#I am simply stating that in the real world real people WITHOUT SUPERPOWERS have been able to exert authority over HUGE TERRITORIES

[praetorqueenreyna]

will never be over Rhysand whining about how his kingdom is full of no good terrible people who run everything outside of velaris and they're so mean :( and there's nothing he could do :( other than pretend to also be mean :( and leave them alone to be mean :(

babygirl u are the monarch of a monarchy. Kill them. It's not that difficult.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Guardian Angel

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Sequel to The Kiss of Life

Prompt: Would you do a part two to kiss of life where they’re relationship is developing and they go to a party and someone is flirting with her and pietro gets jealous?

Note: YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1.5k

You weren’t really one for parties, but to celebrate the new facility, of course Tony decided to liven the place up a little by inviting all of his acquaintances to check it out. You were getting dressed, putting the finishing touches on your outfit when a certain someone sped into the room, leaving a flash of silver in his path.

“You. Look. Gorgeous.” He stated, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around you. “I’m going to have to peel the competition off of you, my love.”

You turned around to face him, one of your hands rising to his cheek. He’d trimmed his beard, you noticed, admiring his handsome features. “There is no competition, Piet. You’re the only one I want.”

“What a relief.” He chuckled, taking a step closer and pulling you into his arms, his mouth resting beside your ear so he could whisper, “I love you, my guardian angel.”

“I love you, too.” You peppered his cheek in kisses before pressing a long, soft kiss to his lips.

As soon as your lips touched his, his hand rose to cradle the back of your head, keeping you close so he could deepen it. You couldn’t get enough of him. You knew it. You never wanted the moment to end, and yet, a few moments later, there was a knock on the doorframe, Steve clearing his throat.

You separated, your cheeks burning. The others knew about your relationship, of course. It wasn’t a secret, but as one of the younger Avengers, the others were still a bit protective of you, even though they knew you were fully capable of protecting yourself.

“Is everything starting?” You asked.

“Yeah, the food just got delivered.” Steve explained. “Tony got catering from some place called Olive Garden?”

“Oh hell yes.”

Pietro scooped you up in his strong arms and pressed a long kiss to your forehead before speeding off into the other room, where the others were, guests steadily filing in.

Wanda walked up to you immediately, smiling warmly. She was accompanied by Vision, who had materialized himself a formal suit just for the occasion. “You look beautiful, (Y/N),” she complimented, pulling you in for a hug.

“So do you! I love your earrings!”

“Thank you! They were a birthday gift from that one.” She tilted her head towards her twin. “And against all odds, he’s cleaned up nicely today.”

“You know me. Always dressing to impress.” He winked, straightening out his silver bowtie. “Shall I get us something to drink?” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Sure, thank you.”

“I will be right back.” He promised, punctuating it with a kiss to your forehead.

“His love language is touch, if you hadn’t noticed.” Wanda chuckled.

“Oh, I’ve noticed.” You laughed, nodding. “I wouldn’t have him any other way.”

“You make him really happy, you know.” She smiled softly, watching him at the bar. “It’s so nice to see him happy. It’s been such a long time.”

“I’m so glad you two came into our lives.” You told her.

“Me too.” She and Vision walked off to socialize with the influx of guests, leaving you alone for the moment until Pietro came back. Unfortunately, this left the window open for some random S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to walk up.

“Pretty little thing like you came here all alone? Shame. Seems like a missed opportunity.”

“Um, excuse me, who even are—”

“Name’s Agent Kiefer Valentine, but you can call me…anytime.”

“Do you know who I—?"

“How about you and I stick together for the night? Get to know each other.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Oh, sorry, did you not hear me, how about FUCK NO! I have a boyfriend, you creep.”

“Oh yeah?” He challenged. “And where is he?”

“Right here.” It was Pietro’s voice now. He’d sped over at the first sign of trouble. “Darling, is he giving you any trouble?” Pietro asked, his face contorted in frustration at the obviously very low-ranking agent who somehow thought he had a shot with a fucking Avenger.

“And who’s this?” Kiefer asked, still not taking the hint. Maybe he hadn’t seen Pietro speed over. If he had, you were sure he would have cut his losses and went off to bother someone else.

“I’m her boyfriend.” He asserted, puffing his chest out a little. “And you have until the count of three to get lost before I—”

“I’ve got this, babe.” You told him, calming him with a hand to his chest. “Get lost or I’ll kick your ass.”

He crossed his arms and scoffed. “How? Everyone knows healing isn’t a real superpower.”

Pietro’s expression darkened. “What did you just say to her?”

The area surrounding the three of you went deathly quiet.

“No, I want to hear you say it again. What did you just say to her?” Pietro demanded, getting visibly upset.

“Agent Coulson, is this one of yours?” You asked, motioning him over.

He looked Kiefer up and down, nodding. “New recruit. Tad bit excitable I’m afraid. I’ll see that he’s decommissioned in the morning.” Coulson looked to Pietro. “You can escort him out, if you’d like.”

“My pleasure.” Pietro tilted his head to the side, handed you two glasses of wine and then sped off somewhere with Kiefer.

“I am so sorry about him, (Y/N).” Coulson apologized. “I thought I weeded out all of the assholes, but I guess some of them don’t always show their true colors right away.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shook off his concern. “I didn’t want to have to beat him up only to heal him again right after.”

Pietro dashed back to your side, taking a moment to catch his breath. “The trash has been taken out.” He grinned and wrapped an arm around your waist, taking one of the wine glasses from you.

“Thank you.” You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Pietro, this is Agent Coulson.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” Pietro offered his hand and shook Coulson’s.

“So this must be the Quicksilver I’ve heard so much about. Keeping (L/N) here out of trouble?”

“Of course,” Pietro said with a wink. He took a sip of his wine. “Someone has to.”

“I’ll see the two of you around.” Coulson walked away, leaving you and Pietro there in the center of the room. The tense moment had passed, but you sensed some of its energy remained. You still tried to enjoy the night, though.

There was some entertainment, so once you were finished with your drinks, Pietro whisked you out onto the dance floor. You could feel the eyes on the two of you. Everyone in that room knew how you and Pietro had met, and what you had done to save him. Every person there knew that Pietro, without your intervention, would be dead. And Pietro knew it too. He felt the weight of it every day, and yet, it only made him love you even more.

His guardian angel. His love. His everything.

The music slowed and Pietro’s hands found your waist, pulling you close to him. Your arms rested on his shoulders and you basked in his warmth. Your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, or maybe due to the proximity, but there was nowhere in the entire world you’d rather be than right there in his arms.

***

Much later, when all of the people had gone home, you and Pietro retired to your rooms. He changed into his pajamas. You changed into yours. And once you walked out of your bathroom and back into your bedroom, you jumped when you saw Pietro waiting on the bed there for you.

“Hey, babe. What’s up?”

“Can I spend the night in here?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded, walking over. You climbed under the covers and invited him to do the same. Once the light was out, he crawled on top of you, resting his head on your chest. He guided one of your hands up to his hair and you began lightly scratching his scalp just the way he liked it.

“I can’t believe he said that to you, printsessa.” His voice was no more than a low murmur. “I didn’t hurt him for it, but I wanted to.”

“I know.” You nodded, stroking his head calmingly. “Thank you for not hurting him.”

“Mmhmm.” He hummed, thinking for a bit. “Do people say that to you…often?”

“Unfortunately.” You chuckled. “I don’t mind. I know the truth. It used to bother me, but it doesn’t anymore.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, looking up at you.

“Well, my powers gave me you.” You said simply. “And if that’s not a superpower, I don’t know what is.”

Pietro lifted himself from your chest, hovering above you. He looked at you for a long moment, brushing hair out of your face before leaning down to press a long, meaningful kiss to your lips.

“My angel.” He whispered. “My beautiful angel. I love you so much.”

“I love you too…”

[in-tua-deep]

Are you into my hero academia? What about an AU or crossover with tua?

UHHHH I am technically, like, peripherally? I watched some seasons of the show like two or three years ago and since then have simply absorbed all content through osmosis, reading fanfiction that has canon events, and my sister telling me about the arcs of her fav characters lmao

so a crossover hmmm

First of all you'd have to like, establish whether bnha is an alternate universe or just The Future If No Apocalypse with quirks being traced back to the descendants of the kids born without mothers

So let's say it's that - the glowing baby was the "first quirk" but the truth is people had powers before that. But - well, the Umbrella Academy was obviously a marketing gimmick to those in the future! There were even comics based on them

In the future, you might find some of those comics in museum exhibits dedicated to depictions of powers in the pre-quirk era, but they're just fun depictions and much less popular than, oh, DC or MCU comics which are also in the exhibits!

End of s2 doesn't happen I guess in this au?? No sparrow academy at least lmao. So, the Umbrella Academy stop the apocalypse (again) and the Commission threat is? Neutralized? Whatever. They decide to jump back to the future

Five warns them that time travel is a crapshoot, that he has no fucking idea when they'll land beyond some nebulous "future" because Five can at least control the direction if not exactly how long

Also, Five is like. Super tired. Incredibly tired. Homeboy still has a healing gut wound, time traveled twice, has been jumping all over the place, gotten even more injured, experienced paradox psychosis, and managed to undo time all in the space of like, two weeks. There actually more than that but we don't have time to get into how fucking tired Five is from his ~Month of Hell

Like genuinely this is like putting someone almost delirious from lack of sleep in the driver's seat of a car and expecting to get to your destination in one piece

But hey, the siblings are like "do it uwu" and Five has sacrificed everything for them already so why not get behind the wheel again

So Five jumps them, and of course something goes wrong because Five has pushed his powers like a great big rubber band and honestly it was only a matter of time before he lost his grip and it snapped back to hit him

So here be the umbrella academy: spilled out into the future like a cup of bad coffee.

Five probably isn't in too good of shape tbh, like they're hundreds of years in the future (but hey at least confirmation of no apocalypse am I right) in a world full of superpowers and Five is like. bleeding from his ears and nose probably idk

Let's handwave a little bit - Reginald made them all polyglots so the squad all speak varying levels of Japanese. Allison is the best at it, Five is second best but tends to use more archaic words bc he had missions in Japan back when he was with the commission, and Klaus is third best.

(Ben is the worst bc he decided when he was 16-and-dead that he didn't have to do anything regarding lessons and maintenance and hasn't given a shit since - but also he's dead so)

So you have a bunch of weird adults with a bleeding child in like, an alley who have appeared from nowhere

so of course heroes get involved

Anyway, the squad get taken in and Five is conscious but like, barely? And he's not going to let himself get separated from his siblings again fuck-you-officer and there is a lot of confusion

anyway detective tsukauchi ends up getting involved and ends up having to hear this batshit story and be like "...truth." which sends all kinds of people scrambling because fucking time travel? Like yeah, it's been theorized to be a possible quirk but there's no recorded cases of any sort of time travel that is for more than 24 hours let alone hundreds of years

"I'm an adult." Five says sourly, "I just happened to be returned to my 13 year old body when I time traveled one time."

"True." Tsukauchi says, feeling his soul leave his body, but like. absently. the way he does when he's called in at 2am after getting off of work at midnight.

"I'm 58." Five says.

"Lie." Tsukauchi says, because this is a headcanon hill I will die on.

"I'm probably 58, but it was hard to keep track. I'm at least 50." Five corrects.

"True." Tsukauchi sighs like these six (seven? they keep referring to another sibling and Klaus said 'ghost' like that was fine and it registered as true and Tsukauchi is not nearly paid enough for this) are not giving him a migraine by just existing

on the bright side there's like, probably protocols in place for individuals who are Legally Chronologically Adults but thanks to quirks are Not Physically Or Not Mentally Adults with tests to determine if the individual needs a guardian or not

though i'm gonna be honest idk if Five would pass the test bc he literally cannot take care of himself at all, has never paid taxes or understands how to exist legally, and also his emotional maturity is stunted as all hell. also like. we don't actually know how much being in his thirteen-year-old body affects his mental state but yeAH Five is vibing

anyway Tsukauchi probably phones a friend on this bullshit because Time Travel Child alone is probably enough for the Hero Commission to be like "find a way to control and use it or nuke it from orbit" and that's not even touching whatever the fuck Klaus is doing (shit gets real once 'dead men tell no tales' stops being true) let ALONE Allison's whole deal

on the bright side like, at least Vanya isn't getting side-eyed that much bc Big Destructive Quirks aren't exactly unknown? if vanya wanted to i guess quirk suppressors exist for that until extensive training on how to control a super powerful quirk happens

Tsukauchi in the group chat: Aizawa please I am literally begging you to take this bullshit on

Aizawa: in this economy? with my class?

RatGod: lol we'll take them ;3c

Aizawa: no

Anyway they probably end up having to live at UA while Five insists on trying to get them home still and everyone else is like "oh hey we used to be child soldiers as well! (:" and Aizawa is like "i hate everything about this and everything about all of you but also like nedzu is making me interact with you so :/"

nedzu is out here vibing like "lol i just don't want the hero commission to get their little paws on these time traveling fuckers, i think you should make then teaching assistants or something"

honestly the siblings are probably like. figuring out how to function in the bnha universe and getting like, legally registered and stuff while Five ferally refuses bc that's like saying he's giving up on getting them home and he can do this

Recovery girl tries to heal him a little when he arrives and he passes out for two weeks like, immediately bc homeboy is running on fumes and spite at this point

also i think on principle it would be REALLY FUNNY if the squad got to tag along with the class bc like. Five is thirteen and the class are all 15. this does not sound like a large age gap. anyone who has interacted with teenagers know that the class would squint at Five and be like "who is this sassy lost middle schooler."

I feel like when I was a sophomore we were still like "freshman... babie" even though we were literally only one year older.

i think the difference between the umbrella academy and school kids would be pretty funny like. objectively the bnha kids are lowkey child soldiers?? like they're 15 and fighting villains but like, there's all this red tape and laws and stuff but,,, deku still be breaking his limbs in a child fighting ring against equally superpowered children for like. entertainment and sponsorships sooo

but also like Five would be like "oh cool when is the experimentation class"

"the what"

"you know, when your powers are pushed real hard by putting you in different terrible situations while your dad and sibling stand by with clipboards writing down the exact voltage it takes before you can't use your powers anymore when being electrocuted"

"hound dog's office is right there. therapy is available to you at any time. i need you to know this."

all might calls Luther "my boy" like one (1) time and Luther just breaks down crying probably because he is starved for positive attention

klaus and midnight get along like a literal house on fire, aizawa tried his best to keep them apart for as long as possible but god damn

(klaus: your name is shimura nana??

all might: immediately dies choking on blood)

i feel it absolutely necessary to point out that aizawa, present mic, and midnight are all like, 30? and the umbrella academy are all between 29-early 30s? they are PEERS but like. the umbrella academy are more chaotic due to childhood trauma

the umbrella academy probably get offered to like. also train to be heroes. i mean,, there HAS to be some sort of track for people who change careers right?? you don't have to cement your future as a hero when you're 15 i'm sure there must be something and the squad already have experience if they want to go be legal heroes

diego probably does at least?? diego just vibes honestly. diego gets momo to make knives during a team exercise and they just go feral on everyone else and it ends with diego highfiving momo and someone getting way to close to being stabbed for comfort

Five might just be. legally enrolled as an Actual Student? But also i think it's funny to picture the entire squad just. all in the back of the classroom with luther trying to fit into a high school desk as they take notes on the laws of The Future surrounding heroics

every word out of the umbrella academy's mouths just make everyone more concerned on principal but like, five and klaus are probably the worst offenders. Klaus just says whatever comes to mind with no filter and Five doesn't get what people would consider to be abnormal anymore like

Five: yeah our dad bought us when we were babies and experimented on us throughout our childhood in order to make an elite team of child soldiers superheroes, it happens

Todoroki: ...have you heard of quirk marriages?

izuku probably has an aneurism bc he's is the only person who might recognize them from the comics because you know ya boy extensively researched the idea of heroics in pre-quirk eras (batman was an inspiration alright???) and might dredge up a memory of a less popular comic series

Five: I can time travel but it is very hard, which is why we are hundreds of years in the future. And why I look like a child.

Kaminari: so are you a kid or not?

Five, serenely: whatever is most convenient for me at any given moment

Mina: hell yeah game the system

they have a brief lesson on astronomy and Luther raises his hand like "ooh! i was isolated on the moon for four years and did SO MUCH research" and then just gets up and starts infodumping like way too much information on the moon

Izuku sitting there like "damn if quirks hadn't popped up we could have achieved so much in terms of space travel. please tell me more giant man who lived in pre-quirk era."

Vanya finds out about the quirkless and is like "oh mood that genuinely sounds like my childhood, being ordinary in a house full of extraordinary people, and then i found out that i did have powers but only much later in life after i had already been emotionally scarred by the experience"

deku: vanya we have so much in common

iida and uraraka: concerned noises

aizawa: hound dog. therapy with hound dog for all of you.

there's probably some conflict with like, the hero commission wanting to get their hands on the time travelers?? but probably especially five and klaus as a) time travel and b) ghosts (the hc def has bodies they would like to stay buried)

five has a pavlovian reaction to anything with 'commission' in the name and hates them on site, probably plays into his age in order to become a ward of UA or something to protect him from the commission a little bit.

(this makes nedzu Five's legal guardian. aizawa has his resignation papers all prepped in a drawer marked 'in case of emergency' but let's be real, if nedzu wants to take over the world aizawa should probably be on the rat-bear's side of things :/)

five: ah, i do recall the inhumane experimentation that we were subjected to

nedzu, who was experimented on: haha same hat! want me to dig up the location of reginald hargreeves's remains so you can spit on them?

klaus: nah no worries we dumped them out in the courtyard unceremoniously like, a while back. how long ago varies for each of us because of time travel!

luther: you said hound dog's office was down the hall and to the right?

on the bright side, Luther probably feels like. way less self conscious about his body, partially bc of his fighting and all that in the 60s but also bc !! now he genuinely doesn't feel like a freak. no one even gives him a second glance. one of the teachers looks like a slab of cement with a face. gang orca looks Like That. there is literally a student with an entire bird head and goth aesthetic. Luther does not stick out at all

allison and shinso bond over having "villainous" voice-based quirks

allison and shinso having worn muzzles at some point in their youth as punishment 🤝

aizawa probably helps train vanya as well with the whole, being able to erase a world ending quirk safely thing he's got going on which makes for a very nice safety net

i don't think vanya would want to be a hero at the end of things though. maybe the assistant teacher in the music class or something?? all vanya wants is to be able to not end the world

i feel like as time goes by, five brings up trying to get home less and less. part of that is because like,,, genuinely what do they have to go back to?? Allison has Claire, but like. I'm 100% sure the first thing she did in the future was try track down Claire's records and found out Claire was like. fine. became an adult, had a family, probably became the ancestor of the first "quirked" kids who officially popped up after light baby. had a good life, died at an old age etc. etc.

they start settling into the bnha world with like, "we can always hop aboard the five express into where the fuck ever" as a plan Z if things go completely pear shaped (again)

i'mma be real, five himself doesn't give a fuck as long as there is a) no apocalypse and b) his family is alive. Like that's it. His bar is so incredibly low and yet his life keeps fucking trying to limbo under it

i just think it would be funny to have like, Five trying to get along with his "peers" and make friends while the siblings do the same but like, in the staff room

also think it would be funny for five to just walk into the staff room and get coffee occasionally.

a teacher: why is a student in here -

Five, sipping coffee: i'm an adult

nedzu like "what kind of guardian would i be if i didn't teach my new son all the tunnels around ua so he can pop out wherever"

five like "hey new dad can i put stashes of supplies all around ua of weapons, money, food, and other assorted things that might be useful if one needed to fight or make a run for it" and nedzu is like "haha just put your list of what supplies you want in your go bags on my desk and i'll critique it later!"

anyway a bnha/tua crossover would be incredibly chaotic but probably very funny

[youneedasoultraveller]

Is the popular headcanon that Nicky was illiterate, stupid and barbaric fitting in the stereotypes about Southern Europeans / Mediterraneans ? I’m guessing it’s from the American part of the fandom that’s choosing to not respectfully write Nicky since he is white while being virulent towards anybody that doesn’t perfected and accurately write Joe because he is MENA.

Hello!

Mind you, I am neither a psychologist, a sociologist nor a historian, so of course be aware these are my own views on the whole drama.

But to answer your question, yes, I personally think so. It definitely comes from the American side, but I have seen Northern Europeans do that too, often just parroting the same type of discourse that Anglos whip out every other day.

