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My apologies to the shy folk who use anon to roleplay. I’m turning it off. I refuse to waste spoons on this bullshit for another two weeks. I don’t have the patience to deal with the results of a childish tantrum from someone who refuses to confront the source of their problems.
You didn’t listen. I said I wasn’t going to respond to anons on the subject with anything other than Shakespearean insult cats. I said if you had a problem with me you should bring it to me directly, instead of hiding behind anonymity or libeling me behind my back.
You want me to change? You want me to grow up? Then treat me like someone capable of that. Treat me like you expect me to be able to learn and grow. If this is how you teach your children right from wrong, standards of behaviour, I feel sorry for anyone around you or them.
If you thought you were going to drive me away from tumblr, or force me to stop roleplaying, well, you failed. You will always fail.
These are why: lycanthropelahey, fastestquickestmutant, pxraclox,
dalphahale, ripyourthroatoutwithmyteeth, gadgeteerphilanthropist, shoutingfinetotheskies, iamvictor-roth, archangelswag, veneficusrex, heir-to-betrayal, drunkknightofcamelot, letyoursoul, thenameislahey, clairexnovak, aknightsopure, tinmantonystark, ihatefreezers, nestinghawk, playing-with-the-flames, badassbetaerica I’m pretty sure I’m missing people.
You will always fail. So don’t waste your effort.
I’ll thank you not to libel my actual friends while I hand you the weapons to cut me down with.
See, the real question you’re asking is this: why do I want to be treated like I’m important. You want to know why I think I can act like the popular kids.
I don’t have enough fingers to count the threads I’m waiting on, the people I’m waiting on. The ones I haven’t said word one to, because every day I remind myself that they have lives too, that they just posted that they haven’t done all their drafts, that I’ve not been forgotten or ignored, that I too have struggled with responses, that two weeks (or three or four or six or ten) really isn’t that long.
So you bring me some proof where I’ve been too impatient, where I haven’t waited for weeks for some acknowledgement. You point out to me where I’ve sworn at someone, called them ugly names (‘cum-guzzling whore’ comes to mind) — done more than go to them after weeks and ask, ‘am I going to get a reply?’
If someone sees that as me making them feel bad, I feel sorry for that person when they have to deal with the ‘real world’.
Why do I ask people about responses? Because you people seem to forget, in your prating about how this is just for fun, your constant commentary about taking care of oneself, your psas about not being nagged and how it’s okay to say ‘no’ — you forget that roleplay is not a solitary exercise. You forget that the things you feel, as you anxiously await the responses to your threads and asks, as you desperately admire another roleplayer or yearn to rp with a particular character or faceclaim — you forget that everyone else is probably feeling the same things about you.
I’m not sorry for wanting to be treated as important. I’m not sorry for asking for attention.
And I’m not in the least sorry for deciding I’m done with being the scapegoat this time around. I refuse to turn off anon, but if anyone wants to have a dialogue with me about this stuff from now on, they need to have an account. Anything else like this is going to get Shakespeare insult cats, and that’s all. I don’t have the spoons to be constantly shoring myself up against this.
I had a whole long paragraph here, and then I remembered that you don’t care about having a discussion with me, you just want to make me feel bad.
“The Winter … ” she repeated slowly. “Oh! Oh, of course. Yes, I’d love to go with you.” She grinned at him. “I was worried it was something awful, Isaac!”
His entire face lit up with a blinding smile. “Really? And…it could be something awful — we have to dress up and go dancing,” he pouted then and folded his arms across his chest.
“I like dressing up! Besides, I didn’t really get to go to a lot of dances when I was your age. It’ll be fun, Isaac! Dancing isn’t hard.” Leaning over the arm of the couch, she reached out a hand to him. “You worry too much!”
Derek was a little startled at the sudden hug and rush of emotion, though he caught her and tentatively patted her back soothingly, still a tad bit stunned at the force of her gratitude but glad he could help and make someone feel so thankful.
She shot after the sugar cube, mouth opening in a soundless yelp and came up ready to pike it right back at Isaac, scraping her hair out of her face with the other hand. Then she abandoned it, scrambling to sit down at the table as soon as she saw the plates in Derek’s hands. Hastily she pushed her hair back, arranging the robe and her face for innocence.
After all, Derek wouldn’t know she was kicking Isaac under the table.
Isaac grunted as Summer settled and he heard a few thunks. “Stop kicking at each other!” he reprimanded, though he was still laughing. Children, he shook his head at them. He did set the plates down and then settled himself down, digging into the food.
She turned up her nose at both werewolves and devoured the breakfast. Food was too rare to be ignored while tormenting someone else. It had seemed to go over well enough last night when she picked up the dishes, so she did that again, then hovered at Derek’s shoulder.