockery and judgment and all the things that part of her brain, her heart – the parts that have let herself fall in love with Alex Danvers, the parts that have let herself want Alex Danvers – know Alex would never do. But she’s terrified, anyway.

Alex just cocks her head and squints and freezes slightly, but she blinks and she swallows and when she speaks, her voice is soft and her lips are twitching up into the same supportive smile Maggie wore when Alex stumbled her way out of the closet.

“God, you must think I’m such a jerk.”

Maggie blinks. If she was expecting any reaction, it wasn’t that. “What?”

“I’ve been teasing you this whole time about being so experienced, and I… I’m sorry, that must have made you so uncomfortable, I didn’t… I just assumed. I shouldn’t have. Maggie, I’m so sorry. But… can I ask you something?”

Maggie nods because something in her throat might be broken.

“Do you really want me, or do you just… are you just trying to give me something you think I want? And I mean I do. Want it. Want you. But only if you do.”

“No, I… I want… I want you. Alex. I… I’ve never… I don’t get attracted to people. Sexually. If I don’t… know them, if I don’t feel a certain way for them, I…”

She stammers off, because what kind of loser tells someone they love them before sleeping with them? How pathetic can she get?

But Alex’s eyes are light, are happiness, are reciprocal, and Alex’s touch is gentle, and Alex’s lips press against her own so slightly, so carefully, it’s like they’ve never kissed before but she wants to for the rest of her life.

“So you’re saying you like me? Enough to want me.”

“Danvers – ”

“Cause that works perfectly for me. Because I like you, too, Maggie Sawyer. Enough to want you.” Her eyes drag down Maggie’s body, slow and steady and hungry, but also… reverent, somehow. Maggie’s heart contorts into fireworks. “All of you.”

Maggie forgets what breathing is, and her heart’s never raced like this before, but Alex’s hands are warm and comforting on her cheeks, and god, does she want those hands all over her body.

“So take me. All of me.”

Alex grins like it’s Christmas morning – or maybe Chanukah, Maggie’s not sure what the equivalent would be, and makes a mental note to ask her later – and then all thought exhales out of Maggie’s body because Alex is up and Alex is tugging her up, too, and Alex is carrying her to bed, all the while kissing her, kissing her, kissing her like she’s oxygen, and she is, god, she is.

“Alex,” Maggie breathes as Alex lays her down, careful to put a pillow under her head, careful to not put all her weight on top of her, and Alex stops immediately, concern back in her eyes.

“Too much? I’m sorry, we can stop, or slow down, I’m sorry, I just… I’ve been wanting to do this,” she husks, her eyes again raking down Maggie’s body, like they did after she first kissed her in the bar, and the path of her eyes ignites heat in Maggie’s core that no one’s ever made her feel before and no, no, no, it’s not too fast.

Because it’s not fast enough.

“Kiss me,” she begs, and Alex grins again, and Alex complies, and Maggie shifts so her thigh is between Alex’s legs, and Alex tosses her head back and she moans and she looks down into Maggie’s eyes like she’s the entire universe, because she is.

“You are so beautiful,” she says, and one of her hands traces up Maggie’s shirt. “I want… I want to feel your skin. On mine.”

Maggie nods and Alex slips off her, shucking off her own shirt and watching as Maggie does the same, watching as Maggie arches her hips off the bed and tugs down her jeans as Alex kneels and mirrors the action.

“Wait,” Maggie asks as Alex reaches for her own bra clasp, eyes still on Maggie’s. “May I?”

“Yeah.” Alex voice is ragged and wrecked and Maggie imagines hers sounds about the same.

She gasps softly when Alex’s bra slips down her shoulders, and Alex bites her lip.

“Don’t be nervous, you… you’re perfect, Alex. You are so fucking gorgeous.”

“Can I?” is all Alex says in response, nodding at Maggie’s chest, and it’s Maggie’s turn to bite her own lip, because her heart is slamming so damn hard but she nods because yes, yes, yes, please.

Alex smirks when she unhooks Maggie’s bra in one try, and Maggie scowls but gives a laugh that turns into an excited gasp when Alex leans back down on top of her, both now wearing nothing but their underwear, Maggie in boxers, Alex in boyshorts.

The difference in the heat between their legs without their jeans; the difference between being shirtless and topless; the difference between being nearly naked and mostly clothed, makes both of them freeze, makes both of them stare, makes both of them shake.

“I love you,” Maggie breathes at the same moment that Alex says the same, and Alex drops her forehead to Maggie’s as they both giggle, as they both exhale in shaky relief, as tears prick both of their eyes.