There is an abysmal ignorance of Medieval history – even more so when it concerns countries that are not England: there is this common misconception that Europe in the Middle Ages was this cultural backwater full of semi-barbaric people that stems unfortunately not only from trying to (correctly) reframe colonialist approaches to the historiographies of non-European populations (that is, showing the Golden Age of Islamic culture, for instance, as opposed to what were indeed less culturally advanced neighbours), but also from distortions operated by European themselves from the Renaissance onwards, culminating in the 18th century Enlightenment philosophes categorising the Middle Ages as the Dark Ages.

Now this approach has been time and time again proven to be a made-up myth. I will not go into detail to disprove each and every single one misconception about the Medieval era because entire books have been written, but just to give you an example: there was no such a thing as a ius primae noctis/droit du seigneur; people were aware that the Earth was not flat (emperors, kings, saints, etc, they were depicted holding a globe in their hands); people were taking care of their hygiene, either through the Roman baths, or natural springs, or private tubs that the wealthier strata of the population (and especially the aristocracy) owned. The Church was not super happy about them not because it wanted people to remain dirty, but because often these baths were for both men and women, and it was not that in favour of them showing off their bodies to one another. Which, you know, we also don’t do now unless you go to nudist spas. It was only during the Black Death in the 14th century that baths were slowly abandoned because they became a place of contagion, and they went into disuse (or better, they changed purpose and became something like bordellos). And, lastly, there was certainly a big chunk of the population that was illiterate, but certainly it was not the clergy, which was THE erudite class of the time. It was in monasteries and abbeys that knowledge was passed and preserved (as well as lost unfortunately often, such as the case for the largest part of classical literature).

So what does this mean? According to canon, Nicolò was an ex priest who fought in the First Crusade. This arguably means that at the very least he was a cadet son of a minor noble family (or a wealthy merchant one) who was part of the clergy. As such, historically he could have been neither illiterate nor a dirty garbage cat in his daily life.

Let’s then talk geography. Southern Europe (and France) was far, far more advanced than the North at the time and Italy remained the cultural powerhouse of the continent until the mid-17th century. Al Andalus in the Iberian Peninsula, the Italian States,  the Byzantine Empire (which called itself simply Roman Empire, whose population defined itself as Roman and cultural heirs of the Latin and Greek civilisations): these places have nothing to do with popular depictions of Medieval Europe that you mainly see from the Anglos. Like @lucyclairedelune rightfully pointed out: not everyone was England during the plague.

Also the Middle Ages lasted one thousand years. As a historical age, it’s way longer than anything we had after that. So of course habits varied, there was a clear collapse right after the fall of the Western Roman Empire, but then things develop, you know?

Anyway, back to the point in question. Everything I whipped up is not arcane knowledge: it’s simply having studied history at school and spending a few hours reading scientific articles on the internet which are not “random post written by random Anglo on Tumblr who can hardly find Genoa on a map”.

Nicolò stems from that culture. The most advanced area in Europe, possibly a high social class, certainly educated, from Genoa, THE maritime superpower of the age (with…Venice). It makes absolutely no sense that he would not be able to speak anything past Ligurian: certainly Latin (the ecclesiastical one), maybe the koine Greek spoken in Constantinople, or Sabir, or even the several Arabic languages from the Med basin stretching from al Andalus to the Levant. Because Genoa was a port, and people travel, bring languages with them, use languages to barter.

And now I am back to your question. Does this obstinacy in writing him as an illiterate beast (basically) feed into stereotypes of Mediterranean people (either from the northern or the southern shore)? It does.

It is a typically Anglo-Germanic perspective that of describing Southern (Catholic) Europeans are hot-headed, illiterate bumpinks mindlessly driven by blind anger, lusts and passions, as opposed to the rational, law-abiding smart Northern Protestants. You see it on media. I see it in my own personal life, as a Southern Italian living in Northern Europe for 10 years.

Does it sound familiar? Yes, it’s the same harmful stereotype of Yusuf as the Angry Brown Man. But done to Nicolò as the Angry Italian Man (not to mention the fact that, depending on the time of day and the daily agenda of the Anglo SJW Tumblrite, Italians can be considered either white or non-white).

Now, the times where Nicolò is shown as feral are basically when he is fighting (either in a bloody war or against Merrick’s men) or when Yusuf is in danger. Because, guess what, the man he loves is being hurt. What a fucking surprise.

Nicolò is simply being reduced to a one dimensional stereotype of the dirty dumb angry Italian, and people are simply doing this because they do not seem to accept the fact that both he and Yusuf are two wonderfully complex, flawed, fully-fledged multidimensional characters.

So I am mainly concentrating on Nicolò here because as an Italian I feel more entitled to speak about the way I see the Anglo fandom treating him and using stereotypes on him that have been consistently applied to us by the Protestant Northerners. I keep adding the religious aspect because, although I am an atheist who got debaptised from the Catholic Church, a big part of the historical treatment towards Southern has to do with religion and the contempt towards Catholic rituals and traditions (considered, once again, a sign of cultural backwardness by the enlightened North).

I do not want to impose my view of Yusuf because there are wonderful Tumblr users from MENA countries who have already written wonderful metas of the way Yusuf is being depicted by non-MENA people (in particular Americans), especially (again) @lucyclairedelune and @nizarnizarblr.

However, I just want to underline that, by only ever writing Yusuf as essentially a monodimensional character without a single flaw, this takes away Yusuf’s canon multidimensionality, the right he has to feel both positive but also negative feelings (he was hurt and angry at Booker’s betrayal, allegedly his best friend, AND HE HAD EVERY RIGHT TO BE – and I say this as a Booker fan as well).

I have not been the first to say these things, it is nothing revolutionary, and it exactly complements what the MENA tumblr users in the TOG fandom have also been trying to say. Both of us as own voices people who finally have the chance to have two characters that are fully formed and honest representations of our own cultures, without stereotypes or Anglogermanic distortions.

And the frustration mounting among all of us comes from the fact that the Anglos are, once again, not listening to us, even telling us we are wrong about our own cultures (see what has happened to Lucy and Nazir).

What is even more frustrating is that everything in this cursed fandom – unless it was in the film or comics – is just a bloody headcanon. But these people are imposing their HCs as if it were the Word of God, and attacking others – including own voices MENA and Italians – for daring to think otherwise.

I honestly don’t expect this post will make any difference because this is just a small reflection of what Americans do in real life on grander scale, which is thinking they are the centre of the world and ignoring that the rest of the world even exists regardless of their own opinions on it.

But still, sorry for the length, hope I answered your question.

[chronicbatfictioner]

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 13

"Grayson? Are you awake?" the tiny little voice was unmistakably scared. The Court has trained Dick more than enough to recognize fear in a human being, and complimented on his natural ability to read people. If asked, he would say that children would be the easiest to read.

Except for Damian.

According to Jason, Damian has been trained by his mother and grandfather, and a plethora of trainers, to eventually take the mantle of the Demon Head from Ra's Al Ghul. His trainers, including Jason, have joked that it might take a while; because Ra's was believed to be an immortal. He has the magic fountain of youth called the Lazarus Pit that could even revive the dead and has been using it in the past 300+ years. Or so the lore said.

Behind Damian's back, Jason has also told them that both Ra's and Talia were decapitated and their heads were missing. The Lazarus Pit might be able to revive the dead, except it required the important organs of the body to be intact; e.g. head, heart, lungs, etc. Dick reckoned that the heads were removed exactly to prevent the use of the Lazarus Pit.

"You need something, buddy?" Dick replied.

"Not at the moment, thank you," Damian replied, taking a seat next to Dick's station next to the door. "I can't sleep." he admitted.

"Nervous for tomorrow?"

Tomorrow they were going to the Wayne Manor, through a convoluted route that Tim has come up in order to avoid detection by anyone who might want Damian to a. not meet his father or b. kill him to take full control of the League of Assassin. Yeah, neither scenario appealed to Dick, but the little voice in his head said that scenario b might be preferable than scenario a.

Dick never understood men who denied their children of their presence. He remembered his dad, a poor circus performer, who would even give small shows for kids who couldn't afford to watch the aerials - walking on his hands, random somersaults, teaching them how to somersault. He remembered Tim's crestfallen face when he couldn't go and watch Dick perform that day - albeit it turned out to be a little more beneficial for Tim in the long run. He remembered his dad telling him that "whatever little things you show those kids now would make them feel that they are loved and cared for, even if they don't have money. And they'll remember you forever."

"I do not understand nervousness," Damian replied plaintively.

"No, but your brain is giving you signals that make you anxious, you know? Like, you're wondering what's gonna happen tomorrow, and a thousand of scenarios would run to your head. That's... the chemical imbalance is called 'nervousness', I think." Dick explained. Jason has also warned him that Damian hated being treated like a child. Jason has been the only person other than his mother or grandfather who was 'allowed' to discipline him and tell him 'no'.

Still, adult body language and attitude notwithstanding, Dick could see and recognize the child Damian still was.

"Soo... when I couldn't sleep, my mother used to read to me. I mean, obviously I could read on my own by then. But there's just something... I dunno, maybe my subconsciousness just calmed down at the thought that she was there with me. Whatever would happen tomorrow, she would be there, too, to proverbially catch me when I fall, you know?

"I know it's... hard, that... you know that your mother is gone and all. But the thing is - like Tim has told Jason, whatever will happen tomorrow with your biological father, you'll still have a home with us." Dick said, eyeing Damian sideways to check if he was offended or not.

"I have a home with the League of Assassins," Damian stated haughtily. "Jason has informed me that there is a difference between underlings and friends. I gather what you are saying is that I shall have you as friends - as contemporaries - rather than an underling, as you all seem to revere to this Oracle person."

"See, Oracle is not really our... supervisor. Oracle is a really good friend who believes that we all could be good and showed us how. I..." Dick hesitated as he was about to say 'she' to designate Oracle. "When Bane killed off the Court of Owls and almost all of the Talons, I was lost. But then I remembered this person. Through the years of my training, this person had somehow remained in my memory. And the first time we've met was literally a few hours before it turned to be the worst day of my life, the day when my parents' were murdered. Before that, I was playing outside, performing tricks for the kids who couldn't get in the aerial shows. Oracle was there and told me that I was a 'good person' after I was done. I don't know how or why, but it stuck with me.

"I am a Talon, I am trained to kill those who hurt Gotham City. I have done so many despicable things that... I dunno, common people might simply see me as... as a vile person. A criminal psychopath. But not Oracle. Oracle and Tim opened their doors, asked me to join them to help them make Gotham better for the common people. Because they believed I'm a good man. I've been here for barely three months, and I'm enjoying myself. Sure, the fights were harder and viler than when I was Talon - especially since the criminals now seemed to have superpowers and no longer fear the sight of a Talon. But I do it because I know they count on me to make it work. And because I know that whatever will happen, I'm not alone. I won't be hiding in a nest somewhere alone, tending to my own wounds. I won't have to wonder where I'll get my next meal from, or if I'll have a warm place to hide in..."

Dick was really just rambling because it has been a long time since anyone would listen without judging or being wary of what his intentions were. But then he felt a weight on his side and looked. Damian was leaning on him, eyes closed. He twitched a little when Dick quieted down.

So Dick continued, "It's been a while... a good long while since anybody listened to me and not take my opinion as being counted. As a Talon, I was to do as told. The 'how' would be the only thing in my discretion. The who, where, and when, were all decided. The 'why' should never be asked. Here, my opinion counts - except on wearables. I don't know why.

"Therefore, Damian. Oracle is not the 'leader' of us. I'd rather see Oracle as our pillar of support. I know a lot of the Oracle to consider... them--"

"Her," Jason's voice suddenly corrected him. "We know she's a female, Dick. Don't worry. We're not interested in figuring out who she is, yet." he smirked. "Subliminal marketing, much?"

Dick chuckled. "More like a bedtime story for the real-life assassin-slash-heir youngster," he replied. "How long have you known?"

"Pretty much the first fifteen minutes after her projection showed up. Her reactions of yours and Tim's antics were kind of like--" Jason paused and swallowed. "Talia's when we did the same..."

"You cared for her," Dick concluded.

"She took me off the streets and give me a home and purpose. So yeah, I cared." Jason replied. "So how did Oracle became your personal muse?"

"She has... uhh... distinctive features that caught my eyes then, I guess. Can you imagine that? I was like, ten years old." Dick grinned. "Puberty pre-kicking, I guess. But I'd picked the right person, I think. Most of the Talons forgot who they were after the training. I still remember that I'm Dick Grayson, son of John and Mary; once one of the best family of aerialists in the world." he said. "Was it anything like that in the League's training? Do they want you to forget who you were?"

Jason snorted. "No, if anything, they want you to remember and remember how bad it could get if you're not there."

"Was it that bad for you?"

Jason shrugged. "I'd probably end up as a hooker by the end of that week if Talia didn't get me outta Crime Alley." he replied. "that, or dead, or jailed. Whichever got to me first."

"Oookay..." Dick looked at Damian, who was fast asleep. "Think he'll wake up if I move him?"

"Naah, I'll move him." Jason offered and picked up Damian easily. Damian stirred a little but settled his head on Jason's shoulder. "Thanks. I got the feeling that if this daddy stuff doesn't work out, he'll be adopting you," he added.

Dick snorted a soft laugh. "Yeah right..."

But regardless, he did spend the rest of the night wondering if Bruce Wayne would rise to the occasion, or sink to his playboy reputation. Even the Court never bothered to pay him much attention, largely due to his larger-than-life obnoxiousness. He wondered if Damian would indeed be better remaining there, at the Birds of Prey's lair.

His last thought before succumbing to sleep was, at least there's Jason, who seemed to be the voice of reason for Damian...

[greekgeek21]

Percy Jackson & The Avengers: Convergence - the secret it out

I'm not dead! I had a mental breakdown, but I'm not dead! I am not abandoning this story, I promise. Didn't you guys see the part of my A/N where I said that I would never abandon this story, just take a tiny hiatus. And I'm proving that now by uploading this.

Anyway, this chapter is pretty long, so I hope this makes up for not uploading for months. I'm in the middle of doing a bio final, which is my second to last one! I'm so excited to be done with this school year. I've literally been calling my school Hell.

Also, I'm adding disclaimers to each chapter cuz I forgot to do that, so yeah act like you're smart enough to know that I don't own Marvel or PJO. Please stay safe and happy pride month🏳️‍🌈!

- your author

PS if you didn't know, I'm pan so...not just an ally or something.

Ω ♆ Ω

The demigods were silent the entire trip back. The group hadn't wanted to explain why the Avengers were there, so they'd left before the authorities had shown up. The quinjet had survived the storm with the ability to still fly, so they took that back to the tower. Despite the multitude of people with ADHD on the plane, nobody had spoken a word. However, the Seven seemed to be silently communicating to Percy their confusion and anger. As far as they knew, they did not have permission to tell the truth of the gods yet! They trusted Percy, but he had been through a lot recently, and maybe his judgement was a little off.

But they couldn't risk slipping anything to the Avengers, so they settled for just glaring at the son of Poseidon. The boy in question, however, just sat there staring at his lap, where he was playing with Riptide.

He was trying to figure out the best way to break it to the Avengers that their entire world was basically a lie. It was a lot to take in. He could attest to that. He was half-convinced that he was hallucinating when he first got the explanation.

Tony was finding the silence particularly difficult to withstand. First, Percy tells them that he's finally going to tell them the full truth, and then he just walks away and gets on the quinjet without following up on that comment! Anticlimactic much?

"Alright, that's it! Somebody say something!" he yelled. "I can't take this anymore!"

Percy responded without looking up, "Wait until we're at the tower. Then, I'll tell you everything. It's time you guys know." He whispered the next part under his breath, "You're going to need it where we're going."

Unfortunately for Steve, he could still hear that last comment. "That's reassuring," he said.

"Sorry," Percy muttered.

He didn't have time to worry about the Avengers' feelings. He had already figured out how he would tell them the truth. The best way was to be completely open and make sure there weren't any chances for fighting to break out.

Right now, he was worrying about Annabeth. Every second they wasted was one more second the monsters had to hurt her. It was taking everything within him to not make Piper's water bottle explode.

Ω ♆ Ω

Percy was the first one out of the jet when they landed on Avengers Tower. He ran all the way to his room, where he grabbed as many godly artifacts that he could find. He had a feeling that the mortals would want some proof before they started believing anything. He grabbed a couple of drachmas, some ambrosia and nectar, a picture of Coach Hedge, Mellie, and little Chuck, and his trident (yes, he has a trident now). The trident folded into itself until it was the size of a water bottle. If he wanted to use it, he had to say it's name, ακουαρέλα (waterbringer). The greek lettering of its name on the side glows, and it shoots open. It was a gift from his father as an early eighteenth birthday present.

Godly parents are weird that way; giving their kids weapons as presents. But spend enough time in this world and you get used to it.

He rushed back to the living room, where JARVIS had told him everyone was gathered (a tiny voice in his head reminded him that it wasn't everyone. Not yet). They seemed to have resorted back into their first day together: opposite sides of the coffee table, mistrustful glances sent across, and a general awkward aura surrounding the place. If Percy wasn't in such a rush to save Annabeth, he would've laughed at the sight.

Tony was the first to notice him, "Oh, you're here finally! Great! Now can you tell us what the hell is going on?"

Again, a strange sense of déjà vu washed over Percy, but he ignored it.

"Yes. It's important you know the truth before we leave," Percy answered.

He turned to his friends and spoke again. "And before you try protesting, my dad gave me permission."

Jason's open mouth snapped shut.

He dumped his artifacts on the table, motioning for his friends to do the same with anything they had on them. It wasn't a lot; just a couple of drachmas and their weapons. Leo did take off his entire toolbelt, though.

"What's this stuff? Is this supposed to answer all our questions?" Natasha said.

"No, this is just proof. I'll be explaining it all to you." He paused, unsure of how to start.

"Oh for the gods' sake, Percy, just start with the simplest answer!" Piper exclaimed, jumping up, "We're demigods, sons and daughters of the gods."

A beat of silence passed.

Steve broke it, "I didn't know Thor had any children..."

Jason groaned, "How did I know you would say that? Honestly, open your minds a little bit. We're Greek and Roman demigods. Thor isn't even a real god! He's just an alien with superpowers!"

Percy stared, amused, at his cousin. Clearly the son of the lightning god was not happy with Thor running around and calling himself a god (especially when Magnus was proof that he wasn't).

Piper patted him on the back sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, are you saying that there are more gods?" Tony asked, eyes wide in shock.

"Yes," Percy answered simply.

"Oh. Ok. That's fine, I guess. Nothing unbelievable about that," Tony commented sarcastically.

Percy sighed, preparing himself, "I am the son of Poseidon. Annabeth is the daughter of Athena. Piper is the daughter of Aphrodite, and Jason is the son of Jupiter. Hazel is the daughter of Pluto, and Frank is the son of Mars. And Leo is the son of Hephaestus. We aren't lying. We wish we were, but we're not. This is the truth."

Clint said, "I want to see this proof you were talking about."

Percy nodded, reaching down and grabbing a drachma.

"This is a drachma. How do you think we have so many of these? They are the godly currency," he said, tossing the coin over to Clint.

"Okay, I'll admit that it's odd for you to own so many of those things, but I need some proof of magic," Tony said.

Percy gritted his teeth, wondering if it was possible to kill Tony with Riptide. The man had already seen Percy turn a pen into a sword, but of course he had to see something else. There was no way to convince him that magic was real, he would just try and find some scientific answer to anything he showed him. It was an impossible task.

"Fine," he ground out.

Percy grabbed the folded version of his trident and made a show of moving it around so Tony could see that there were no tricks. Then he said the "magic words" and it popped open into a trident. It was still a little odd for Percy to hold it. He wasn't used to the weighting of it yet. Of course, he knew how to use it, but it still seemed weird. It didn't help that the weapon only gave Leo more reason to call him Aquaman, too.

"Is this enough proof for you?" Percy asked.

Tony learned forward in interest, "What did you do to get it to fold into that tight of a space? It must be the same tech as the pen, but I'm still not sure how it gets activated by those words..."

"It's magic, Mr. Stark," Hazel informed him.

"No such thing," Tony muttered offhandedly.

Hazel rolled her eyes, giving up. He would be proven very wrong soon enough. You can't spend much time in their world without starting to believe it.

"So that's how you guys have all your abilities? You are half god?" Bruce asked.

He was always more open to the scientifically-unproven than Tony. He was living proof of what could happen. Some might say the Hulk is magic.

"Yes. We are constantly hunted by monsters who can smell the scent we put off. They wanted to take revenge on Olympus, but it just grew to enjoyment from there. There aren't many safe havens in this world for us. That's why we don't tend to live that long. I am the oldest living Greek demigod alive," Percy said, acting like it was everyday you basically stated that you should be dead.

"That's awful! Why don't your parents do anything about it?!" Steve exclaimed.

"They are forbidden. Plus, godly parents suck. Most don't give a crap about their kids," Piper answered. "We're just the result of their mistakes."

"Well, they should. It's not right to leave kids to die," Bruce said.

Thunder rumbled in the distance; a warning from Drama King himself.

Percy glared up at the sky, "Oh, don't act like they're lying! You know it's wrong! At least have the guts to admit it, Uncle Z!"

The Avengers paled at the thought that the gods were watching them. It was a truly terrifying thought, to learn that you aren't in control of your fate. And the fact that Percy was yelling and accusing the king of the gods was not helping one bit.

The Seven had gotten slightly more used to Percy's reckless ways, but it was still worrying whenever he decided to rebel and yell at the most powerful beings in the universe when they were in the same room.

There wasn't an answer to Percy's rant, but there was a significantly less amount of sulfur in the air, so they took it as a sign that Zeus was letting it slide.

"But why are you telling us this now?" Natasha asked, always the observant spy.

She had remained silent thus far because she wanted to learn more about these mysterious "gods" before she acted. By how serious Valdez was acting, though, she was leaning towards it being the truth (or, at least, what the kids thought was the truth). She would have to report this to Fury as soon as possible.

Percy turned towards her, "Because my dad told me where Annabeth is being held. It's a dangerous place, and you need to be prepared if you're going to come with us. I won't force you to come, though. I would understand if you said no after you hear what it's like."

The Sea of Monsters was not a place for the weak. It would take a lot of willpower to get them all through. He had to make sure that the mortals were completely sure they wanted to come before they took off.

"Where are we going?" Steve asked.

"The Sea of Monsters," Percy answered in a grave voice.

"That's a reassuring name," Tony commented, "This'll be a blast."

"You do not need to come, Tony! None of you should want to after you hear what it's like," Percy said.

Tony stood up in anger, "You know what, kid? I don't need you yelling at me! I am a hero, and just because you tell us you are part god doesn't give you the right to act all high-and-mighty! We can handle it! We're the Avengers!"

Percy glared at the billionaire, "Trust me, you can't. I am trying to get across how dangerous this quest will be. The last time I was there, I almost died many times. It is NOT a good place to be."

"Where is that, exactly? Where are we going?" Clint asked.

The only son of Poseidon sighed, "The Bermuda Triangle."

Tony seemed to be shocked out of his angry mindset, "Wait, that myth's real?"

Leo spoke up, "Let's just assume that all things are real. It's easier that way."

"Is there anything else we should know before we get ready?" Steve asked, deciding that it was best to just cut off that conversation at the head.

"Just one more thing. We can fill in the rest on the way," Percy said, "You need to know that the gang we are fighting is not a normal bad guy. They are mortals Hades-bent on exposing the gods to the rest of the world. Somehow, they partnered with monsters. Annabeth theorized that it was because it would be easier to find demigods if the mortals were already searching for them. Basically, the monsters are using the gang for their own agenda and have the mortals convinced that they are their partners."

"Bad guys double-crossing each other. That, I can understand," Steve said with a relieved smile.

Ω ♆ Ω

The team had dispersed to go get ready, which meant packing a couple things and suiting up for the demigods. Well, they didn't know they had anything to suit-up in, but they were about to.

"Oh, guys! I have some good news!" Piper exclaimed. "The Aphrodite cabin finished our suits!"

Leo's head snapped up. "How do they look? Were my designs okay?"

Piper nodded, "Yep. And we don't even have to wear masks or anything because the Mist will distort our faces for any cameras. The Hecate cabin assured me."

Now Leo was bouncing up and down in excitement. "Can we see them? Can we? I wanna see them!"

Hazel raised an eyebrow at her friend, still never completely used to his antics. Leo Valdez was one of a kind, that's for sure (even if he was physically identical to her old boyfriend).

"Of course. We need to use them for the quest, don't we?" Piper smiled.

"Yay!" Leo exclaimed.

Piper let out a laugh, "Follow me, guys. They're in my room."

Sure enough, when they walked into Piper's room, there was a clothes rack with seven suits on it. Even from a distance, they looked amazing.

When Percy went and picked his suit up, he was in shock. It had a celestial bronze chest and shoulder plate, while the rest was a wetsuit-like material. The shoes were connected to the suit, and they seemed to be designed after water shoes. There were fingerless gloves with it, too. The gloves had air pockets, but Percy wasn't exactly sure what for.

"The gloves create water for you to use at any time." Leo answered his silent question.

"Oh. Awesome!" he said.

Percy didn't really get it, but science and magic weren't really his expertise. As long as they worked, he was okay with not knowing how.

All of the boys' suits seemed to be designed the same, minus the water-gloves. The only difference was the color of the pants. Percy's were sea green (not unlike his eyes), Jason's was electric blue, Frank's was blood red, and Leo's was bright orange.

"These are amazing!" Jason told Piper and Leo.

Piper thanked him and Leo just did an invisible hair flip in response.

The girls' suits were similar to the boys', but also completely different. There was a celestial bronze breastplate and celestial bronze plating going all the way down their sides and to their ankles. There are grey knee and elbow pads, as well. They also had fingerless gloves, but they did not go up to their wrists like the boys' suits did. Half of the glove is their suit's main color, as well as some of their arm and leg material. Piper's coloring was pink, Hazel's was purple, and Annabeth's was red. Every suit had a black Avengers symbol on their shoulders, which must have been a last-minute add-on because for a while the Seven were adamant on not becoming part of the Avengers (they still were, but it was hard to fight it when they were literally about to go into battle together).

Looking at Annabeth's suit made Percy miss her even more, but he didn't let it show. He had to be strong for his friends and teammates. He was the only one who had been through the Sea of Monsters before, so he had to guide them through.

It was going to be a tough task, that's for sure.

Ω ♆ Ω

The Seven separated to change, and once that was done, they met in the corridor of their rooms. Jason had to admit, they looked BADASS. It was clear that they were all a team, but every suit had its own individuality.

"We look awesome!" Leo exclaimed, jumping up and high-fiving Piper.

Percy strapped his sword to the clip on his waist next to his trident. "Yeah. You really did a great job, guys. Thanks. But we have to focus now. We're the only ones that are even partially prepared for what we're about to walk into, so we need to be at 100%. The Avengers may think they know what's coming, but they are clueless."

The Seven steeled their expressions, their teammate's seriousness washing over them like a wave. This was an important mission, not just for them, but for the Avengers, too. They may be rescuing their friend, but they were also stopping terrorists. This was big.

"Your confidence in us is truly heartwarming, Hercules." Tony's voice popped their bubble.

The Seven turned to see that the Avengers were all standing in the hall, suited up and ready (minus Bruce, of course).

"Hercules?" Percy asked, dawning a disgusted expression.

Tony stepped up. "Yeah. You said your greek demigods, and he's the first one that popped up. Plus, you got that whole hero-complex thing going."

Percy scowled, "Hercules is a dick."

"Agreed," Piper said, mirroring his expression.

"I really want to ask, but we've gotta get going," Bruce said, "We need to get there fast."

"Yeah. Where exactly are we going, again?" Tony asked.

"First, Florida. Then, The Bermuda Triangle." Percy answered.

"Why can't we just fly straight to the place?" Natasha asked, crossing her arms.

Percy sighed and then ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "Because we'd just die faster. The only way to even have a chance of making it in and out is to go in by boat. Flying to Florida is the quickest way to get as close as possible. From there, we'll go by boat."

Natasha nodded, accepting the answer. However, she was still nervous about all of the "gods" stuff. Sure, they had met Thor, but he was just a glorified alien. What she had seen in Las Vegas was not like Thor and Loki. That was...a lot.

The group remained silent, unsure of what to say or do next, for another minute. Then, finally, Leo broke the silence. "What are we waiting for?! Let's get going, gang! We've got a world to save! I'm not getting any younger!"

He gave them his signature maniacal grin before leading the way down the hallway. Serious pep talks weren't his thing. He much preferred the sarcastic, self-deprecating kind to anything else.

They went up to the roof, where a repaired quinjet was waiting for them. Percy and Hazel still looked a little queasy about the flying, but chose not to voice it and instead clutched onto their seatbelts for dear life.

Once everyone was situated, Natasha called from the cockpit, "Seatbelts on, kids! We're taking off."

Clint grinned, "Death and doom, here we come."

Ω ♆ Ω

Remember to comment, like, reblog, and follow me! If you wanted to see what the Seven's suits looked like, I posted that on my Tumblr, which can be found on my profile page. Happy pride month 🏳️‍🌈!

- your author

other chapters :)

[irandrura]

I will aim for three posts, I think, trying to give some general feelings on Three Houses after completing one route (Azure Moon). This post will be on world and plot, and will have a mixture of things I liked and things I thought could be improved. The second one will be on characters and will be mostly positive. The third one will be a grab bag of other thoughts on mechanics, tone, where I think 3H fits into the series’ overall trajectory, and other things that occur to me.

It’s also worth noting that at this point I think I’ll grant myself license to read spoilers for the other routes. This is mainly because I don’t think it’s reasonable to need to play dozens more hours, many of which just repeat content I’ve already done, in order to get a full picture of the plot. That said, I realise that reading a wiki and skimming the odd chapter transcript are not substitutes for the experience of actually playing a route, so I will not make any judgement on the other three routes in terms of quality. I do intend to play at least Crimson Flower and Verdant Wind at some point, and that should be a richer experience than just reading, but I probably won’t start another forty-to-fifty hour journey straight away.

So, world and plot!

I think worldbuilding is one of Three Houses’ strengths, and is definitely a big step up after Fates and Awakening. Fódlan’s worldbuilding is not perfect, and sometimes has a few cringeworthy elements – in particular the King Lear references in the Alliance are a bit cheesy – but for the most part it successfully presents itself as a rich, interesting world, containing diverse cultures, and a complex history.

The sense of history is particularly important to me, especially compared to the last few games. I’m glad that the game goes to some effort to give Adrestia, Faerghus, and Leicester a sense of a shared past, full of rivalries and alliances. I can imagine setting other stories at different points in Fódlan’s history – Loog’s revolt, the occupation of Brigid and invasion of Dagda, the Almyran invasion, etc. – and those stories still being interesting and fun to play. I can imagine using Fódlan, perhaps centuries in the past, perhaps in the future, as a D&D campaign setting and it being quite interesting. That to me is a sign of good worldbuilding. If the world could easily play host to many different stories, not just the one I’m currently playing, then it can probably stand on its own quite well. This contrasts strongly with, say, Nohr and Hoshido, which felt like they were really just built for Corrin’s adventure.

I also appreciate that it’s not just ancient history that matters, but also the twenty years or so before the game begins. The heroes did not burst on to the scene ex nihilo, but all come out of particular historical situations. Events like the Insurrection of the Seven or the Tragedy of Duscur give you context for what happens in the game. The heroes generally have parents and families, and those families are relevant. They all come from somewhere, and while the details often aren’t described, what you get is enough to start imagining their home lives, and what might be going on elsewhere in the world. I really liked that and felt it was missing from the last few games. Can you imagine asking most of the Shepherds about their familes, or about the lands where they grew up?

Similarly, the range of visible cultures is one that I quite appreciate. Even outside Fódlan itself, mentions of Dagda, Brigid, Sreng, and Almyra help to make the world feel populated. That’s only the other regions that we know much about: there’s also Morfis, Albinea, and Mach, so the world is clearly quite large. Further, these different regions all have some noticeable cultural traits: the people of Brigid are animists and believe in many spirits, the Almyrans are a warrior culture and seem vaguely Persian, and so on. Within Fódlan there are visible differences as well, so the titular three houses are nicely differentiated.

The role of crests in shaping the continent also appealed to me. I believe I commented before that it reminds me of Birthright, an AD&D setting from the 90s that I have a soft spot for. While crests aren’t quite as powerful as Birthright’s bloodlines and don’t have exactly the same effects, the idea of aristocrats with real superpowers passed down in the bloodline, but which if abused can twist people into horrible monsters, was quite reminiscent of that setting. It’s a premise I’ve always found relatively intriguing, and I like that Three Houses does spend a little while exploring the social stratification that crests have produced. There are some interesting marriage politics going on because of crests; that’s really fun for me. Nonetheless I think the game also takes the right approach by not making crests too overpowering, and by firmly asserting that a person’s worth is not dependent on whether they have a crest or not. If it hadn’t done that, crests might have had some uncomfortable implications.

That said if I have one quibble it would be etymological. I understand that the Empire is vaguely Germano-Nordic, Leicester is vaguely English, and Faerghus is Franco-Celtic, but these aren’t always incredibly consistent, and names can sometimes be a bit surprising. The name ‘Dimitri’, for instance, stands out as being slightly out of place. I suppose its origin, ‘Demetrius’, is a Latin name and thus appropriate enough, but today I hear ‘Dimitri’ as Slavic, which doesn’t fit the established pattern for Faerghus. Still, this is a minor quibble.

The one exception to my general praise for the worldbuilding is the church, which I think is a huge mess. Maybe another route fleshes this out, but from what I played, it is extremely unclear to me how the church actually works. Was there a previous archbishop, or has Rhea been succeeding herself over and over, changing her name each time? How has the church been involved in history? We’ve had the occasional mention of cardinals, possibly with secret identities, but they’re entirely invisible and don’t seem to do anything. I would have liked more details on the church and how it fits into Fódlan’s history, because right now it feels like the anomaly, to me.

Moving on to the plot…

This had a number of issues, in my opinion.

Azure Moon was very much Dimitri’s story. In some ways I like that Byleth is simply not very important to the story. You are not the hero; you are the hero’s mentor. Byleth is more active than, say, Mark was in Blazing Sword, but still fades into the background compared to the true protagonist. However, I have to stand by the judgement that Dimitri’s redemption was too fast, and it probably would have been better to drop some of the church-related content for this route and spend more time exploring the characters and relationships that are at the heart of this story. Azure Moon is about Dimitri, Dedue, Felix, Sylvain, Annette, and probably Ingrid at the core: this rising generation of Faerghus nobility, with the long shadow of the past over them, struggling to overcome the sins of yesteryear and the cycle of revenge in order to build a better world. This story is good and I liked it, but a bit more polish and focus could have made it shine.

In terms of actual events, though, I have to say that a lot of things in the story didn’t make a lot of sense. The most obvious case is probably the rematch at Gronder Field. I understand the desire for a three-way battle there as adults, a rematch that contrasts dramatically with the mock battle they fought as students. However, as cool as the scene is, I don’t feel the set-up for it made a lot of sense: in particular Claude and Dimitri have no reason to fight each other. Dimitri might still be bloodthirsty and vengeance-obsessed, but that should translate to a charge straight at Edelgard, and Claude seems cunning enough to let that happen without getting in the way. There might surely have been better ways to set up a conflict there, especially since the writers have the get-out-of-jail-free card of a faction of evil shapeshifters trying to foment conflict. All you need is for a few Slitherers to deliver false messages or instigate a skirmish or two to start a battle based on a tragic misunderstanding.

Similarly, my confusion at the Leicester Alliance disbanding and the Kingdom absorbing the Empire remains present. I can guess that they wanted every route to end with Fódlan united into a single realm, but in this particular story it seemed strange, given how much the story had focused on freeing Faerghus from Imperial occupation and on defeating Edelgard. Dimitri’s ambitions were personal, rather than the grand schemes to reorganise Fódlan politically that both Edelgard and Claude have.

I wonder if there might be an unspoken cultural difference here? As someone from a Western European background, I am quite comfortable with the idea that many different nations can rightly exist on the same continent, and see coexisting self-determining territories as a quite good result; but perhaps in Japan it might be more natural to think that “an empire divided longs to unite”? The game begins with the territories of the ancient Adrestian Empire split into three nations now. Perhaps, like Warring States of either China or Japan, they must be united back into one? Three Houses to parallel Three Kingdoms, perhaps? The Japanese title of the game does not mention Three Houses, to be fair, but the title is an allusion to classical Chinese poetry, so I wonder what assumptions or resonances might be in the background.

Moving along, the logistics of war in general stood out to me as rather odd. I can’t tell whether you’re supposed to be canonically returning the entire army to the monastery in between every battle or not, but even if you’re not, you march all over the continent with very little regard for things like plausible logistics. Invading the Empire, winning a battle at Gronder, and then stopping to run all the way back up to Fhirdiad and liberate it in a single battle seemed particularly odd, especially when you also somehow make time to visit Arianrhod way out in the west. I wouldn’t be that strict about this in most games, but Three Houses does have that lovely detailed map and shows coloured lines with armies moving around, so I felt that it drew attention to one of its own weak points. Here I think the game contrasts negatively with the Tellius pair, which also feature a bunch of continent-wide wars, but generally seem to avoid bizarre logistics.

Finally, let’s talk about the ending. As I mentioned in one of the linked posts above, I was a bit surprised that there was no resolution to the Slitherers subplot in this arc. I liked the scene where Dimitri asks Edelgard why she did all of this before the final battle, but unfortunately they just talk about ideals. If I were Edelgard I might have mentioned the part where I did all this at the behest of – while also hoping to turn on and destroy – a faction of evil subterranean wizards who have been fomenting conflict throughout all of Fódlan’s history. I might also have mentioned the part where I believe the Church of Seiros is run by a different faction of ancient immortal manipulators, since that also seems key to understanding why Edelgard thought such drastic measures were necessary.

Perhaps that didn’t come up because if Edelgard were to mention those motives, it would quickly become apparent that she has already achieved most of her goals, and there is no more reason to fight. By the time of Edelgard and Dimitri’s fateful meeting, the Slitherers have already been defeated (albeit inadvertently, when we killed Arundel), the Church of Seiros is already shattered, Fódlan is close to being reunited under one government, and both we and Edelgard know that Dimitri wants to establish a more participatory and egalitarian form of government that should resolve some of Edelgard’s worries about crests. If Edelgard were the utilitarian fighting for the greater good that she portrays herself as, she could simply surrender, arrange the sort of peace treaty that Dimitri clearly wants, share all her knowledge with Dimitri and Byleth, and work for a brighter future together.

The final cutscene was thus quite striking to me. By ‘Light and Shadow’, it is extremely clear that the war is over. Even if Edelgard were somehow to successfully kill Dimitri, she would be killed immediately afterwards, and no good could come of it. But Edelgard cannot surrender. It is the one thing she cannot do, that she will never do. After the heart of the story was Dimitri’s redemption, and his painful struggle to turn away from his crimes and start anew, it seems appropriate to draw this line between them.

Both Dimitri and Edelgard did terrible things: he from vengeful passion, she from sincere belief it was for the best. But he could change his ways, grow, and find a new beginning. She never could. At the midpoint of Azure Moon, Byleth offers Dimitri his hand, and taking that hand and accepting help is the point at which Dimitri’s redemption begins. At the end, Dimitri, having learned this lesson, offers Edelgard his hand… but she does not take it.

There were plenty of places where I thought the plot could be improved, in terms of time, pacing, focus, and even practical things like why certain battles happen or how troops get there. But ultimately the story worked for me, I think, because the emotions worked. I can excuse a lot of nonsense if I care about the characters and the emotions resonate. I would rather do that than have a story that makes perfect logistical sense, but in which all the characters are flat and boring.

Next time I’ll talk more about supports and all the other characters.

[quant-um-fizzx]

This is When

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: Reader has liked Steve from afar and, when an opportunity finally arrives, her efforts to be what she thinks he wants have consequences.

Prompt: I don’t know what you want from me/So careless in my company/Oh, if all that you say is true/There’ll be no getting over you (Tearing Me Up – Bob Moses)

Word Count: 6700 (yikes.)

Warnings: Unrelenting Angst. Reader makes poor choices, consistently. This starts several weeks before Endgame, so expect there to be character death mentions. Referenced Steve x Peggy. Mildest smut.

The bad guy isn’t always so easy to spot. A villain, the very last person you expect.

Steve stands, looming larger than life over the disused conference table. Five years of recently unearthed dust still visible on the far corners. Brittle paper rustles as he unfurls an antique, camel-colored map, apparently routing modern comparatives. It’s just him, a screen, and some papers. Despite that, the room feels full, fit to burst. You opt to leave before it does. Turn tail, spin on the ball of your foot, and leave him undisturbed.