“May I… I want to make love to you, Alex.”

“Yeah, same.”

“Good then.”

They have to stop every few moments, every few touches, to catch their breath. To avoid hyperventilating with excitement, with nerves, with new sensations, with overwhelming need. And each time they do, they kiss; each time they do, they stare into each other’s eyes; each time they do, they ask if the other needs to stop;  each time they do, they giggle slightly with relief, with shared nerves, shared excitement, shared exhilaration; each time they do, they press their foreheads together and breathe. Just breathe.

When their need to have skin on skin outweighs their fears, outweighs their nerves, so that they’re completely naked, Alex freezes, and Maggie freezes, and Alex holds most of her weight up on her left arm while interlacing her right hand through Maggie’s fingers.

“All good?”

“This feels perfect. You?”

“I want you so bad.”

“So do something about it instead of talking about it, Danvers.”

They both giggle at that, but Alex swallows their soft laughter in the ferocity of her next kiss, her eagerness to live up to Maggie’s teasing challenge.

Her teeth graze Maggie’s throat, her tongue traces her collarbone, her lips claim one of her nipples. Maggie screams and Alex pauses, and a tear streams down Maggie’s cheek and Alex crawls up to kiss it, to kiss her, before Maggie shakes her head and pushes her head back down.

“Please don’t get all soft on me now, Danvers,” she teases, and Alex grins wickedly instead of pointing out that Maggie’s crying – it would be a useless argument, because she’s got tears in her own eyes, too – and she occupies herself again with Maggie’s breasts, knowing that yep, yep, yep, she’s definitely gay, and she’s definitely gone completely soft on this woman.

She slips one of her thighs between Maggie’s legs tentatively, and when Maggie lets out a gasp that’s more of a scream, she freezes again, but Maggie just raises one of her own legs so Alex has pressure between hers, too. And it’s Alex’s turn to gasp, to scream, and they keep their eyes locked as Maggie arches her hips up, as Alex arches her hips down, each riding the other’s thigh slow, soft, frictionless.

Frictionless, because, “Damn Danvers, you’re so wet,” and “Never for anyone but you, Sawyer,” and “Same, Alex. Same.”

They arch their hips harder, faster, both of Alex’s hands now holding Maggie’s down against the mattress, fingers interlaced, Maggie nodding constantly to let Alex know yes, yes, yes, and when the muscles in Alex’s back tense with her orgasm, she screams Maggie’s name and her eyes squeeze shut and that image, that sound, that feeling of how wet Alex is all over Maggie’s thigh, that feeling of Alex’s body hot and sweating and firm on top of her, of Alex’s leg between hers, giving her all the pressure in all the right places, sends Maggie over her own edge, with Alex’s name on her own lips, but softly, softly, softly, sending up a perfect harmony with Alex’s louder screams.

“Maggie,” Alex whispers as they both come back down, as she untangles their fingers and lifts her body to make sure she doesn’t collapse her entire weight onto Maggie’s, resting her forehead on Maggie’s collarbone, breathing, breathing, breathing.

“Was that okay?” she asks, and it’s tears, not just sweat, on Maggie’s face.

And, she realizes with a start, on her own, too.

“More than okay, Danvers. You?”

“Yeah. Definitely yeah. Uh… was that something you’d… wanna do again?”

“With you, Alex? Definitely yeah.”

But seriously it’s perfectly acceptable among the “exclusionist” crowd to post negativity in positivity tags to collectively punish aces and aros. This tells you all you need to know.

They hate us, they don’t treat us like people. They will tell everyone a dozen times they totally think aces and aros are “valid” to make themselves look good/non-horrible, but in 99% of cases their actions could not make it more obvious their hatred for the ace and aro communities runs deep and that they think this hatred justifies anything thrown at us

The one thing I hate about hypersexuality for me is

Ok. Logically, I know that love =/= sex or being seen as sexually attractive or whatever, and that there can be love and relationships in general without sex, that sort of thing. I can acknowledge that and even respect that for others tbfh.

But…

Unfortunately, in my case, my hypersexuality fucking makes it to where I HAVE to be seen as sexually attractive and desirable and so much more to my partner, I have to have that sexual validation and attention from my s/o and shit in order to feel like I have a sense of worth and feel loved and shit in general, and sex and all that other shit is something that is vital to me as well in feeling like I’m needed or wanted because of my own self belief that I’m only good for that and nothing more.