“Nope,” you say, pursing your lips and shaking your head as you return to where Nat sits, legs up and feet crossed on her table across the compound.

“No?” She says, surprised and speaking a little slowly around a mouthful of peanut butter. “He won’t do it?”

Your face scrunches up; eyes close not wanting to see her reaction. “No, uh...nope. I sorta couldn’t ask him to.” It sounds more like a question. One eye peeks open while the rest of your face probably looks like you’ve sucked down a crate of lemons.

She plops her half sandwich down dramatically, makes a show of brushing crumbs. “You know,” she begins, eyes twinkling, “I once watched him microwave a can of tomato soup. In the can.”

“I fail to see how that’s relevant here.” It was probably right after he first came to this century, too, you think defensively on his behalf.  

“I’m just surprised you’re intimidated.”

You scoff. “I am allowed to be intimidated. For crying out loud Nat, he punches aliens.”

“I punch aliens.” Her eyebrows lift in challenge, enjoying this too much.

How long has it been? Years since you met him once in passing. Never any real interaction. He may not even recall your name. Sporadic appearances in heavily-crowded rooms, and no mutual dealings before...well, before half of everything went to Hell.

Not much opportunity now, he lives off-site, always gone leading therapy groups and the occasional mission. Still, every time the past few years you’ve heard Nat mention he’s come around the all-but-deserted HQ, butterflies.

Lost in thought for a moment longer than innocent, you spot Nat smirk knowingly.

This is when you decide shit needs to change. Steve Rogers needs to notice you.

“Fine!” You head back out, arms waving near your head in mock surrender.

Striding up behind him in the conference room, you clear the nerves from your throat and, from the subtle flex near his shoulder blades, it’s clear he knows you’re there - that someone is there - but he’s unfazed. He certainly doesn’t notice you. Being unnoticed by Steve Rogers is a skill you’ve unwittingly, unwillingly mastered.

In fairness, he notices you as much as he would most everyone else that’s left. No one’s exactly sneaking up on history’s greatest soldier.

You suspect it’s more of an instant evaluation and subsequent, triaged dismissal: Nondescript person. Location appropriate attire. Behavior within expected parameters. Sufficient security clearance relative to location. Threat level low.

Surely, you’re no threat at all, to him. To yourself...jury’s out.

“Captain Rogers?” You step across the table from him.

He looks up, briefly. Enough to be courteous but remains focused on his project. “How can I help you?”

Suddenly, your lips dry despite the strawberry Chapstick they’re always coated in. “Nat wants me to find out if you’ve made a decision about helping escort the groups next week?”

He leans slightly and braces both arms on the table. Not looking up, he sighs out, “I want to help, but trotting out Captain America doesn’t seem like the way to do it.”

Without thinking, you say, “Hadn’t really been looking for a super soldier to take a bus load of orphans to the museum. Just Steve Rogers: Certified Driver’s License holder.”

A ghost of a smile. He looks up. “Fair enough. Count me in.”

As you leave, practically bouncing from this positive first real interaction, you call over your shoulder, “Though, after you’ve tried to wrangle 150 kids for lunch, that superhero bit might not seem like such a bad idea.”

You hear a faint laugh as you exit.

“You know,” Nat says, right after you tell her Steve’s decision, “I used to suggest dates to him all the time.” She looks wistfully out the window, to a past more than a world away. “He never bit. Maybe that was for the best back then. I was just throwing out names. Trying to get him out.” She says that, but takes a beat. She knows, we both do, that’s not quite it. Not to get him out. It was really trying to help him fit in. “But, yeah, never seemed interested. Made me promise to stop. Stop suggesting. Stop having women bring him coffee, bump into him in the elevator, what have you. So, I promised.” You watch her twist the plastic bag around a loaf of bread and shove it to the back of the counter. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

You look over to the doorway that leads back toward the conference room he’s probably still in. “That seems like a good thing. Probably making him uncomfortable for the sake of a few dates.”

“True. They were good people, not good matches.” She shrugs, a small hitch - one that you only recognize from logging hundreds of hours around her - shows she’s only feigning casual. Quite suddenly, you understand this is a dead-serious talk. “I never regretted making him that promise until you came along.”

You swear you hear an actual record scratch.

“Wh-? What on earth would make you say that?” You look down at your faded t-shirt and - oh, you hadn’t noticed - threadbare yoga pants. Your standards have devolved into If It’s Clean, It Gets Worn. You know your hair’s in disarray, face bare. Not exactly Steve’s button downs and starched jeans.

“C’mon, your ability to adapt? That might be an actual superpower. You both operate on the same compass. Don’t know how to stop putting others first. No compromise. When I saw your letter to Secretary Ross bullet-pointing everything wrong with his stupidass Survivor Mandates? An admin who commits career suicide by telling off the Secretary of State?” Nat shakes her head. “That’s right up there with airport rumbles and jumping outta planes without a chute.”

You really don’t know what to say to that.

Of course, you’d fantasized something happening between you and Steve. Look at him.

Plus, he’s a good guy. THE Good Guy. The Embodiment of morals and decency.

Your room currently has several drained Jameson bottles, at least three weeks’ worth of dirty laundry, a fist-sized hole in the wall from when you received your first reply from Ross, and simply scorchingly filthy porn on an incognito tab. (As a precaution, you’d searched a few vanilla sites too, hoping if anyone ever went snooping through your browser history, they’d be satisfied with that and not dig deeper to find the banned-in-several-states stuff.)

You were more likely to listen to Steve Miller or, heck, even Roger Miller, than Glenn Miller.

You’re convinced you’d turn him off in a heartbeat. Based on what you know of him anyway. A lot can be discerned reading about his life and choices. He is just so closed off - red, white, and blue brick walls. So much in the past.

None of that matters though. It doesn’t matter if you never actually get his attention in the first place.

Looking past Nat at your reflection in the window, you have to wonder how you’d keep it if you ever got it.

Honestly, maybe you shouldn’t even try. Life is barely hanging on. People are either so broken they don’t function or so good at compartmentalization that they don’t move on and just keep trying to resuscitate it, to maintain it.  

“How’s your housing proposal coming along?” Nat breaks you out of your thoughts. “Is it too much? You’re already doing that food program revamp plus the international incident monitoring.”

“Nah, I got it.” You have to. You want to. Anything you can do that allows Nat time to track down her best friend and maybe, just maybe, someone will find a way to bring everyone else back, too.

The skeleton crew that remained at Avengers HQ after Wakanda, after Thanos, had drifted away within weeks. All with broken families and lives that needed stitched up, pressing wounds that demanded them more. All but you and Nat.  Nat had no one and you had no one worth going to. You’d been just another worker bee before, trying to make things right, doing the best you could for the best people so they could actually accomplish things.

Life is full, brimming with grey mourning and chalky despair, and you really don’t need a distraction. Even if it’s as amazing as Steve Rogers.

You almost convince yourself that’s true.

**

The outing goes smoothly. All kids accounted for and - it shouldn’t be the highlight, but it is - Steve has spoken with you most of the day. Usually about the kids and their needs. Interspersed, he asks where you’re from. Who you lost. Where you were when it happened. All the sorts of things everyone has learned to ask so they don’t trigger a breakdown.

“Who did you lose, Steve?” It’s common knowledge, but you ask anyway.

He seems surprised to hear the words. Waits a beat before answering. “This time it wasn’t everyone.”

Near the end of the day, outside the giftshop, you spot him deep in conversation with a rather pretty guide. She scoots a little closer every few moments and he allows it. Her hair is brown, soft waves pulled back in a barrette. Dark red lips. Neatly tucked uniform, pencil skirt.

Huh. Okay. He is very much in the past. Even further than the rest of us.

This is when the idea hits. It’s all at once, a lightning strike forcing it to life.

On the way home, you stop by a drug store and make a solitary purchase: semi-matte, red velvet lipstick.

**

You’re determined to focus on work and not go chasing after him or concoct schemes to run into him. You’re not some errant child running after him like he’s a clanging ice cream truck. You are a mature person with goals and obligations and willpower and if you’ve recently developed a raging interest in the 1940’s, well, that’s pure coincidence.

You are not going to seek him out.

You cave two days later.   

Container of freshly baked (by someone, not you) cookies in one hand, you find yourself waiting for a break in a VA meeting he leads. A curious smile pulls at the corner of his mouth when he spies you leaning against the doorframe.

“Well, let’s take a break. Back in five?” He jogs up to you, eyeing the cookies.  “What’s this?”

“Oh,” you say, holding them up as if you’d forgotten they were there, “These old things?” While you speak, you notice his gaze go to your dark lips. His brow furrows slightly, then back to your eyes. “I just thought maybe your group would like treats?” Suddenly, you feel silly. As if you’ve mistaken combat veterans for kindergarteners in need of snack time. “Do you serve refreshments?”

His rare smile is blinding. “We do now.” Grabbing the cookies, with one last glance that doesn't quite reach up to your eyes, he returns to the group.

As you turn to leave, he calls after you, “Wait, let me introduce you. Please, stay. We’re almost done anyway.”

You position yourself at what you hope appears to be a respectful distance for the remainder of the meeting.

He’s very good, you realize. Gets everyone to open up, encourages them to share and then to move on. Somehow managing to come across as opening up, but never revealing more about himself than any history book contains.

After, he thanks you again.

“It was nothing really. Happy to do it.”

“You baked and came all the way down here with cookies for people you’ve never met?” That isn’t accurate, but you don’t correct him. “I wouldn’t call that ‘nothing.’”  He rubs the back of his neck. “So...I should probably see you home safely.”

Trying to seem not-ridiculously overjoyed, you shrug. “I made it here on my own. I can probably make it back.”

“You stay at HQ, right?”

“Sure do.” “You don’t, uh, have anyon—anywhwere, some place in the city?”

No, you don’t. You shoot your shot. “That’s a story. Wanna hear it over coffee?”

He tilts his head. “Yeah, I could do that.”

Until 2:00 a.m., over cold coffee, you end up talking about pretty much everything except any real details about yourselves.

After you slide out of the booth to leave, he appears deep in thought, runs a finger over the lipstick smudge on your cup.

**

Three days after shared coffee, and roughly eight hours of big band and WW2 research, you paint your lips and slide on a skirt for the first time in years.  

Steve is due at HQ today and, though you don’t know his mission, you are going to find a reason to be in his vicinity.

“Hey, lady,” Nat whistles, “are you trying to seduce your way past Ross’s assistant? Because that skirt might do the trick.”

You run your hands over invisible wrinkles, “Something like that.” You hope Steve makes an appearance soon, because you’ve been so preoccupied that going there had slipped your mind.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain ca-”

“Shh!” You cut her off as Steve enters. He nods to you. Your cheeks warm as his eyes follow down your skirt.

“Wheels up in 10, Natasha.”

“Think we’ll be back before dinner?” Nat teases.

He gives a withering look. “Maybe dinner next Thursday.”

Now or never. “I was going to make chicken fricassee soon. I could, maybe, do it when you both get back?”

Nat looks at you as if you sprouted two heads. “Uh, sure? Not gonna turn down a home cooked meal.”

Steve follows her lead. “Not sure Romanoff has ever completed a mission report without Chinese take-out, but we can give it a go.”

Nat elbows him and exits, still looking at you through narrowed eyes.

Figuring out how to cook in a few days shouldn't be that hard.

**

It was that hard.

You end up baking a ham instead. The air swirls in brown sugar and cinnamon. Nat, winking, invents a reason to leave immediately with her apple crisp.

Steve watches the common area door shut behind her. “You know, for a spy, she isn’t very subtle.”

“True.” You shrug, busying yourself putting leftover ham slices on rye bread that you’ll insist he take home later. “But maybe there’s no place in this world for subtlety anymore.”

He looks at you, the lipstick you’d touched up earlier, your hair pulled back. Nods softly.

“Steve, would you like to go on a date with me?”

This time he nods a little harder. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

**

Steve’s schedule is only open on the many days you give dance lessons at the orphanages. After some shuffling, you get them postponed.

It takes a few tries, but you start to get the hang of this new look.

Little things at first. Subtle. Small. Glossy clear lips exchanged for matte red. A knee-length dress here and there. Belts to accentuate your waist.  

You try doing your hair differently. It seems somehow too much. Too obvious. Too...her. You know about her, everyone does. You know who she is. It’s a present, tangible thing, his love for that remarkable woman. And she was remarkable, utterly deserving of Steve, if any woman is. Or, was. They’re far beyond star crossed lovers, displaced by glacial ice and merciless march of time.

But you’re right here and, determined.

You can hear the echoes of your grandmother and countless wise women, “Don’t change yourself for any man.”

Oh, but Gram, Steve Rogers isn’t just any man.

At your third dinner, a band plays standards. Several couples get up to dance. You drop hints like rainfall. “Sorry, I...I don’t dance.” He shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

“Oh. Oh, that’s okay. I don’t really either.”

**

His place is spartan. Walls dull grey, painted in longing. A few framed sketches. Stunning, beautiful. He says nothing when he notices you linger on the one of her the longest. It’s gone, tucked away somewhere, the next time you come over to cook dinner.

A few weeks in, over potato soup that turned out pretty good even if you were craving sushi instead, you begin to wonder if you’ve miscalculated this whole thing. You’ve held hands out walking. Hugs linger a little longer. Nothing more. Stagnant.

Maybe he just...can’t. Move on. Move on. Move on. Decade-long mission. Try to move on. Make the best of it. Going through the motions, a caricature of himself, of who he’s supposed to be.

Maybe that’s what you admire the most about him. He just keeps getting back up. It’s not that he won’t break - he seems so very, very impossibly unbroken. Too stubborn from a lifetime of fighting that he won’t surrender tethers to his past.

Whatever it is, or isn’t, you can’t stay away.

Sometimes, he eyes you skeptically.  When you’ve done perhaps too much, channeled a smidge more housewife than prudent (and you do question why you’ve taken this tact but he keeps seeing you so you barrel ahead) when you’ve silently, voluntarily rearranged and back-burnered your own work and interests.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but you really don’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says one evening, setting the table.  

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” It is. “I enjoy doing this for you.” I enjoy doing things for you, but not so much this. “Besides, what else would I be doing?” Cleaning my apartment that I never let you see for many reasons. Actually completing projects. Wearing stretch pants. Work.

He sets a plate down. “What would you like to be doing?”  It’s an innocent enough question, asked innocently enough. It’s only you that makes it feel more like I find it hard to believe you want to be doing this.

This is when you realize you’ve convinced yourself these changes are improvements.

Surely, he - who stands eye-to-eye with gods and monsters, who observes the world from a vantage point that quite literally no one else has - wouldn’t be interested in your mundane, day-to-day work. Not the minutiae of clerical work, grant proposals. Wouldn’t endure your ironic love for hair bands that is pretty light on the irony or backtrack on that whole no-dancing rule.

He’d definitely be leaving a Steve-shaped exit hole in the wall sprinting in the opposite direction of the porn you haven’t peeked at in weeks.  

You venture another look. His face is earnest. You recall something you’d always meant to do.

“Well, I think shelters want people to come pet the cats.” Oh, god. What if he hates cats? “Dogs, er, dogs and cats. Animals.” Smooth.

He smiles, a little wider than you could’ve anticipated, and resumes placing silverware.

“If you’re free Saturday, let’s go.”

The questions start again during dinner. Having things done for him, his disquiet is palpable, like his skin itches and stretches over knitting wounds. Forgotten scars busted open.

“You do realize it was never like that for me, right?” He says. “There wasn’t pot roast on the table and a newspaper waiting for me. I grew up in the Depression. It was a mug of hot water instead of tea and getting sent to bed so early we didn’t notice we’d missed dinner.”

You had realized that. You hadn’t realized he knew you were catering specifically to him.

“This is how my grandparents raised me. I miss that sense of home, that sense of...comfort?” You fiddle with a spoon, your reflection elongated, distorted along its curve. “Steve, just because you didn’t get it, doesn’t make it right.”

His head draws back, taking you in. An unreadable look in his eye.

“I know you didn’t get what you deserved,” you chew the words, “back then. I just want to help you get it now.” Fidgeting, words feeling too...accurate. “Or, the closest thing to what you...we deserve.”

His hand covers yours, wraps fingers together, entwines. Gives you a tailored version of his VA coaching. Tells you that the world is what we make it. That it can be good and right. That he knows you’re holding back, holding something back, but admits he is, too, that he isn’t sure he knows how not to anymore. “Please,” he starts, squeezes your hand gently, “what aren’t you telling me?”

Slipping your hand out from under his, missing the warmth immediately, you start without thinking. “You’re here and I’m here and making the best of it. Have you felt…” you stop for a moment, realizing something you hadn’t let yourself think before, “...have you even felt real in years?”

The back of his chair squeaks as he leans back against it. Concedes. “Not very often.”

“I’m tired of it, weary of just getting by. Aren’t you, Steve? What are our lives for, if not for something better than just seeing if we can make it to another sunset?”

This is when you think it’s all gone to Hell. Maybe you’ve overstepped.

Wordlessly, never taking his eyes off you, he folds his napkin, pushes his chair back, stands up and comes directly over to where you sit. Bending his knees until he’s at eye level, he runs his hand along the side of your face, thumb tracing your skin, and slowly, slowly places his lips on yours.

You can’t help the smile that overtakes you mid-kiss.  He pulls back and smiles, too, color in his cheeks.

It’s all very sweet and proper. Nice.

Then you notice the slightly darker tint to his eyes and you, for lack of a better word, lose it.

“C’mere.” You grab his collar and crash your lips to his. His eyes fly open and you almost laugh but you use this element of surprise to propel yourself out of your chair and twist until he’s flat and you’re straddling his chest.

Hovering an inch above his pleasantly, openly shocked face, you breathe out, “Wanna start living in the moment, Mr. Rogers?”

He does. Three times, all the most polite missionary orgasms in history. No complaints. You do a No-Shame-At-All-Walk back to HQ the next day.

**

It’s gradual, but somewhere along the line, he starts talking to you. Really talking. About his mom. Drawing. Losing Bucky again. And again. The Strike Team’s betrayal - his team for over a year - acute and somehow still raw.

Days become mutual, together. Not alone. The kind of unalone so stark and bright, like daybreak rain, that it highlights how alone you’ve both been. Like you’d hoisted the cellar door and crawled out of its dank depths.

One night, a man from his groups doesn’t make it. Car wreck.

“Go, Steve. It’s okay. They need you.”

“It’s strange now,” he sighs. “To have death come suddenly, in such a… normal way.”

“Us normal folk don’t often get epic send-offs,” you joke, lamely. Apologize with your eyes. His brow tightens like he didn’t really want to contemplate that.

“The group wants to grab a few drinks,” he says. You know he means you’d be bored, since this version of you doesn’t drink. “I don’t know how long...” His voice is the slightest tinge hopeful.

“Just go,” you say softly.

You wait at his place. Answer overdue emails, start to catch up. Feel more like yourself.

Sometime after midnight, you fall asleep on top of his bedspread. Later, he slips in, curls up around you. Tucks you below his chin. He smells of soap and something distinctly Steve. You stir and turn to him, palm flat on his chest, press a soft kiss above his heart.

“You stayed.” He kisses your fingers.

“Of course,” you say, sleep-slurred.

Before sunrise, he buries himself inside you, tilts your hips, angles in. It’s slow sweat and sweet, limbs tangled and swallowed breaths. Holds your face, hands woven in your hair as he rocks in you. Never says a thing, his tongue curls into your mouth, pushes your secrets back in.

And you fall a little further each passing night. It feels foreign, but warm. Like remembering something you never really knew.

What should be joy is horror. You’ve never been more scared. Even when you’d watched everyone on your bus disintegrate, driver’s hand gone to soot.

Late one weeknight, you burn the ever-loving shit out of your hand on the stove. A string of creative curse combinations leaves your mouth for a full forty-five seconds. It’s all very incongruous with the frilly apron and (useless) oven mitts.

He looks gloriously scandalized before laughing until his eyes water.

He takes you bent over the island and it is anything but polite. Positively revels in you. Reveals spots you didn’t know you had. You scream his name.

Ragged breaths behind your ear. “You’re so close...I want it.” His words push you over, as you clench he loses rhythm, follows.

Panting, pressed against cool granite, confessions carved into stone, you hear yourself whisper how much you love him.

He has propriety enough to act like he didn’t hear you.

**

This is when it gets awkward. Two steps forward, three miles back.

You barely speak the next day. And the next. Then, it’s the most days without seeing one another since this whole mess started.

On day four, you slide out of your sweats and into a dress, paint on your face, and go lean on his apartment door to wait for him.

Being alone with one’s thoughts is never a great exercise, but certainly not for someone who has been play-acting for a few months. Mentally, you scroll through all the deadlines you’ve missed.

Nat’s voicemail replays in your head. “Hey, I know you might think this isn’t my business, but you’re my business and those kids are my business and, frankly, Steve is my business. You’ve lost perspective and, again, frankly, I didn’t think you’d be like this with him. Please call me. Or, come to work. Both. Both would be good.”

You look up at the ceiling and breathe out. An unblinked tear escapes.

You miss Steve approaching. “Hey, are you o-” he starts, then chews his lip for a moment.  “We need to talk.”

“I’m not so sure we do.” You stare blankly at the walk ahead. “I think I’m just gonna go.”

“Is that what you want?” “It’s what you want that’s at issue here.” Another traitorous tear slides down your face. “I know I’m not genuinely what you want.” “Damn it,” he huffs, mostly to himself. “Just come inside. We shouldn't do this in the hallway.”

You move off the door and he goes in, pulling you in at first, then looks to where he holds you and drops your arm as if burnt.

“Sorry.” “You don’t really have anything to be sorry for Steve, except maybe avoiding me for a few days.”

He runs his hands over his face. “I just don’t think I can be what you need. I thought I could, but I just don’t think I’m...capable of that anymore.”

“Capable of what?” You know. But you need to hear him say it, to rip it off like a bandage left too long, gauzy fibers soaked, enmeshed with tissue. If you finally hear it, then you can...you don’t know.

“Oh, shit, this sounds so bad. I want to. I want to love you. There are moments when I think I could, that it could happen, but it just...doesn’t.”

This is when you break.

No rebuttal comes. Your mind sparks but fades. You can’t help but try to hang on, dig in, your fingers clawing at the dirt. “It’s okay, Steve. I didn’t mean t-” “It is definitely not okay! None of this is okay. I don’t want to hurt you or waste your time.” He shakes his head. “I can’t ask you to compromise like that.”

“The whole damned world now is nothing but compromise and it sure as Hell didn’t ask.”

“We’re better than that,” he says, frowning. “We deserve real.”

“Are ‘we’ better than that? You...you are. Me? I don’t know.” You try to laugh but it just chokes off. “The planet used to be stuffed with twice as many people and most of us - I sure as Hell was, weren’t you? - were very much alone.”

He sighs. Brushes a tear from under your eye. “Part of me...part of me is always going to be someplace else.” This isn’t news. You blow out air slowly. “How I feel isn’t going to change whether you feel the same or not. I don’t want you to send me away because you think you know better.” You aren’t crying anymore. You’re mad. “I want to be with you, regardless.”  A blind rage, mostly at yourself. Probably all at yourself. “It’s my choice and I damned well think you’re worth it.”

His face is genuinely stunned.

**

You both really do try. Make the best of it.

Things change though.  

Resigned that, whatever he feels, it’s not love. It’s affection adjacent. If a thin line exists between love and hate, then it’s a thick metal girder between love and like.

You double down. Desperate, every word rehearsed, every aspect honed to perfection. Let me have these pieces of you in exchange for pieces of me.

In the throes, one night, you hear him stop himself from saying it. He doesn’t mean to, you know it. He can’t help himself any more than you can. It’d be fighting oceans and tides and lightless moons.

On your knees, in stockings and red-lipped, before him. “Peg-...Pe-...Please...don’t stop.” The pain squeezes your heart, musculature seeping between its dead, cold digits. You swallow it down along with him.

On top of you, wrapped up around you, his hoarse puffs beside your ear. They all sound like the beginning of her name.

They all are.

You could pretend it’s your name, a name for what you’ve become. Placeholder. Placebo. But even that’s not accurate. You’re pure medicine scorching through his veins. You’re this century’s super serum, burning up under the hot lights and sterile space a Stark made for him. You’re on fire, searing away trying to be what you think he needs - but, he didn’t need anything to be good, never did - all the while, over the chaos, Peggy shouts to stop.

You signed on for this.

Because you faked it so well, you’d fooled yourself.

Messy. Misaligned. Reckless love.

You take to crying in the shower. Searching every piece of you, you don’t know what more you can change or give or swap out like spare parts, to finally, finally, be enough/real/alive.

In the fogged mirror, you look. Truly look. A collection of cobbled together bits and limbs. Someone else’s lips and hair and clothes. All yourself and your work amputated.  A zombie pantomime of by-gone ideals and remembrances.  

You wipe away the fog again. There, smeared and broken among the watery trails, it is all too obvious why he cannot love you. You do not love yourself like this. A monstrous visage, the good parts ignored to decay, just a stitched-up collection of dead things.

He catches you crying sometimes. Swears to leave you for good and you beg him to stay. Every time. Holds you tight to his chest and whispers he’s sorry and promises to stop hurting you because he cares, he really cares, but you don’t think he knows exactly who is to blame.

He is late getting to his place one night so you start the record player. Sway, arms wrapped around yourself as Billie Holiday sings “You Go to My Head.”

On the refrain, Steve comes up behind you. Places his lips gently on your shoulder, runs his hands down your arms.

“Dance with me, Steve,” you say, facing away. Hold yourself a little tighter.

You hear his short gasp.

“God, please give me this, Steve. Please, just dance with me.” You didn’t ask, but I gave up everything for you.

Wordlessly, he turns you and draws you to him. Sways until the notes fade away.

**

Your heart might not beat for a solid minute when the words “Time Travel” first come up.

It’s the end. Steve doesn’t realize what he’s going to do, but you do. Given half the chance, there’s no doubt.  

“Hey, Doll.” He pulls you into his chest. “It’s going to be okay. This is what we do.”

You nod against him. No doubt they will be successful. Mutely, you pull out of his embrace. You cannot leave fast enough, this place where all these gods and angels stand.

Your last mistake is not going to your room.

While the solitary bird flits around where you sit in the courtyard, a concerned Steve overrides security to get into your quarters to comfort you.

When you get to your room, Steve is there. Looks so out of place, like a dog on its hind legs. His face is flat, eyes cold. Silently, he turns your digital photo frame toward you. Each photo stripping away another lie. A photo of you with your parents, another in your toe shoes, two at recitals, tongue out and drunk at an Ozzy concert. Not one looks like you now. Not one.

Jaw squared, he looks to the kitchen where printouts of old recipes litter the counter.

“Steve,” you say, starting to reach for him. He puts a hand up. “Steve, let me explain.”

“You know,” his voice is steel, “I didn’t go out with you because you reminded me of the past. I went out with you because you asked me.”

“Steve, I just wanted to…wanted to…” “You wanted to what? Read about me in a textbook and try to be - what? - fake it? Ugh, God.”  He rolls his eyes, body half-twists away.

“It’s not like that.” Except, it is.

“It’s not? Oh, well then please tell me. Enlighten me. Because from where I am right now, it sure fucking looks like you took things you thought were special to me and just, what? Wore it like a suit to manipulate me?”

Near numb, you shake your head.

“It worked...it worked so well and you let me feel guilty about it!”

The shame pushes your legs out from under you. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

“Me? You can try to tell yourself that. No, you did this for you.” Holds the picture frame in both hands, the colors reflect in his eyes as they change. Under his breath, he says, “I don’t even know you.”

Steve nails you with his gaze. “Do you even realize what you’ve stolen from me? What you guilted me into? What I saved and I can never get back?”

Billie Holiday echoes in your brain. The song, the dance. Like a miracle, you hate yourself more.

You are carved down, scoured out, brittle bones bleached in the sun.

He shakes off his anger slightly. “I knew you were holding back, but this?” He points to a stack of work you’d let languish. Detailed housing plans, nutrition guidelines, research and half-complete presentation charts. “I can’t understand why...why wouldn’t you include me in this? Were you scared of not being enough? Too much? Of being you?” He sighs out. “Everyone can have those thoughts, that’s understandable. But, you didn’t trust me with you.”

You desperately reach for him, hold his arms. “I do trust you. I do.”

He scoffs. “The problem is you let me care about someone who doesn’t even exist. Who never existed. You kept “you” secret from me while I opened up to you. You think I let anyone else ever know how fucked up I feel?”

He looks at you in a way you never wanted. With grief.

“Damn it - Goddamn it all. I let you in.” I expect him to punch the wall, but the air just leaves him. He deflates. Smaller than ever seemed possible.  “I fucking let you in.”

**

Everyone comes back. Except Nat. All you have left is her voicemail.

There’s no more times together. Nothing.

It’s always been beautiful, pulsing nothing.

Bleeding out every pore.

In a makeshift office miles from decimated HQ, you bury yourself in her projects and try to resurrect your own until it’s time for Tony’s memorial.

You’re not sure why you’re going. Apart from Tony hiring you, you don’t really know anyone else there except Steve. But, Tony gave you a chance and, while you’ve mucked it up spectacularly of late, you go to honor him as best you can.

You try to stay in the shadows, so you’re surprised Steve finds you nonetheless. Even more surprised he tries.

Looking out over the water, he asks, “Are you going to be okay? Did you find a place to stay?”

“Yes.” No and yes.

“I’m so very sorry Steve. I just wish, I just wish…”

“Don’t, okay?” He blows out a sigh. Hands in his pockets. “If you didn’t trust me, I could work to make you. If you didn’t trust yourself, I’d help you learn to. But you didn’t trust either of us and there’s nothing I can do about that.  And that’s a damned tragedy.” He turns and starts to walk past you.

“Steve! Steve wait!” You cringe, your voice echoes over the serene lake. He keeps walking.

“Steve.” You sniff. “Please.” He takes a huge gulp of air and turns partially toward you, staying in profile. Shaking his head softly, jaw askew, he lifts his hands and lets them fall as if to say, “What do you want from me?”

“Can we just try again? Start over?”

How did we meet? How did we meet back when I was real?

“Steve, I’m...I’m so sorry. You’re right. I was more than guarded, I was trying so hard to be good for you. I took what I knew and what you showed me and tried so hard to mold myself into what I thought you’d want. I know that was so stupid now. But I know you. I know you! And I just want a chance for you to know me. I...I...I like metal bands and R&B. I’m a cat AND dog person. I used to tap dance. There’s photographic evidence! They let me back on the orphan program and we’re using it as a template for veterans.  I have yelled in the face of the Secretary of State. More than once. My grandparents didn’t raise me but I spent summers with them.” You choke back more tears. “I am actually a bit of a pervert. That’s who I am. I screwed up. I just want a chance to show you ‘me.’”

You cough and through blurry vision it almost looks like he starts to reach for you. Then, his arm pulls back.

“But what I felt - what I feel for you is so real. I’m absolutely in love with you, Steve Rogers.” You wipe your sleeve across your wet face. “I know I screwed up and I hurt you and I have no excuses, but I am b-begging you to give me a chance. Just let me start over.”

He doesn’t move, still looking out over the lake.

“Steve, please, I just want to show you who this girl really is.”

“She sounds amazing,” he says, toneless. Walks past you toward the platform where a case full of gems and a magic hammer wait.  “I wish I could’ve met her. I would’ve loved her.”

This is when you know. You’re the bad guy in your own story.

[anika-ann]

Think Again (When You Stop Freaking Out) - Pt.6

Mirror and Mirage

Pairing: None                   Word count: 2012

Warnings: language, hella lot confusion, attempt at humour, medical drug use… irony and sass? ;)

Summary: Matt and Steve bond over superpowers and strange yet amazing friends. Tony Stark does what he wants. The usual.

Story Masterlist

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Matt had a suspicion that Tony Stark liked to show off his wealth. He also thought that Bruce Banner definitely was more of a good host than anyone would expect from a man turning into a huge green monster (not that Matt could tell the colour).

With these two things combined, they ended up in what seemed to be a living room for all the Avengers, cups of coffee in front of themselves, Bruce talking in hushed voice with the other genius.

Foggy – after making sure it was okay for what could be four times – excused himself to the balcony so he could admire the marvellous view from the Tower. Matt was frankly sure he took a selfie. And Thor disappear god knew where, no pun intended.

Which left the captain and Matt alone, each of them sitting on a different couch. The silence wasn’t particularly awkward, but neither it was comfortable.

It made Matt realize that he was probably the only one to perceive silence in this situation. Which was really, really weird.

“How you’re holding up, Captain?” he addressed Steve hesitantly and the man in question raised his head to him immediately.

He was still glasses-free, which meant Matt had his emotions served on a silver plate. It dawned to him that while for him personally the glasses shielded people from the uncomfortable sight of his unseeing eyes, they had much more important function. Matt wasn’t sure if it was a Steve Rogers thing or Matt Murdock’s face thing, but boy, thank god for the red lenses. They were a mask on their own.

“I’m fairly sure we can drop the titles, Mr. Murdock.”

“Matt.”

Steve extended his hand Matt’s general direction. “Steve.”

Matt chuckled as the absurdity and accepted the hand, this time trying to be wary of using too much force. To be honest, he was surprised how well was Steve coping. The supersoldier had been blinded and given terribly strong senses; he was holding up incredibly well.

“You seem to be doing really well, Steve. How are you really?”

Matt was met with a sight of himself shrugging, his face once again revealing more than the simple gesture. It’s not easy, the expression said. I’m fine, the gesture hinted. Strange dichotomy. Was it like this with him all the time?

“Well, I’m trying. It’s… overwhelming.”

Matt laughed humourlessly. “That’s one way to say it.”

“But… the Tower seems to muffle the noise of the city pretty well, rooms seemed rather soundproof. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you to live like this all the time…” he hesitated, as if he was reluctant to say more. “I… I think that… the body remembers a way to cope though. When Foggy came to the apartment… the world fell silent. Not completely, just… it… he grounded me.”

Matt watched him struggling to explain the feelings, the soft note of awe and admiration in his voice, and couldn’t help but relate – to the struggle, not the admiration. That part was just… unexpected. He wasn’t used to people acting like this. Foggy could never understand, no matter how much he tried; and everyone else… it was just waves and waves of pity washing over him whenever he mentioned things weren’t always easy; so as a rule, he tried his best not to.

But Steve seemed simply astonished. Matt wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well, I guess there’s something true about that. I… people help with that. If I can focus on something or someone, it gets easier. Foggy… he is a good thing to focus on. Just… please don’t mention it in front of him.”

Steve looked like he was considering the pros and cons for a minute – lying and keeping secrets versus the consequences of telling the truth – , and then nodded.  

“Well, I’m just grateful. It’s none of my business.”

Lots of things aren’t, Matt heard despite no more words spoken.

He smiled at Steve with relief and gratitude even though he knew the man couldn’t see it. “Thanks, Steve.”

The soft smile was thrown right back at him.                                        

“What about you? How you’re holding up? I’m not exactly… great at interpreting all the info I’m being offered…”

Matt huffed. “To be honest, I think I understand what you mean by the muscle memory thing. I knew Doctor Banner was a friend of some sort when he approached me. It’s all… weird.”

Matt knew he didn’t need to say that he meant mainly the ability to see – Steve read between the lines.

“Imagine that,” Steve hummed vaguely, lowering his sightless gaze.

“I guess I just want this to be over with,” Matt admitted, feeling the tiredness settle in his – Steve’s – bones.

At that, Steve raised his head again, his eyes somewhat searching. Curious, but not noisy. Compassionate, but not pitying. Understanding, Matt realized.

Steve opened his mouth several times without a sound coming out and then spoke in soft reluctant voice.

“I was given this opportunity to… to serve my country despite being sick most of my life and I…, finally be able to fight for what I believed was right was all I could want. I had something I could never hope to have. And after the transformation… I had this recurrent dream, almost every night – still have it sometimes. I dream that wake up and… I’m back to my old self. It only gets worse with time. The longer I live like this… the worse the dream about relapsing is becoming. And it’s not the fact itself that I’m small and helpless… it’s that I am small and helpless again.”

Matt’s lips parted, releasing a shaky exhale under Steve’s genuine eyes – well, his own, whatever. His heart was hammering in his ribcage, the world swaying off its place slightly.

How… how was he able to get to the very core of the problem? How— how could he know exactly the worst part? Because he knows it, a tiny voice whispered in Matt’s head. He knows it.

Matt had no doubt Steve was telling the truth – and he finally understood what Foggy meant when saying that Matt was a terrible liar, seriously, Matt Murdock’s face screamed truth right now and it wasn’t hard to imagine that lie would be just as clear.

Matt fought against the lump in his throat, swallowing loudly.

“Yeah,” he rasped, watching the corner of Steve’s lips rise in a lopsided sad smile. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

Or once, Matt was sure of his own feelings. He didn’t hate the ability to see. He was in peace with not seeing too, for most part.

But he despised the limited period he was given the great opportunity, only to be robbed of it. Again.

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“So, I have an idea.”

“That can’t be good,” Matt murmured under his breath, making Steve chuckle silently. In response, Matt’s heart skipped a beat, probably not expecting to be heard.

Tony was oblivious to the note, so Steve assumed Matt truly spoke too low for anyone to hear it. Except for a guy with superhearing, who was now in the position of being surprise surprised by being heard. Steve thought that maybe, one day he would be able to truly laugh at that.

“It’s very scientifically advanced so I’m gonna say it in plain English…” Foggy, Steve and Matt all held their breaths, while Bruce… Steve was pretty sure he rolled his eyes, even though he had no way of knowing that. “You should go to sleep.”

“I beg your pardon?” Matt blurted out.

Yeah, what he said. When had Steve zoned out enough to ignore Bruce and Tony talking anyway?

“Hey, I don’t want to explain it in science talk-“

“There’s zero ‘science talk’. We just think that if the artefact affected you in sleep, it might activate again when your consciousness is in the same state as it was during the first exchange,” Bruce cut him off and Steve could feel the shuffle of air as Tony gave his friend an annoyed look.

“Now you’re just oversimplifying-“

“Tony, that was a thinking of a five year old reading enough fairy tales-“

“I don’t think I can fall asleep now and like this,” Matt sighed, interrupting the bicker.

“I kinda agree,” Steve confirmed hesitantly.

“Yeah, well, in this century, we have those things called sleeping-pills,” Tony informed them sassily and Steve crossed his arms on his chest. Yeah, sure, except he would need a dose for an elephant. Or, well, Matt would need it. Steve’s actual body would. Whatever.

“I don’t like drugs.”

“Yeah, drugs are bad,” Foggy stated and Steve knew he crossed his arms as well. “I mean… he really doesn’t like it.”

“It messes with me for days. Call it oversensitivity…” Matt explained reluctantly, his voice sheepish and clearly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, well…”

Too late, Steve smelled something that set all alarm bells in his head off. It was a strange smell, artificial, making his stomach turn up. Before he could locate the source, he felt a sting on his neck. His hand immediately went to cover the place, strange warmth spreading through his body.

“HEY!” three voices protested loudly and Steve’s world swayed. His fingers touched a small object sticking from his skin, pulling it out with another sting.

With mind cloudy and his limbs swimming, he identified it painfully slowly. A tranquillizer arrow.

Tony had never meant to ask them if they wanted to go to sleep. Of course he hadn’t.

Steve didn’t even manage to curse. The world turned upside down and the last words he heard were ‘sorry pal, you’ll need like ten of these.’

And then the world went silent.

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“When I wake up – if I’m gonna wake up like myself again –, I‘m gonna ask someone to punch you,” Matt growled, watching his own body crumbled on the couch. That son of a bitch-

Tony Stark didn’t even have the decency to look guilty and shrugged.

“Sure thing, DD. Or MMM? Gotta love these alliterations. Anyway, you might wanna sit down again. It sucks to drag Cap’s body somewhere. Lots of muscles. Which is why we need to give you so much. Fast metabolism and shit.”

“Matt, I volunteer,” Foggy informed him stiffly and it took Matt a moment to realize what ‘call to arms’ Foggy was responding to.

“I think I’ll just find him when my senses are back too normal and hit him myself. It would be more satisfying,” Matt hissed, but sat down on the couch, getting ready to be dosed with what would probably be enough medication to bring down a horse. Or an elephant. Or the whole herd of elephants.

“Kinky.”

“Tony, please…” Doctor Banner cooled down his sassy friend, his hand massaging the bridge of his nose. “Just… do it, since you already set the plan in motion without, you know, asking for permission.”

“Non-consensual drug use. You’re drugging him against his will. Matt, you can have the punch. I’ll just sue his ass off.”

Despite the annoyance and anger, Matt couldn’t help but grin at his best friend’s note.