And if I don’t get that, I basically break down. I wind up feeling unloved, unwanted, worthless, hated, etc etc. And I know that I shouldn’t be like that over something like sex and being sexually desirable, but it doesn’t change the fact that if a partner were to not see me as sexually attractive in that way or want sexual stuff with me (or worse, see other things as sexually attractive but not me, thus making me feel like I’d have to fucking compete with whatever it is they find desirable and possibly never winning), it’d fucking hurt like hell for me.

And honestly? I hate being like this, tbh. I hate it so much. It makes me feel gross and disgusting and shit but I literally can’t help it because that’s just the mentality my hypersexuality gives me and shit…

take a break

hiya its adi (who else would it be) and this was a request and i maDE IT CUTE

i like this…… a lot……. pls like it too…… i need validation…….

also im sorry about the gif i couldn’t find a better one with all of the gang

rated: t for some… VERY graphic smooching

pairing: ethan nestor/crankgameplays x reader, platonic!teamiplier x reader

word count: 1193 :0 my longest fic lol

request: hey fam!! could I request a teamiplier fanfic with a fem!reader? maybe reader is Mark’s little sister and she’s a part of teamiplier and everybody is like SUPER protective of her, but also pick on her a lot bc of how short she is? and one day she gets too close to dying or something and everybody just stops and realizes how important she is and she expresses that she’s sometimes hurt by the jokes but at the end it’s all fluffy and such? maybe a lil ethan x reader?? thank u!! 

warning: a lil angst, not a lot tbh, a little teasing about height

Originally posted by aquamarvelfangirl

 Growing up with Mark, you had always known you were protected and cherished. You never really had to worry about things like not fitting in or not finding friends because he was always there to help. You were grateful endlessly for that.

 But when you met Mark’s friends, you instantly became more grateful.

 They were all so… kind. They were like Mark but different in their own ways. The teased you about how small you were sometimes, which was bound to happen, you knew, but sometimes it hurt a bit. You had gotten a shell to protect you from stupid comments like that but at times it became a bit too much. Besides that, Amy was beautifully friendly, Kathryn was someone you knew you could always rely on, Tyler was like another brother to the family, and Ethan…

 Oh, Ethan. He was something else entirely.

 When you two first met - which was a little after you had met the rest of the gang - you hit it off immediately. There was something about him that made you instantly want to grow close to him. Maybe it was his friendly smile that brightened up the shine behind his eyes or maybe it was how carefree yet knowing he seemed to be or maybe it was his laugh. Maybe it was all of the above.

 Nonetheless, a few months into knowing each other, you were dating. You half expected Mark to have the “if you hurt my sister, you’re dead,” talk with Ethan, but as far as you could tell, it never happened. When you asked Mark about it, he said “It’s not like I really need to worry. Sure, it’s kinda weird to see my friend and sister together, but he’s a good guy and I know he wouldn’t hurt you willingly.”

 And things have been going smoothly ever since.

 Mark offered you to stay in LA and occasionally help with big film projects or a lot of editing and you did, happy to be of help. You usually helped with editing - you got the hang of it after a few weeks - when Ethan and Kathryn had their own things to take care of.

 Which leads to now - you had been working non-stop for at least forty-eight hours, living off of coffee and poptarts. Maybe if you proved you could work hard, if you proved that you could get things done, they’d stop teasing you. You hoped they just assumed you stayed a little later and came a little earlier to the office every morning.

 “Y/N, morning,” you heard Mark say through a break in between songs. You take off your headphones and offer a smile that you hope doesn’t look tired, although you’re sure the bags under your eyes claim otherwise.

 “You okay? Tired?” he asks, and you nod.

 “Just haven’t been able to sleep, I guess.” You say.

 Amy comes in with Kathryn next, then Tyler, and finally Ethan. You take a break from what you’re working on to say hello and greet Ethan with a kiss on the cheek. You have to stand on your toes, and the guys tease you, both from the greeting and how small you are once again, but you roll your eyes.

 You’re talking for a while before you start to feel really tired, moreso than the past few days. And dizzy - you shouldn’t have stood up so fast. You blink a few times before your eyes close completely and you feel yourself falling. ‘Just a dream,’ you think, recalling all the times you had slumped a little more in your bed from falling in a dream.

 But then you hear a distant call of your name and arms catch you and know it’s not a dream, although you want to be dreaming based on how little sleep you’ve gotten.

 There are more calls of your name and someone says to get some water and you shake your head. “No, just five minutes and I’ll get back to work, promise,” you murmur, and there’s silence for a while.