“You just got yourself a deal, counsellor.”

“Cute. Now sweet dreams, Cinderella.”

“I’m pretty sure that was Sleeping Beauty…” Matt murmured and it was the last coherent sentence he was able to say, because next thing he knew, he felt several stings, warmth enveloped him in a blanket and his eyelids started feeling too heavy. He couldn’t fight the natural response of Steve’s body and his own – it didn’t want to yield.

On the other hand, the amount of drugs that had just been pumped into him was way too much to handle.

Foggy was kind enough to hover over him; so it was him what Matt potentially saw as the last thing and not the smirk on Tony Stark’s face.

And then… darkness greeted him like an old friend, painting everything in black.

Still, he could hear the annoying voice of the billionaire. “Well, at least he admitted he was a princess…”

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Part 7

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart​

@igobypoet​

[yuzuruspoohsan]

[Source to Anthony Kwan to the photograph taken above]

Right now, Hong Kongers are protesting against China’s attempts to pass the Extradition laws in Hong Kong, which will potentially give China the power to “extradite political opponents without local legislative oversight” outside of their immediate domain (mainland China).  [Source, The Washington Post]

That means China will be able to entrench and rid of Hong Kong politicians, protesters, and activists who are against China’s political invasion. China will be able to dismantle Hong Kong’s political independence more easily for if the Extradition laws are passed, Hong Kong would be forced to hand over such individuals (more or less deemed “enemies of the state” by China’s government) to China and be punished by China’s terms without any say by Hong Kong’s jurisdiction. 

I have decided not to put the more graphic images and videos on to this post because I understand not everyone is able to stomach blood or want to reblog an “unpretty post.” But please give me a bit more of your time if you would like to gain something out of reading this as it appears everyone nowadays likes to be cratered to and have a gain in everything.

Here are links to articles that give a great overview of the stakes and what is going on.

The Washington Post: 1 2  The Guardian: 1 Bloomberg News: 1 CNN: x Hong Kong Watch @ twitter.

CBSN has a great news video that gives you a sense of what is going on:

In light of this issue, I’ll be the first one to say, I am guilty of turning a blind eye to international issues occurring in the world, but this time...I felt something slap me in the face.

I was first made aware of this issue by watching my friend post videos onto her instastory, and I’m just laying in my bed watching videos and seeing images of protesters getting bloodied by riot SWAT sent to dissipate peaceful protesters. They were exhausted, but not from getting beaten up, tear gassed, and being threatened by the SWAT -- they were exhausted because no matter how much they tried to reason with people behind the plastic wall, they were unheard. 

Hong Kong wants to keep their civil freedoms and they know that China will take them away. As someone, myself, who has visited Mainland China will tell you, the censorship over there is not to be trifled with. You can’t access Tumblr, Google, Google Maps (any apps that run on Google’s interface), Facebook, Youtube without a good and reliable VPN. China does this to make it easier to control over the people they govern and feed them the information they want to. China will ban keywords and phases from web searches if they find it necessary. For example, they recently banned Winnie-the-pooh from web searches because a comparative meme was undermining Xi Jinping’s image (China’s President). Laughable as that may sound, it goes to show how far China’s government will go in order to maintain their image, their dominance, and their power over people.

Videos of violence subjected upon Hong Kong protesters are numerous, but what hit home to me was when one mom finally stood up against a throng of SWAT, just her in this dark grey and yellow mist from all the gas that had been released....just her crying in the middle of the empty road and torn.....and screaming and pleading to the SWAT to stop. She was so emotionally broken down, but she was still trying to get some sense into the SWAT. [video with translations]  And I cannot stop my tears from rolling down my face every time I watch it. And it’s not because I understand Cantonese that makes it more heart wrenching, it’s because I too have been in a similar state like hers when I’ve been so emotionally drained in an argument that all I have left is the volume of my voice -- yelling in frustration because reason and words no longer reaches the other side.  It must have been even more taxing on her throat considering how hazy the air is from gas, how dried out it must be. How much strength and anguish must one feel to stand up to yell despite your safety, to stand up against something you know is wrong and get shot point blank. Rubber bullets or not, the protesters have done nothing to deserve that sort of treatment.

I could not ignore her pleads. She knocked sense into me, those kids she mentioned, I could have been one of them. I cried. I cried because a part of me felt like she was defending me too. She isn’t anyone special, guys. She could be anyone we know right now defending for civil rights and defending you because she cares.  Perhaps I am readily rallied to the cause in understanding how important that part of the world is to me, and I admit my own hypocrisy. I’ve ignored other causes before, and “oh” at things....but I can now see how these issues can hit closer to home than you would like to think.

Hong Kong is an example that your liberties can be compromised anywhere in the world even in first-world nations.

What you must understand is.... Although Hong Kong is not a nation, it has had it’s own government and laws that make it possible for them to govern themselves and keep their own civil liberties, which is a stark contrast from how China governs their nation, which has heavy censorship and will take necessary action to maintain a firm grip and control over its people. China had already started to overstepped the political boundaries before the Extradition Laws, but now they’re at a huge turning point.

Let me put things into perspective, if you live somewhere largely metropolitan or a place that has democracy, imagine everything around your city or town is not a democracy and is threatening to take away your civil liberties with a law that will cut through your government proceedings. And so you attempt to overturn this with all the power you still retain, but your city is now under martial law. That is essentially what Hong Kong is like right now.

Hong Kong is a very metropolitan place like New York City, and in some ways even more metropolitan and stream lined than the Big Apple (I can say this cause I’ve visited Hong Kong, and live in NYC). Hong Kong also has many businesses and a strong presence in the global market. But now imagine this liberal and booming spot like New York City being swallowed up by a communist nation, who could fathom such thing? But it is very real and happening right now. It is almost too surreal, right? But Big Brother is watching.

To go back to what I promised you earlier, what do you have to gain from reading what is going on? 

The answer is: R E S I S T A N C E

We may not be able to fly to Hong Kong and join them in their fight, but I don’t want innocent people to keep getting hurt without being heard. China has a media black out on the issue within their nation because they don’t want their own people to turn against them, and if they could, they would have wanted to black out media internationally. 

In addition to hurting protesters:

Yes, they’re arresting protesters in hospitals.

And China is going to great lengths to do this because passing the Extradition Laws will be very beneficial. 

In educating yourself in the issue, you have become more aware and less likely to turn away from a future issue that is similar. I understand that it is incredibly emotionally taxing to emphasize with a cause that is quickly becoming violent, but you do yourself a personal favor in resisting evils rampant in society and in the world.

When there’s a bully in school and you see them hurting someone smaller than them, but that smaller person keeps getting up over and over again to get beaten down. Wouldn’t you want that smaller person to win for sticking up for themselves?

But all right, let’s say you too are weaker than that bully and you can’t help the victim, what can you do?

You enlist help from other people. You tell other people about what is going on. You rally help from other people. Even if that bully’s parent is the principal for that school and is a complete tyrant, who can defend the tyrant from the scorn and criticism from everyone around them? 

China’s government is that bully. It’s wrong to act that way and they know it and they want you to remain ignorant of it and turn a blind eye. They want you, the international viewer, to look away from they’re doing and what business they have with their own people. They don’t want you to judge to them. They don’t want your opinion. They don’t want you to intervene in what they’re building up to. And China’s government is not an evil entity per say, but their intentions have definitely hurt people and continually oppressed them. The evil I’m referring to specifically is what is latent within the intention of said oppression and the result from it -- that terrible core infesting within the intention. 

Here’s what I want you to take away from reading this far: I want you to become someone more aware of what is going on and be in on the resistance. You may not think you play a role, but pressure from a mass of people, even a silent one, can be a true presence and menace to a regime that is trying to scramble to rise as a superpower in the world. I want that bully, that system to feel the pressure of the world staring at it and feel that pressure pressed on them, applied onto them with a even firmer stance than their own, to halt its control and pressure them to change. 

But even more so....I don’t want the protesters’ cries to go unheard. They are fighting and the worst thing that could happen to them now is not being jailed, but to be jailed or killed without any one knowing why because no one gave a damn. That would be the greatest dishonor to what they are trying to accomplish.

It is because we are privileged enough to sit here comfortably behind a screen that we should give a damn. Because we are privileged to live in a nation that still allows us to have the freedom of speech that we must see to it that these protesters are heard and acknowledged in their attempts to keep the same rights we simply just have. 

I know that I do not have a very large following, but I cannot sit around and do nothing about it. With the little influence that I have, I hope to spread this news to at least 10 people and then that ten can spread to 2 or 5 or another 10, but to remain silent would definitely be the wrong choice.

So, I’m not writing this as to plead, but for you to take one step back to look at the larger picture and then take one step forward towards a collective path for peace and civil rights for all.  Just knowing what they stand for is already a big step forward. Because one day when you’re in pain you’ll want someone to be there to help as well. If you’re fighting for a good cause, you would want someone to hear you too because that would mean your efforts were acknowledged.

And Hong Kong isn’t the only one being targeted by China’s government, there’s still Taiwan which is another state/nation that has been trying to keep China’s government away from taking its political Independence. China also monitors ethnic minorities within mainland China in order to keep order and the status quo in check. There’s a lot at stake for millions of people and we’re not completely isolated from their issue. Because again...China is a rising superpower and they have some skeletons in their closet that they don’t want outsiders to dish out and criticize them for.

Finally, I will end with this post with a video from laowhy86, an American Youtuber who lives in China whose sentiments are similar to my own. He elaborates more on why the protest is crucial and how scary the situation is by  discussing the Tienanmen Square incident:

Feel free to comment, add links to the post that could help others understand more of what is going on, like, and reblog.

Or you can reblog this post that is more pleasant to look at if you don’t want this hefty post on your blog.

Thank you for your time, I hope you have gained some more sympathy and empathy....and hope in this world because I have so much respect for the Hong Kong protesters. I certainly feel more grateful for the rights I have while others struggle to keep theirs.

Edit: I added this video from serpentza who elaborates more on the implications and how surreal it is for a place like Hong Kong, one of the most influential economic hubs in the world, is being taken and wither away by China’s Government:

[dougbeamer]

Brightburn - Movie Review *Spoilers*

I saw this movie almost a month ago. I tried doing a video review for it several weeks ago and idk...nothing stuck. What I wanted to say just felt like it could be the same as everyone else. I just don’t think I’m gonna add anything new to the consensus.

But then I got thinking about it again for some reason I felt a desire to talk about it again.

So! Let's start with the plot and what this movie is about.

Brightburn is a film that came out in May of 2019 and tells the story of a family Tori and Kyle Breyer trying to have a kid. By a miraculous miracle, a spaceship crashlands on their farm and they adopt the baby boy inside naming him, Brandon. Many years later the family begins experiencing weird things with their now 12-year-old child. He sleepwalks to the barn where the ship he crashed landed in mumbling a strange language and trying to get inside. 

Eventually, Brandon Breyer’s powers take effect and he starts using them to kill people rather than saving people. Brandon Breyer’s is on the full path to becoming a supervillain.

With the plot, in a nutshell, I can tell you there isn’t much more to it than that. If there is anything that I don’t like when making my reviews is explaining the plot. I know I need to in order to give everyone a heads up of what I am talking about but I never seem to talk about the plot specifically enough. I never actually describe it well. My store manager had an opportunity to see this film and said it pretty simply. “It’s like Superman meets Annabell”

While I never have seen Annabell it seems like an apt description. Annabell seems like a small film in scale and terrorizes folks who come close to it. The stakes are personal, intense and not much beyond what you are given. Of course, Superman is the spot on the comparison you can give because this film screams, “WE ARE SHOWING WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF SUPERMAN WENT EVIL!” as a concept piece.

Every time I think about this film the less I like about it. 

I know there are some people out there that probably L-O-V-E this film and can’t wait to see what is next in this obvious start to a twisted franchise. 

This film is basic. Very basic. Nothing more to it than a kid coming to his own with superpowers with his parents in denial of what he is capable of. The father is less in denial than the mother is who refuses to think her child is capable of such things.

At the beginning of this film, I actually loved it. The took just enough time to create the conflict between these two that they wanted a child. Just then their house is rocked by an earthquake and they proceed to check it out. It was mysterious, it was solid. 

The rest of the film...not so much. 

When I watch a film I lookout for a few things. One of them being dialogue, moments to establish the relationships as true, real and tangible, stakes that make sense no matter how much it derails the people involved, and above all else how the film constructs this. Bring it all together with enough pomp and circumstance to say we are functional.

To me, this movie is barely functional.

Dialogue is stiff. When people talk to one another it's so short and to the point that it feels like there is more than can be said. This may not be a legitimate critique but I do feel like the technique of talking is wasted here.

There was a scene where after Brandon crushed a girl's hand and the following scene the parents were all talking in the principal's office. The mother of the daughter was clearly upset and rightfully so. She was spouting this and that, “he should go to jail” and other justifiable remarks. Until...she talks about Brandon's real mother and calls her an inbred psycho. This obviously crosses a line as Tori simply states that if trash-talking a 12-year-old child helps erica sleep better at night maybe she is the one that needs help. After that, the scene wraps up and it's over. It's not without consequence, of course, but I feel that the scene was stunted with a lot of missed opportunities with dialogue. Instead of Erica overstepping her bounds and Tori putting her in her place within seconds of the scene ending I felt that should have been the biggest conflict in the scene. A longer more emotionally driven scene. 

Granted I know the script has been flipped and instead of Brandon being the good guy he's bad. The parents are sticking up for him wrongfully but are on the side of good and Erica is in the middle. The scene conveys mixed emotions that I feel no one is good, no one really knows what to say or do. Brandon is not arrested, he is suspended and will have therapy there afterward and one simple insult closes this off and they move onto the next subject. With the knowledge of the looming fate, Erica will endure.  I feel the scene should have been at least a few minutes longer where we are given a chance to really understand where other people are coming from. By this point, we know where Kyle and Teri are coming from but not Erica. She is actually smack dab in the middle of a situation she has to immediately respond to. Before that, she only was apart of Brandon’s birthday and saw him throw a temper-tantrum where the electronics around him went out. No speaking lines and that may be enough for her to call Brandon a psycho but allow me to point out...

There is an entire bit of backstory faded out to the prolonged stare Teri was making with her son Brandon. A lot of dialogue was muffled out do to her zoning out. They only time she snaps out of it is when insults are being thrown out towards Brandon and questions of who his real mother is. 

That entire scene should have been insightful! Erica could still stay as the emotional mother who just hears and sees the aftermath of her daughter's hand crushed but we could have known at some point where she stood with the family, what kind of friends they were and some back history. Cause we just found out in that very moment more than just the family knows about Brandon’s adoption. That there in of itself leaves me to believe a lot has to be assumed in order to understand where everyone is coming from.

My mind goes to the phrase Expectations vs Reality. When I think about this movie there were a lot of expectations and when the reality hit we basically see what could have been opposed to what we got. Brightburn had a criticism that its full potential was not realized.

This is where I have to disagree. 

Yes, I have to disagree. 

We have had over 10 years of great storytelling and bad storytelling at our expense thanks to Marvel, DC, various TV shows throughout the last decade. We know exactly what we want in these types of films. So when we get a what-if concept there are only a few ways we can go with it.

Our expectations are seeing a complex take on the tale of Superman becoming evil and the reality is we see a kid who is being manipulated by a ship speaking an evil language. We don’t really see where the kid is coming from except for getting upset that he is different and was lied to for 12 years.

The reality is this is probably the best way to convey a what-if piece. Keep it Simple. Keep it just as grounded as it is right now. My biggest gripe is how everyone talks to one another. How the situations play out are almost perfect to convey such an excellent concept. 

So sticking up for this film in this regard, it did exactly what it was setting out to do. Become a concept piece that would show the makings of a villain that was based on one of the most powerful superheroes we will ever know. In fictional terms of course.

The fact that it didn’t go in any direction we were really hoping it to is not a bad thing though. Sure maybe we could have seen the makings of a villain rise up and maybe the parents are in on it. Maybe the mother takes Brandon under her wing and teaches him to channel his evil tendencies towards people that deserve it much like dexter. Instead, Patricide and Matricide are inflicted, Uncles and Aunts are killed, and next-door neighbors are terrified in cliche fashion before they are horribly killed.

What really doesn’t make this film work for me is not really buying into the fact that this kid who seems well to do, not a single psychopathic bone in his body is suddenly turned when the spaceship he crashed landed in, activates.

The film does not do a good job giving us anything that could give us a clue into Brandon’s head. Is he being controlled? Is he acting out of rage? Well, the answer to that is yes and yes. But when? When are those moments? Because one scene he is going back to the girl (the one whos wrist was broken) and tells her that she is the ONLY person who knows how special he is.

One scene before it or after it I can’t remember which...shows him going into a rage as soon as he figures out what the alien message is saying to him. So he either had a small influence then took what he could and left the rest. Or he gets small doses of this throughout the time he first encountered it. Its really unclear.

One big thing is how people write off each weird happenstance throughout the story of the film. The father, Kyle believes Brandon got in and killed some chickens late at night. The best excuse Tori has is that a wolf opened up a locked door and killed some chickens. 

I mean, the reasonings of what to talk about and what not to talk about is out of this world.

The parents find Brandon's secret stash of naked women that soon turn more grizzly where there are pictures of surgical diagrams and graphic photos of organs. Tori exclaims, “Maybe we should have the talk”

In the next scene, they go on a camping trip and the father and son have an awkward conversation about this. But the only thing mentioned was sexual urges and nothing more. DUDE, you found diagrams and organs! That is much more specific than showing off a desirable swimsuit model! TALK ABOUT THAT! This stuff gets pretty redundant after a while. You get it. Dialogue doesn’t work, the scenes and situations mentioned don’t add up when they need to talk about more important things, the relationship between the mother and father work but not with the kid, sadly. 

I feel this movie did deliver upon its potential I just feel it could have been written better. I could care less that it was a cliche horror murder movie. Give me something basic and grow from there. You could have had the characters a lot smarter, capable, flesh out the scenes better and you would have had one solid film on your hands. 

Perhaps I don’t have anything better to say than anyone else but this movie came close to frustrating me on how it presented itself.

The ending sparked more curiosity and obvious means to a sequel that I feel should have been introduced in the middle of the film. But, hey, that's just my expectations talking. 

I know there are some out there that love the film. One who can justify actions and means of what really could have been going down. But I am a very literal person so if it ain't shown to me I am not going to assume so much happened in-between scenes. I am not a psychic so I don’t know what one is thinking and if you keep a kid quiet I won’t know where he is coming from. 

That is exactly what this film did. It alienated me. Me no likey.

**/***** (2 out of 5)

[goliathandgaze]

Seeing Is Loving

(art by @andrhomeda [please dont make me take this down for literally like,,, two calendar days its for a class final and no one will see it but you do great work thanks for being rad])

There is a unique sense of loss that comes from looking in the mirror and not seeing yourself. You don’t lose identity. That isn’t something the mirror could ever show you, and it doesn’t take being trans for someone to tell you that. Your personhood is not defined by your weight, your hair, your skin, your body. What we lose with our unrecognition, rather, is faith. Faith that we exist. We are told over and over again that seeing is believing. So who are we, if we cannot see who we know to be ourselves?

We are what others see.

Now you may be thinking, “Hey Casper, that sounds hella problematic, you’re really gonna go right out the gate with ‘we are what others see?’ What if I don’t express my gender in the same way as I identify. If someone looks butch to me, does that mean because I think they look a certain way they are then confined to that label of sexuality? What the hell?” And that would be fair. So I’ll take the time to answer some questions that will become really relevant here

What does it mean to be seen?

What does it mean to be known?

Technically these terms have very similar definitions. Both mean, in a sense, to perceive something or someone. One more visibly than the other, but as mentioned above, we always hear that seeing is believing, and then, what is believing if not knowing something to be true? To see something, to really see it, in the italicized and romanticized version of the word, is synonymous with knowing it. Think of a particularly bad argument with a friend or partner, or maybe just the last cheesy romantic comedy you saw. When we say we want to feel seen, or that we want to be heard, it really means we want to be known. To be fully understood.

A new definition: We are what others know us to be.

Physically seeing me, I am honestly not sure how most people process my appearance. I wrote, a while back, “I cannot tell if people see me as a boy or girl when they look at me anymore or if I just look small.” Of course, my personhood isn’t ‘small’, and my gender isn’t ‘small.’ But those who know me know who I am, and I can have faith in that being because they know it to exist.