 Someone gently shakes you and you open your eyes to see everyone hovering over you, worried expressions on their faces. Amy’s holding a glass of water and Ethan’s to your right, holding your hand. Mark’s on your left and he’s softly helping you sit up.

 You take the water Amy’s holding and sip, then take the glass away from your lips. “Did I pass out?” You ask, and everyone nods.

 “How long have you been working?” Mark demands, holding his hand to your forehead to check your temperature.

 “Mark, it’s nothing, I’m fine-”

 “You’re not fine, you passed out. How long have you been working? Have you taken any breaks?”

 You pause, then look down in worry. “I’ve been working at least two days without any breaks except to get coffee and snacks.” You tell everyone, then adding, “I just wanted to show you guys that even though I’m small I can do things on my own, okay? I get a little hurt sometimes.”

 No one says anything and Mark looks at Ethan, stern. The Big Brother™ look is on his face and you don’t know if you’re tired enough to hallucinate but you swear you see flames burning in his eyes. Ethan gulps visably and you hold in a giggle despite how dizzy you still are.

 “Take her home, get her to sleep. Don’t do anything else.” Mark says, and Ethan just nods, looking at you with a smile. “Let’s get you up,” he says, holding your hand to pull you up. Neither of you let go once you’re up and you mutter a goodbye and an apology to everyone, which is when Amy speaks up.

“We should be apologizing. If we hadn’t been teasing you so much you wouldn’t have felt the need to push yourself as much as you did. This one’s on us, just go and get some rest, okay?” She says, and you’re so happy that everyone looks at you in worry, because you know they care. You nod and walk out of the room (but not before hearing Amy and Kathryn scold Mark and Tyler).

 Ethan drives you to your apartment and you unlock the door, stumbling inside. He helps you to your room and lays you down, draping the covers over you. He’s about to leave when you speak up from your half-asleep state. “Ethan?” you ask, voice muffled by the blankets and pillows.

 “Yeah,” he replies, and you open your eyes a little to see he’s by the door. You close them again, not finding the strength to keep them open.

 “Cuddle?”

 You hear nothing for a moment, and then he sighs - a light one, one that’s meant to sound annoyed but it really sounds grateful - and you hear his shoes hit the floor until it’s close to you. You hear two thumps on the ground, his shoes, and then Ethan huddles under the covers with you, an arm around you to pull you closer.

 “Night,” you whisper, curving into his chest.

 “Night, Y/N,” and you feel a kiss on the top of your head before you fall asleep.

anonymous asked:

Sometimes people talk about their FP and abusive thoughts because they're horribly intrusive and sometimes venting those and seeing other people relate to that can be really gratifying. It takes a lot of strength to live with intrusive/abusive thoughts and hold them back, and when I express them on tumblr I just want to fling them out into the infinate void of the internet- I don't act on them.

ive been through this discourse so many times im so tired lmao but news flash some things just arent meant to be shared. ever think of that ?? ever think about how the reason theyre bad impulses and thoughts is because it would hurt people if they knew about them ?? ever think about by sharing them and making them #relatable, you’re validating each other’s abusive/damaging behaviors and normalizing them and eventually you get a toxic cesspool that results in things like impulseoftheday that posted people’s rape fantasies and racism and people who actually think its okay to be manipulative.

this is how you cultivate abusers. this is how you teach mentally ill children use their mental illness as an excuse to hurt others. this is how you normalize immoral and disgusting behaviors. you want to feel gratified for having horrible intrusive thoughts ?? why ?? suck it up and acknowledge that these impulses are inexcusable. you dont get to feel good about them. they shouldnt be relatable.

the internet is not a void. by talking about all this bullshit so casually, this culture of normalizing bigotry, abuse, and destructive symptoms grows and fucking grows. i was manipulated, backstabbed, and kicked out onto the street by a couple of people with this fucking mindset. one of them reblogged from impulseoftheday talking about wanting to murder me and my friends bc i was friends with his FP and he had to be the center of attention. and his excuse? Lol.

to whine about how “theyre bad thoguhts but i have to get them out somewhere :-(”

no you dont. it’s not that hard. dont give me that shit about “it takes a lot of strength to live with”, as someone who deals with this shit myself, it actually is remarkably easy to not click that “new text” option on tumblr dot com and make an ~edgy relatable~ post about the latest trendy manipulation tactic that y’all just love to spread around like its nbd bc ur mentally ill uwu

stop validating impulses and thoughts that dont need or should ever get validation. want to feel better about yourself ? stop moaning about how much you want to abuse people and actually start working on correcting and improving your behavior.