Now, what does this mean in regards to gender and sexuality? I know that I exist because others know that I exist.  In this sense, the ‘I’ can be swapped out for a multitude of other variables. For example, I know that I am male because others know me to be male. I know that my pansexuality exists because others know my pansexuality to exist. While I can know these things intrinsically, it is because others can react to them that I can be sure they exist. This is what it means to have a visible or social identity. Not that others need to see them in order for them to exist, but rather that if I spent my life existing in a darkened room by myself, there would be no reason for them, because I would simply be myself. In Imitation and Gender Insubordination, Judith Butler states that “gender is a kind of imitation for which there is no original” (Butler, 82). There are a thousand and one ways to unpack that quote. But to me, the idea is that gender is real and meaningful, but in isolation, it serves no purpose. We cannot have a concept of gender without an ingroup to imitate and an other to distance ourselves from. Alone, what would gender be, except another word for the being we know to be ourselves?

In Visible Identities: Race, Gender, and the Self, Linda Alcoff discussed the belief that “if race and gender could be divested of their purported visible attributes, they might be transformed to better reflect people’s subjective sense of themselves -- their actions, choices, their humanity -- rather than mere physical attributes that were accidents of birth” (Alcoff, 103). Alcoff goes on to argue that visible characteristics do serve a purpose, and in a sense, help define our own internal perceptions of identity as well. I don’t mean to argue against that, and I can only ever speak from my own personal experience (but what is academia, really, if not yelling your personal experience into the void as if it were universal?). But I don’t really see why the two things have to be mutually exclusive. Don’t we want, more than anything, to be able to be seen as the people we are? And is that inherently opposed to the body that we live in? In a world of ideals, wouldn’t our humanity be able to be seen at the same time as our physical being, in addition, as a part of, and entwined? If I reject my body as having been ‘born with the wrong one,’ aren’t I in a sense rejecting it as mine? If I am male and known by others to be male, is that not both my humanity and my form? I am both. I am all. To be seen as male is one thing. To be known as a whole ideal is another.

(art by @jo-crimes [hello yes please don’t make me take this down for like,,, two whole human days, your art is amazing and I really appreciate your work and am using it for a class assignment,,, you’re really doing the best thanks])

“And I am in love, still. And I am love, still.  And I try to think of how all these things can exist at once.  And I land on the answer. I am in multiple places at once.  I refuse not to believe this is a superpower.” - Taliesin Grey, Encyclopedia

A new definition: We are the whole that others know us to be.

In class, we were asked to think about Alcoff’s idea of a horizon as “the individual or particular substantive perspective that each person has, that makes up who that person is, consisting of his or her background assumptions, form of life, and social location or position within the social structure and hierarchy” (Alcoff, 96). Essentially, our horizon is the view we have looking out on the world inherent to our position, just as reflective of who we are as it is of how we see the world. We were tasked to draw ourselves and our horizons. It was an easy premise. Make a stick figure of yourself and write the words looking out of how you perceive the world around you based on your identity. Students wrote family closest to their heads if that was important to them, put female in the distance if it didn’t have an impact on their lives, and layered race and sexuality in various forms depending on how it impacted their perception of themselves. All of our drawings looked different, because of course they did. We all see the skyline differently based on our perspective. 

I sat and stared at mine for Far Too Long. I suddenly couldn’t think of how I ordered the puzzle pieces that became my being, all I knew was that when I zoomed out, they made a picture of me. I’d never identified enough with any of the labels I’d associated with myself to connect them with my personhood. I knew I was a poet because I loved poetry. I knew I was a son because I loved my mother. I knew I was a person capable of enormous love because I loved my partner. But I didn’t know what order it fell in, whether “poet” counted as an identity, and how I felt about the words that were used to describe the categories I fell into. I couldn’t think, suddenly, if there were any aspects of my identity that directly reflected my capability for love.

(Annie On My Mind by Nancy Garden)

I sat down and drew an elaborate picture of myself to buy time. Of how I saw myself. Of how others saw me. Of what others knew me to be. Of the whole that I am.

At the top of the page, the peak of my horizon, I scribbled “Casper” in yellow marker. My sun. Not just my name, but myself. I chose Casper for myself, as a title for the being I was, and the being I was in the midst of becoming, and the being I would continue to be. All I could think in the end was that, if nothing else, Casper was a marker of who I was as a whole. Of who I would be in a darkened room by myself just as much as who I am as a male in love with people of all genders. It was all that I was, in the fewest amount of syllables.

A final definition: On the edge of the horizon there is my name. That is all. There is nothing more to say.

[keenerparkerstark]

All I see is green (5/?)

All I see is green (4/?)

Ship: Harley Keener/Peter Parker

Summary: Peter Parker feels on top of the world! Getting good grades in high school, spending time with Tony Stark (!!!) on his weekends, and at night, he roams the city as the hero known as Spider-Man! Everything changes when a new student shows up at Midtown who seems determined to take it all away from him.

AO3 | FF.net

“Slow your roll, asshole, unless you want some extra holes in that body of yours.”

Harley put up his hands, immediately without turning around, and stopped walking, remembering what Tony had told him about the dangers of walking around on your own in New York. He couldn’t help but glance down at the, most likely, ridiculously expensive jacket he was wearing, which Tony had insisted on buying him. Combine this with his lithe, youthful appearance, and you basically had a bright neon sign over his head that says: ‘Rob me, please!’

“I don’t want any trouble,” he states for good measure, and turns his head slightly to try and catch a glimpse of what his attacker is doing. He barely caught sight of a figure with a hoodie drawn over his cap, casting an impenetrable shadow over his face, with a black-clad arm reaching out to the back of Harley’s head, when he felt a harsh cold pressure to the back of his head, and flinched away when he realised that it was the barrel of a handgun.

“No funny games,” the figure behind him grunted. “Just slowly reach down, take out your wallet and phone and hand them to me. Don’t even think about turning around, screaming, fighting or running away, because I will put a bullet in your brain before you can finish the thought.” Harley shivered, a lump in his throat making it difficult to breath. His hand trembled as it reached into his jacket pocket, and took out his phone, reaching back to hold it out for the figure to take. It was yanked out of his hands without warning.

“Your wallet,” the voice pressed urgently behind him, “and hand over your watch too.” His watch… Harley’s heart skipped a beat as he was reminded of the elaborate smart watch that sat on his wrist, equipped with all kinds of applications and gadgets, and a panic button that sends a distress signal straight to Tony. Of course!

“M-my wallet is in my backpack,” Harley stuttered out, raising his hands up again. “Let me take off my watch.” Keeping his hands in the air to show that he wasn’t taking out anything else, Harley started fidgeting with the claps of his watch. With as much subtlety as he could muster, he pressed the tiny red knob on his watch, which vibrated gently in acknowledgement. Just as he finished unclasping the watch, another voice echoed through the alley, this time from up high.

“You know, most people don’t really appreciate being held at gun point. You might want to stop that.” Harley let out a sigh as relief washed over him, making his knees buckle under him. He knew that voice… He had heard it hundreds of times before in YouTube videos and the like. Immediately, an arm wrapped around his neck in a choke hold, his own hands involuntarily flying up to desperately grasp at the grip, and he was drawn backwards until his back met the figure’s chest. The cold pressure of the gun has shifted to his temple, and he squeezed his eyes closed in fear as he gasped for breath.

“Get the fuck out of here, Spider-Man, or I’ll put a bullet in this fucking kid!” Harley heard a thud as Spider-Man landed in front of them, but didn’t dare open his eyes, his world narrowed down to the metal against his temple and the arm around his throat. He felt the chest behind him rapidly moving up and down as his attacker takes in one panic breath after another.

“Okay, hey, slow down, there’s no need for that.” Spider-Man’s voice had lost its earlier lightness, and sounded almost stern. “I ain’t looking for trouble if you’re not making it. You got what you wanted. Just let the kid go, and walk away.” Suddenly, Harley felt the gun being taken away from his temple as the figure behind him shoved him aggressively, and he stumbled forward, eyes snapping open and only seeing red and blue as a pair of spandex clad arms caught him gracefully. He looked up at Spider-Man’s mask, but it was facing forward determinedly, as he helped Harley stay upright.

“Stay here, Harley,” he spoke firmly, and he was off, a web slinging him to the furthest end of the alley, where, as Harley now noticed, the perpetrator was making a quick escape. He did not get far, however, as Spider-Man made quick work of webbing up his feet, and dragging him by his lower body towards the wall, continuously shooting webs at him to make the robber stick to it.

Harley let out a shaky breath as all adrenaline seemed to rush out of him simultaneously, and he could barely make it to the wall before his knees gave out entirely, dropping down on the concrete below, which emitted a strong stank of urine. He felt tired beyond belief, and wanted nothing more in that moment than to close his eyes, and fall asleep, be unconscious for a while and wake up in his bed in Tennessee by his sister jumping on his bed, and the smell of freshly fried eggs. He didn’t notice when the tears started falling, but soon enough there were wet patches on his jeans where his face was pressed against his knees, which he had drawn to his chest in an attempt to make himself as small as humanly possible.

A sudden presence beside him startled him, but he calmed down when he realised it was none other than New York’s wallcrawler, sitting on a urine-flooded alley next to a crying teenager who felt home sick. He didn’t even say thank you… Harley started furiously wiping at his eyes, and sniffed a few times before he managed to find some form of composure. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but was cut off by Spider-Man, who spoke first.

“I got your phone back.” It was then that Harley noticed the hand that was holding out the phone to him. He took it with a grateful smile, and an unreadable mask with white lenses glared back at him. Say thank you, say thank you, say thank you…

“I’m sorry.” Wait, what? Spider-Man’s head cocked in confusion.

“What are you sorry for, Harley? None of this was your fault.”

“I know, I know, but I should have known better than to- Wait a minute… How do you know my name?” Harley suddenly remembered Spider-Man calling him ‘Harley’ earlier as well, although he had been too out-of-it to notice at the time. Suddenly, the mask was not as unreadable as it had seemed earlier when the white lenses gave away the widening of the eyes underneath. “Uh, I mean, I know all the names of the citizens of New York!”

“What, like Santa Claus, or something,” Harley laughed incredulously, both curious, worried and amused about the situation.

“I mean, would you believe me if I said yes?” Harley just raised an eyebrow in return, slowly feeling the weight on his shoulders lift some more. “Yeah, I figured as much. Okay, so, here’s the truth. Mr. Stark told me about you.” Of course!

“That makes sense. Tony mentioned you to me before too! But don’t worry, nothing about your identity, or anything. Just that you had needed his help.” Spider-Man let out an awkward laugh at that.

“Yeah, Mr. Iron Man and I are what I like to call co-dependant. He needs me as much as I need him.”

“I really don’t, Underoos,” a voice from beside them spoke, uncharacteristically quiet. Both Harley’s and Spider-Man’s heads snapped up at the sound of Tony Stark’s voice, and stared at him as he stood before them, the Iron Man armour only a couple steps behind him, opened up. “I think of it more as a mentor-mentee relationship, where you screw up sometimes, and I try to help you not screw up.”

“Mr. Stark,” Spider-Man laughed, but he was cut off by Harley getting up and launching himself at Tony, trembling from head to toe, the impact of the evening hitting him again at full force at the sight of his pseudo-dad.

“Shh, it’s okay, kiddo,” the older man whispered in his ear, as he pressed him close to his chest. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.” As Harley stood there, tightly wrapped up in Tony’s embrace, a soft thwip was the only thing indicating Spider-Man’s quiet departure from the scene. Distant police sirens could be heard approaching.

“You, my friend, have had the craziest week ever, and that including the one where you were bitten by a radioactive spider and gained superpowers.” Peter groaned pathetically from his position on Ned’s lap, the latter of whom simply ignored him for the sake of stealthing his way across whatever video game he was playing, his hands holding the controller resting on Peter’s chest.

“Tell me about it,” Peter whined. “At least getting bitten by that spider and everything that followed was just facts, you know? This all involves feelings and social behaviour and puberty-”

“As much as you’re my best friend, and I truly sympathise with you,” Ned interjected, as he casually took out at least four other players as he was talking. “I think you’re overthinking this. Be honest with yourself! The answer to all your current problems is right there: just talk to Harley! God knows he could use some friendship after what he went through, and by the way he was hunting you down in school today, it seems he’s really eager to talk to you too.” Peter groaned again, opening his eyes and absentmindedly glancing up at his best friend, who’s full focus seemed to be on the TV screen in front of him. “Something’s holding you back from talking to him though, am I right? What is it?”

What was it? Honestly, Peter wished he could answer that question. Harley genuinely seemed to want to talk things out with him, and after his conversation with Mr. Stark, there was no real grudge that Peter found himself holding against the other teenager. It sounded like the boy was going through a lot, and in his own way, he was standing up for somebody he loved, or, at least, he thought he was. What had happened that evening was intense, much more than anybody should ever have to go through. Peter had been held at gun point more times that he could count, a job hazard, you could call it, but he never got used to the feeling that the person holding the gun could end everything in a split second, no questions asked, no going back. All they had to do was pull the trigger, and it would all be over. Peter squeezed his eyes closed again as his mind flashed with memories of his uncle, lying there surrounded by a puddle of his own blood…

“I don’t know, Ned,” he responded, a slight tremor in his voice giving away his current emotional state. Ned, ever the graceful friend, did not look away from the screen, but dropped one hand away from his controller, and onto Peter’s chest as a sign of comfort. “I want to talk to him, especially after what happened tonight… Mr. Stark will be there for him, but I just want to know if he’s okay, you know? But then again, I wasn’t there. Spider-Man was. And Spider-Man didn’t get into a fight with him about Tony Stark.”

“Having a secret identity is not easy, Peter.”

“I never thought it would be,” Peter sighed in response. “I just want to know what’s holding me back from talking to Mr. Stark and Harley. I want to, I really do, but every single time I think about it, I feel like some freaky disembodied hand is trying to choke the life out of me.”

“Of course, you’re going to feel anxious about it, Pete,” Ned responded, his hand pressing down slightly. “You feel hurt by both of them. But the only way to get rid of that anxiety is to communicate. Hell, even telling them that the idea of talking to them makes you anxious is already better than the radio silence you’re giving now. Harley’s not stupid: he knows you were avoiding him yesterday.” Peter nodded in understanding, letting his friend’s words sink in.

Honestly, knowing that Harley probably wanted to talk to him about something was both dauntingly terrifying and infinitely comforting. The situation was a chip on both of their shoulders, and they seemed equally eager to move past it, but Peter had no way of knowing how. After all, Harley still seemed awfully friendly with Flash, who hadn’t let up on bullying Peter constantly since their last year of Middle School. He doubted Harley could change his mind about that. But not giving him a chance to redeem himself seemed wrong too, and he could almost hear his aunt in his head, telling him to ‘never write of strangers at first sight, because strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet’. Naïve, but not necessarily wrong.

Tomorrow, Peter promised himself. Tomorrow, he would set aside whatever was holding him back, and talk to Harley.

[forgettinggirlinterrpted]

5/8 - 5/13/19

It’s so easy sometimes to forget why I’m here. That’s my problem- I forget things. I forget my keys, I forget to turn my car off when I get gas, once I even forgot I biked somewhere and ended up walking home.

But worse than that, I forget emotions. I forget how miserable not having AC in my car makes me until late April rolls around, I forget when I’m mad at someone, I forget how happy I felt during some of the most important moments in my life. Most importantly- I forget when I’m sad.

I have brief moments that pop up in a sea of darkness that allow me, for just a moment, to laugh and feel like a real person. These moments happen a lot. I can see light and laughter during a panic attack before the flip switches and my brain turns back into a train running off static electricity and black mold. The fog clears for just a brief stop on the tracks and the mold crawls back to its host.

But same as the the fog clears, eventually so does my forgetfulness. My ability to forget is just as weak as it is powerful. Slowly but surely those mold covered trains start moving again with no clear destination. The black creeps in as I sit in the real world, hunched over, grasping onto my surroundings- yet failing to grasp onto any sort of consistent breathing pattern. I can forget sadness, but I can just as quickly forget happiness.

So here I am, in the day room of a psychiatric hospital, surrounded by people just like me. We have become our own ragtag group of misguided grownups. When I arrived here 7 days ago almost a year after my last admission to this hospital, I felt the trains moving at full speed through a pile of sludge. I stared at the painting on the wall and began to fear that here, I may not be able to utilize my warped superpower: my ability to forget.

But slowly, the other patients and I have begun to forget together- somehow forgetting without truly forgetting. Together, we can laugh not through the pain, but alongside it. This is the place where I don't have to feel bad for my moments of forgetfulness. Moments of comic relief and simple enjoyment. I don’t need to feel like my laughter negates my 10-year-old depression diagnosis.

Here, we are embracing those moments. We embrace the moments of happiness and sadness- in whichever order they decide to arrive. In a room full of people so different it looks like the set-up to a bad joke, we can forget in a place that is simultaneously forcing us to remember.

When I got here, my doctors told me to embrace the community. “If you don’t want to talk about your anxiety and depression, then just listen.” So I listened. And then I started talking.

One night, we all gathered in the day room, attempting to avoid the loneliness of our windowless rooms. As a Die Hard sequel blasted in the background, the addicts in the room discussed their journey through meth addiction. I asked questions. They answered. We all laughed. A heroin addict around my age told me, “seriously, don’t touch meth.”

The man next to me, Nate, said through the bustle of conversation and laughter, “are you here cuz of a drug?” I said no, and in his thick, mumbled, country accent he asked me, “then why you here?” 

I told him that I’m sad. 

He sighed, looked down at his folded hands and said, “yeah, I’m sad too.”

Nate loves movies and reading, M&M cookies, and meth. Up until he injected 3 grams of “ice” in a suicide attempt, he has been living on the streets. I halfway listened to the ongoing conversation about how incredible and horrifying hard drugs can be as he told me about a time he was arrested after ending up inside a university dorm building thinking he lived there. We all took a brief break to laugh even more when another patient, also coming from a recent suicide attempt, tried to enter the conversation by saying he had only ever “done weed once.”

Later, in his mumbled speech, Nate told the group about when he was high and stood in the middle of park downtown for 4 hours with a knife in his hand. We asked him what the hell he was doing just standing there. 

He simply replied, “lookin’.” 

I think we were unable, or even unwilling to truly focus on the scary reality behind Nate standing in a public park, knife in hand, waiting for cops that neither we, or even Nate, knew for certain were even coming. 

So we just kept laughing.

As the night and following day before his release passed, I kept talking to Nate. I shared my extra cookies with him, and forced him to come paint in recreational therapy with me. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how genuinely scared I would be if Nate tried to open my dorm room door in the middle of the night. Or if I saw him middle aged, 6’2”, with a bald head, tear drop tattoo, and the psychique of a retired bouncer, standing in park, knife in hand, having the time of his life.

I asked him if it scared him to be out of control like that. He said that was his favorite part; he didn’t mind losing control. Between him telling me about his attempt to end his life and the meth fueled antics that cost him both his new job in Florida and his boss’ iPad, I realized Nate was funny, knowledgeable, and vaguely socially aware.

During one of our conversations, we found ourselves trapped in a seminar about nutrition. He slapped his hands on his thighs and said, “well, time to go.” I whined and asked him to stay. My insistence on attending every activity offered was at odds with Nate’s style. A style that told me that maybe once he did have my naive enthusiasm towards recovery, but lost it somewhere along the way. He said “you want me to stay?” and plopped back into his chair. He knew I wanted him to be there, just as I had begged him earlier to attend a journaling group session- declining my invitation with a non-committal hand gesture and a “nah.”

We sat through the nutritionist explaining “My Plate,” an updated version of the food pyramid. Nate leaned sideways and quietly grumbled, “is that like MySpace,” and I chuckled quietly in a way that reminded me of my habit of exchanging bad jokes in attempts to survive a boring lecture. When the nutritionist asked what could be used as a meat substitute for protein, Nate shouted out every type of bean he could think of. She asked if anybody had eaten eggplant and he shouted, “oh hell yeah, I had an eggplant lasagna once and that shit was delicious.” His southern drawl made everything he said more melodic, and added a level of enthusiasm he often didn’t like to show- unless he is shouting expletives about his incredible experience with eggplant lasagna.

After I had completely tuned out the nutritionist and began to draw in my notebook, Nate leaned over and asked if we could be friends on Facebook. I sneakily handed him paper for him to write his name down. As he wrote, he told me he may not be able to respond for about 30 days.

It happened again. I had forgotten.

I had spent that day arguing with Nate about whether the book or movie version of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is better. This was an especially unwinnable argument given that I had never seen the movie and only gotten 100 pages into the book, and Nate had only ever seen the movie. 

He had given me movie suggestions, quoted Carrie, and given me shit for thinking a Pink Floyd song playing on the radio was by the B-52’s. 

He ranted about the symbolism behind the music video for Another Brick in the Wall as he painted a birdhouse that he could have easily crushed by closing his fist.

So I forgot. I forgot when he interrupted my conversation with a social worker to mime towards my extra cookie I had leftover from snack time. He had already eaten the first one when I offered, and originally declined the second. 

I was happy he asked for this one though, since I had only asked for the extra cookies so I could give them to him. 

But he didn’t know that.

His casual mention of the 30 days made me chuckle, but also made me remember. Remember where I was, why I was here, and who I was talking to.

I remember that when we first met, Nate told me his father had been in this same hospital almost 23 years ago. He also told me he killed himself right after being discharged. He tried to tell me it didn’t bother him, but shrugged and mumbled, “I mean it prolly does but I don’t know.” I want to say he said it casually, but that wasn’t it. He wasn’t laughing, but he wasn’t crying either. Mainly, he seemed defeated. Tired, like this was just the beginning of a long list of bullshit he has tried to deal with in his own way.

He looked at me, but never fully turned his body. 

He told me the only thing he truly remembers about the day his dad died. 

During checkout, his dad checked a box on his discharge forms stating yes, he did think his time there had helped him. But his father made it clear to Nate that he didn’t think it helped his depression. When he asked his dad why he lied to the doctors, Nate’s father told him, “I just want to go home.”

This all flashes back, and I remember that despite a potential Facebook friendship, this was the last time I would see him. Mainly, I was forced to remember that I have no control over his sobriety- and that 2 days of talking and painting with a depressed 24-year-old is not going to keep him from running back to the life he is used to the moment things get difficult in his new facility.

I began to think about my plan of action if I see Nate in 30 days, 3 months, or 3 years from now, standing downtown waiting for a dealer, or embarking on one of the never-ending walks he takes to kill time when the meth steals his ability to sleep.

Would I stop for him? Am I prepared to know fully and truthfully that this attempt at sobriety had failed? That the system had failed? Am I ready to accept the fact that I live in a world where kind, smart, and funny people just aren’t given the chance at life they deserve?

I asked him why he thought this shot at sobriety would work, and he said, “I’m just tired man, this ain’t no life.” So again, I remember. I remember why he is here in the first place- Nate had tried to kill himself. What happens if this doesn’t all go according to plan? What’s next?

His favorite part of the drug he wants to quit is the lack of control, and his drug-fueled delusions grant him his own ability to forget. Nate wasn’t ashamed to tell me his stories, but made it clear he wasn’t particularly proud of them either- with an ambivalence that is both inspiring and troubling. 

I fear the thought of everything he hadn’t had time to tell me about. I worry about what will happen when he begins to allow himself to remember.

During our first conversation, I told Nate I was afraid to leave the hospital because I thought the real world was scary. Without fully looking at me Nate shrugged and said, “it’s only as scary as you let it be.” 

Before he checked out, I gave Nate my copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest to read in rehab. 

Maybe one day we can finally finish our debate on the merits of each version of the story. 

Selfishly, I mostly did this so Nate would remember me. But even if he throws the book away, I just hope he remembers to take his own advice. The world really is only as scary as we let it be.

In our groups sessions this past week, we have talked a lot about forgiveness and second chances. For the past 6 months, I have struggled to handle my anxiety and depression, making my constant battle between forgetting and remembering unbearable.

I’ve learned I need to give myself a second chance, and allow myself to to let go of the things that fuel the trains in my head.

Nate and I are both giving ourselves our own second chances- ones that might end up with us both back in this hospital. Ones that will be scary. 

Whether or not we crash and burn, these are second chances I think we both truly deserve.

The trains in my head will never fully stop, and that’s ok. I feel ready to go home. I feel ready to attempt to live in a world without fear.

And, for the sake of Nate and every single way our short friendship changed me- I just want to allow myself to forget, but always remember to remember.

[hiphopguerrilla]

Pro Sasuke Uchiha : Constructive Criticism of Kishimoto’s Antagonist

Disclaimer: I am not a critic. To anyone that disagrees, my humble opinion doesn’t count for anything because I’m just some loser in his mom’s basement as far as you’re concerned. I’m little more than a disappointed fan. Thank you for reading if you’ve go this far. Hope you can read the rest with objective consideration and without bias. This will be a long rant, you’ve been forewarned.

So I’ve been on a spree of criticism of Kishi’s work. Cannot help being criticil of an Artist/Writer who has let me down just as many times as he/she has inspired me. So because he let me down he has inspired me to write about some of the things I’m very critical of because I have no closure from the series and I can’t help but feel “Next Generation”  wasn’t about love for writing the story anymore.

In the beginning of the series Sasuke isn’t yet the antagonist, but it’s clear Kishi intended the to of them to be rivals while building what was supposed to be, and in many ways, is a story of incredible bonds and friendship. It was clear he had a motivation behind what he wanted to do as far as the character developing into and I see, it seems anyway, that he deviated from that. 

By the early stages of the character development it is established through Sasuke’s monolgue to Sakura “I am an avenger” that he never stopped grieving the loss of his clan and family and that he wanted the same closure fans never got. He said to Kakashi “I will restore my clan” and while I’m certain this isn’t meant to be taken literally he wanted to do right by their memory. 

Understanding that he didn’t just lose his family, he was literally tortured at the age of 8(forced to endure something that had Kakashi bed ridden for a week), he lost connection to his heritage(remember Madara is one of the founding members of the village yet Sasuke had no clue who he was), he lost his idol in Itachi and was forced to deal with a damaged psyche that no one could really repair Itachi drilling in his head that he was some sort of coward. He has both an inferiority complex and a superiority complex because of the standard the Clan is held to. Rather than knowing what is and isn’t true with his parents to guide him through his mess of a life.

What’s disappointing is by the end of the series that wasn’t the main take away from his character. Why? Because the development of his character was stifled by Naruto. Yes, I’m talking about the main character of the story. It’s very relevant to know and understand that Kishi didn’t take time to develop many of the characters in the story. Tenten, Hinata, Lee to an extent, Ino, Choji, Kiba, and Shino among others I may even be forgetting because....yea its obvious.

So to the point. Naruto borders on being a gary stu because, seemingly, Kishi was more partial to him than anyone Sasuke included. That’s not to say Sasuke didn’t get charcter development, just he didn’t develop in a way that was understandable to the majority of fans.

As I was saying about the end of the story none of this is understood. Worst part being that Itachi overshadows Sasuke’s character in a way that is completely disrespectful to fans who had great insterest in the development of him as Sasuke’s antagonist. I do not in anyway disagree with the choice to make Itachi remain his loving brother, who made a difficult choice for the good of the village and the one he cared for the most, but to be honest the logic that comes out of Itachi’s choice and reasoning by fans loving him so yet having great disdain for Sasuke as describe: Whiny, emo, ungrateful, selfish, among other things is a fallacy. Most of those things are inaccurate as well hypocritical to praise Itachi at the same time. 

Firstly lest start with him being ungrateful or selfish. It was immediately after the death of his clan, that this clearly life altering even influenced him to decide without doubt that he would devote his life to seeing JUSTICE for what happened then. This is how the story STARTED, please understand that it wasn’t until part 2 that this turns into full blown revenge and blind hatred in a completely hypocritical manner that made fans who already disliked Sasuke absolutely loathe him. I’ll say again this is merely so Naruto could play hero and save his soul(see there I’m getting irritated thinking about this already).

If you have a goal like becoming Hokage, or President of the United States, or First Pick in the NFL draft, or becoming head Medic nin, whatever real life or fictional you know that you can’t just decide to give it up because people say it is Irrational. Sasuke’s ultimate goal was to avenge his family. That meant he had to become strong enough to defeat Itachi, which meant sacrifices must be made.

What did he sacrifice. A normal childhood, his friendships, and the closest thing he had to a family since his blood relatives died. Yet Sasuke is selfish? Sacrificing your frienships and chance at a normal life in favor of a decision you made at 8 years old because of the family you LOVED is probably the most selfless thing a person can do. I often see people compare him to both Kakashi, and Naurto in these cases to justify loathing his character and making silly memes to ridicule him.

Kakashi couldn’t get revenge on anyone, seeing as how his only family commit suicide, The White Fang was not murdered/slaughtered. As far as Rin and Obito, they died in the line of duty they weren’t killed simply because some evil bastard(as far as Sasuke knew) wanted to “Test my power.” 

Naruto, had no connection to his family until Jiraiya and also had no concept of vengence until Jiraiya died, and If we are really to give credit where its due, the only reason he chooses not to avenge him is 1. Because it would go agaisnt his Masters wishes 2. Because he see the weight Sasuke’s had to carry and wants to free his friend from that pain. He can’t do that if he chooses to walk a path that was not his. 

Another thing that Kishi made very clear was that was the point. Sasuke was at his best when he was written as a character that manifests his own reality, and walks his own path without regret. Let’s not forgot that Fugaku is nothing like Jiraiya. He didn’t raise Sasuke to aim for peace or anything like that, in fact, one of the Uchiha’s rules is that they don’t take prisoners. Yet another reason Sasuke took it upon himself to kill Itachi, it was his duty.

Then of course, yes I’m about to go there you’ve been wared, there’s the SasuSaku thing. Why? Just why? This relationship, was never called for from the get go. Another reason so many Americans are so messed up that they don’t understand the difference between true love and infatuation. Where does Sakura’s “love” begin, where does Sasuke’s more importantly? Was that established with any certainty?

In the beginning the bulk off their interaction consisted with Sasuke ignoring her and calling her annoying. The nicest thing he says to her the entire series is “Thank you.” seriously? Not “I’ll miss you.” not  “I care for you...deeply” but “Thank you.” Thats like something you say when someone passes the salt at the dinner table.

What is their connection? I refuse to bring up other pairs because is about Sasuke development as a character not SasuSaku. Sakura does nothing but follow Sasuke around like a love sick puppy and by the end of the series, it somehow pays off and while it may feel like a win for fans of that pair, to me as a fan of the overall series and writing that makes sense even in a fictional world where characters have superpowers. There should be some logic there at least. 

What we know at the start of part one is Sakura is a 12 year old girl with a crush on the most popular boy in school. Hilarious, that’s the foundation of this pairing, never in part one and hardly anything in the series at all does it explain where these “romantic” feelings developed. It least we know why Hinata admires Naruto (sorry nothing more on NaruHina,another time perhaps). 

And Sasuke never shows any affection to her what so ever besides “Thank you.” of course and gently lying her on the park bench. Don’t think I don’t notice the SasuSaku moments either. Like when he was about to break both of Zaku’s arms and Sakura hugs him. Probably as close ot romance as it gets and Sasuke is being hugged from behind. He doesn’t initiate the hug and he doesn’t hug her back, he stands there suprised at probably the first time he’s been hugged since his mother was murdered.

Understand this, if you take that as a sign Sasuke felt the same, fine. That is absolutely acceptable, even understandable. However, for me, that is a bit half assed. It’s really not much to go on over the course of 700 chapters to say they “fell in love”. Because to me love does not equate to trying to force someone to notice you for two years, having attempts at affection met with disdain and even physical assault, like when he slaps the apples she spent so much time carving out of her hands as she visited him and tried to feed him at the hospital. 

I’m sure I don’t have to mention the actual attempted murder at the summit to anybody so that’s all I’ll say about it for now. Now back to Sasuke’s overall story as I prepare to close. The summit was probably the biggest chance to turn Sasuke into an admirable character in fans eyes. 

Instead what Kishi does is comepletely wreck his character, so he can be the antagonist and be saved by Naruto. There’s even this little comparison by Karin where she see’s how evil and corrupt Sasuke is, another innocent he tried to kill, and then sees how pure Naruto’s soul is. It was ridiculous. I understand Naruto is the hero of the story, but that never meant Sasuke HAD to be the villain.

He even turns the entire situation with Danzo and his orders to have the Uchiha clan annihilated into a complete mess. Sasuke has gone batshit, and rather than being a person trying to do right by his clan and his brother’s memory, Kishi turns him into this absolute fiend who will murder even his own allies just to make some silly point based on a story told him by a guy who’s real faces he’s never seen even once. A guy who wasn’t even the real Madara Uchiha. As if Sasuke was never strong enough to separate himself from his emotions and what he believes is right. Itachi was already dying and he wanted Sasuke  to kill him as atonement. He killed the uchiha in favor of the leaf why would he want Sasuke to destroy the village.

If he were written properly Sasuke would’ve killed Danzo and walked his own path, facing Naruto one final time and either dying or leaving all of that mess behind. It would’ve been fine for him to return to the village if he there to sow seed and start a new with the Uchiha clan. Instead he's a glorified prize for Sakura and Sasusaku fans, as well as someone Naruto basically stalked for 2 years just to force him to not even be in the picture anyway.

As I said in the beginning, or someone in the middle maybe. Sasuke was at his best when he was written as an independent character walking his own path and sacrificing what mattered most to him in favor of doing right by his people, his family, his clan. I thank anyone who made it to the bottom of this post.

[thegreymoon]

Hi I have been a fan of your work for a very long time and so I sneak into your tumblr from time to time.I counldnt help but notice that you post a lot of political/sjw stuff and I know it is none of my business but since I am probably absolutely opposite in my political views I can't help myself and ask: I understand that you are Asian, but you don't seem to be interested in real or imagined injustices in your country/continent and are mainly interested in USA, why is that?

Hi, anon!

First of all, I am not Asian and I’m very sorry if I ever did or said anything to mislead people into thinking that I was. It was unconsciously done. I have no intention of offending anyone or appropriating an identity that isn’t mine, so if I did something of that sort, please let me know and I’ll do my best to correct myself. I often reblog stuff about China because I think it’s an amazing country, I’m learning Mandarin (not making much progress, though), love their culture, nature, architecture and am a big fan of their historical/fantasy dramas. Also, the two fandoms I was the most active in (coincidentally) happen to be a Japanese anime and a Japanese video game, so I have a lot of love for their art and aesthetics.

I’m actually very surprised that you would ‘notice’ that I post a lot of ‘political/sjw stuff’, considering that I mostly use Tumblr to repost Merlin gifs, cast/crew news and fanworks. There is maybe one reblog on just about anything else for every fifty (perhaps even more) Merlin posts, so I really have to wonder which of the RL issues I posted about bothered you so much that you would describe them as ‘a lot’.

I may be misinterpreting the tone of your ask, so forgive me if I misread your intentions and am responding too harshly, but in my experience, ‘SJW’ is a term that is used to be dismissive when people are talking about real social issues, plus I found your wording of ‘imagined injustices’ very… interesting.

Also, I find it odd that somebody would unironically ask me why I’m ‘mainly’ interested in the USA.

First of all, the global market is oversaturated with American media, American products, American news, American movies, TV series, music, you name it. It’s everywhere. Of course I’m going to know more about it than, say, Lichtenstein. The exposure of American public figures is insane and it just happens that the stuff that appears on my dash is most often related to the USA because that is what the people I follow also follow (and for the record, on Tumblr, I mainly follow the Merlin fandom and to a somewhat lesser degree, various artists, baby animals, Chinese traditional outfits, Buzzfeed and NASA news). I absolutely do reblog pure evil, injustices, hypocrisy and intentionally inflicted misery in other countries too when I see them, but I don’t actively go looking for them on Tumblr, just like I don’t actively look for the USA posts either. The USA posts are simply there, without much active input from me, while other countries are not. An important point, of course, since we are having this weird discussion about why a random person outside of the USA is consuming so much American media, is that English is the only foreign language I am fluent in, so when it comes to foreign content, I am primarily going to read and interact with posts in English. And which country creates the most content in English? Yup, you guessed it!  

On a similar note, everything that happens in the USA affects other countries too. Nothing that goes on there takes place in a vacuum and the USA has made damn sure that it has its fingers in each and every single pie all over the world. Everything, the good and the bad, spills over and trust me, we feel the effects acutely in my unstable, politically fraught little country. The economic and cultural implications are enormous, so you can bet American issues are very personal for me, even if I don’t live there. My country’s government consists of puppets in the hands of various world leaders playing tug of war with actual human lives. My literal paycheck depends on the stability of the dollar. The survival of the entire human species hangs on how we deal with climate change right now and that ignorant, illiterate orange shitstain Americans voted into power is now standing on a global platform, spouting nonsense that is barely one step removed from Creationist bullshit and Flat-earther conspiracies. And you seriously ask me why I’m interested in the USA? 

The USA loves to dub itself as ‘the leader of the free world’ and ‘a global superpower’, and has managed to stick its nose into everybody’s business everywhere (usually with no good intentions), but somehow you question why the rest of us are now going to be interested in what is going on there, not to mention critical when the US government spouts absolute rubbish not just on a domestic, but also global scale? So, yes, I am personally invested in what is going down next in the USA and am sitting here, half the world across, cheering Americans on as they fight to have that shame they elected removed from power and, hopefully, incarcerated, along with all his corrupt cronies, advisors and family members. I’m going to be genuinely celebrating here when he finally goes down!

Secondly, I come from one of those countries that the USA and its allies have destroyed for their own gain and where they have ruined countless lives over multiple generations. I have every reason to notice, take a personal interest in and comment on the hypocrisy, the grandstanding and the false moral high ground that is assumed by the USA (and any of its bootlickers) when I see it.

For any of my USA followers here, I would just like to note that I am perfectly capable of distinguishing between ordinary people and disgusting government policies enacted by corrupt or incompetent politicians. I realise this post sounds angry, but I wish only good things for you all, people are people everywhere and the stuff I’m talking about is way above the average person’s paygrade. I also realise that the USA has screwed over so many of its own citizens; including its war veterans, PoC, minorities, the poor, the weak and the disabled. My heart goes out to you all, truly, and I love you all!

(BTW, I intentionally have not said which country I’m from because I’ve stopped publically stating my location online, simply because it makes it too easy for malicious people to identify me IRL that way. I don’t necessarily hide my RL identity if I have a valid reason to reveal my true name and location, but please forgive me for not stating it outright here, on a public platform, to satisfy the curiosity of an anon ask. My country is misogynistic, homophobic and hostile to all who are non-conforming and my job prospects are hard enough without my online pseudonyms being generally known in my RL circles. I used to be much less secretive about it, but have since learned the error of my ways and am now taking the most basic of precautions.)

With that said, yes, my country has issues! And, fyi, I have ranted and raged and cried about them before online, IRL and in private. I have posted about my country’s political problems everywhere, including here, when I was just too angry to hold it in because I’m absolute shit at being careful even when I make a conscious effort to be. Most recently, I raged about our elections which were a punch to the gut. If I was to start typing about the corruption, injustices and absolute evil going on around me, I would never stop, but I’m not going to do that because that’s not what I come to Tumblr for. This is primarily a fandom space, mostly for fandom stuff, where I come to look at other people’s things and almost never create content of my own. Just about anything political has been reblogged from someone else because it showed up on my dash and touched a nerve. Very little of that is stuff from my own country because nobody creates and reblogs posts about it in the fandom circle I mostly interact with.

I’m now trying to think back to what ‘SJW’ issues (as you put it) I reblog the most often and how any of them are ‘imaginary injustices’. Off the top of my head, the ones that usually touch a nerve are about the oppression and discrimination of women, patriarchy, sexism, various kinds of abuse, sexual assault, overworking, capitalist brainwashing, mental health issues, LGBTQ issues, freedom of speech, resurgence of Nazism, the gap between the rich and the poor, climate change and criminal religious institutions regaining power in society. I can assure you that none of these is ‘imaginary’ and the negative ways in which they affect me and the people around me are very, very real. Also, none of them is unique to the USA, which is what you seem to be the most concerned about, and even if the post is from or about the USA, these problems definitely overlap with things that I, and countless people around the world, are personally experiencing and have a lot of feelings about. The only social issues ‘unique’ to the USA that I often reblog are the ones related to the particular US brand of racism and the appalling, still-ongoing genocide committed against the indigenous people there, and how can you not empathise with that when it’s so egregious? I will reblog them every time they cross my dash to spread awareness since the US government is actively trying to stifle it and rewrite history and idc who is uncomfortable.

With all that said, I’m open to corrections and have no problem admitting to being wrong once I realise I’ve made a mistake. So, this goes for all the people following my blog: if any of the posts I shared are about ‘imaginary’ issues (just… wow at the use of this word) or contain false information, please feel free to let me know and I will take it under advisement. I’m always willing to learn.