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variousqueerthings · 3 years

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@mimsyaf okay I just wrote this here because looong, but I hope it’s more coherent than the other post:

so okay, I just say that the main guys I was thinking about are the majority of the members of the band Rammstein (especially Till Lindemann, the frontman), who’ve talked about having sex with guys openly and have answered interview questions of “are you gay?” with “not right now” (because they’re married/have girlfriends)

thinking about language that’s been used around bisexuality specifically that doesn’t.. .know? the word bisexual exists? so like. They grew up in East Germany during the time when that was still the USSR. So very censored, very regulated, very not-queer.

Since their early fame they have used language around transness, gayness, and intersexuality that is... old-fashioned, but meant supportively, in some of their songs and in interviews, so there’s a question of - how much have they been involved in the queer Community (I think in the past at least not so much if at all), vs how much have they had personal experiences that make their way into their songs - again, especially Mr Lindemann who wrote the lyrics for a lot of those songs and is the most open about stuff.

Again I need to reiterate in a Very Old-Fashioned Way.

Recently however they’ve started flying Pride flags at concerts in Poland, Russia, and East Germany, which has been a nice development.

and the way this language comes out of an older understanding of - being gay = literally the act of having sex with someone of the same gender. not being gay = not having sex with someone of the same gender. There is no other term other than gay or not gay.

I would never say they were bisexual or pansexual or queer or anything other than heterosexual though, because that is their word for themselves. That is their conceptualization of their experiences.

Also I was thinking about an actor that I’ve had the pleasure of having several conversations with in a public, online forum who talked about a beautiful boy he went to school with whom he followed to Greece over a summer after they graduated, who described himself having a crush on that boy during that time which was why he followed him in the first place, but the boy basically left him alone in Greece after a short time to go hook up with some girls (this was all spoken about openly and publicly, just want to re-clarify).

Again, I am not saying this actor is anything but straight. I’m just fascinated in the fluidity of that experience as being described by someone who (I know for a fact) has never been involved in a queer space or even knew most of the terms as you’d understand them today before a yearish ago when said online forum space began, because he didn’t need them for himself (and he learned them in that time because he’s figured out that a large portion of his fanbase is queer and he wants to respect us), and is happily married.

The screaming comes in the form of being interested in the experiences that make you feel like a member of a space/in need of a specific space and the experiences that - even if you maybe feel a kinship or have at some point felt like a member of that space - means that you never have or no longer do.

I think there’s something interesting about the way terminology and personal attachment to terminology and mainstream knowledge of what-terminology-is-currently-dominant is in itself fluid + how in the end it all comes down to what you need - if you don’t need a queer space for yourself, then you might never find yourself in it on your own behalf, even if you’re an ally to other people being in that space.

Where I haven’t seen this with women who are pretty famous - again to use Keira Knightley as the example, is that she talked about dressing as a boy and going to prom with her best friend and kissing her and so on, but she’s not quantifying it in any way, if that makes sense? she’s not saying “so I’m bi.” she’s not saying “but I’m straight now” (as far as I’m aware on both of these statements, correct me if I’m wrong) she’s just saying “this was something that happened when I was younger.”

I think also it has to do with ofc the way closeness between men is scrutinised vs closeness between women.

Also obvs actual bisexual famous people who were/are open about it don’t get that acknowledged at all right? (Angelina Jolie, Pink, Lady Gaga, Billy Joe Armstrong, etc) so that’s also A Whole Thing.

#not coherent not coherent not cohereeeeent #discussions about... idk... language of the self?#I am still going to delete that last post because it was too flippant for what I've been thinking #(truth be told I'm not even sure if this explains it adequately)

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lord-explosion-baku · 4 years

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Disconnect

Yandere!Shinsou x reader

Warnings: yandere, adult themes, bordering Stockholm syndrome, hints of dubious consent

A/N: here’s another fic I posted and deleted a bit ago, but I edited it and revamped it a bit. I was in a weird place when I wrote this, but it’s content! Gonna stop impulsively deleting shit😂

“Are you in love with me?”

What a pathetic question. You know it is, but it’s been on your mind all damn day. That, amongst other things. Insecurities have been bombarding your brain and consuming your thoughts. They’re the kind that you’ve managed to repress for years, but today, while bored of all the nothing you had to do while Shinsou was away, they came at you full force, as if they were paying you back for forgetting about them.

Before Shinsou took you, happiness had been perpetually evasive. Some days you could pretend like it had been there, but that had just been a trick of the mind—a phantom emotion that muzzled how you’d actually been feeling.

The truth is, your friends—your family—everyone you know has always simply tolerated you. You could go to them when you were feeling down, but they never really wanted to hear your qualms. They’d always tell you anything you needed to hear to get you to stop whining. There’d been an art to ignoring how they grimaced at your attempted humor and hope for you to stop trying. They never wanted to hear about your interests or aspirations, either—most of them were too big for you anyways—but they would smile and wait for you to finish prattling on, then exhale with relief when it was over.

So, it hadn’t been like you could tell them how you felt, lest you wanted to risk being a ceaseless nuisance.

Some days you’d wondered if they wouldn’t mind if you just disappeared. Now you find yourself wondering what they think now that you have.

It’s fine. Rather, it had been fine when you were around them. However, the more time you’re forced to spend with Shinsou, the more you realize how unhappy you used to be.

You can’t say you’re happy now, either. With the reality of your situation, you’d actually have to be insane to say that you’re happy. A caged bird could never thrive if he couldn't fly. But Shinsou has been the first person that wanted to hear you talk about anything and everything. He wants to know you—to be there for you. He actually asks about your likes and dislikes, how you’re feeling, what he can do to make things better, while you’ve always been reluctant to answer him.

Still, you want to know. You want to be sure. You can assume that he does love you. Afterall, he’s taking care of you right now.

Earlier, he sensed that you were stressed and offered to give you a massage. Normally you would slink away from his touch, but you were feeling weak, so you said yes. You have to admit that having him touch you is... nice.

A deep groan escapes your chest when he presses on a particularly tense spot in your back, so he rubs the area more, making sure to massage all of your anxieties away. He leans down low to press his lips against the shell of your ear. You can feel the curl of his mouth when he says, “that’s a stupid question.”

I know. You want to tell him that, but you won’t. You won’t open up to him. You know he’d like that too much. It’s ironic, really. The one person who wants you to open up to them and it’s the last person on earth you’d want to tell anything too personal to.

“I wouldn’t have asked it if I didn’t need to hear the answer.”

“You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t in love with you,” he counters.

Touché, asshole.

“So the moment you fall out of love with me, you’re going to let me go.”

You very nearly say ‘you’re going to kick me out,’ but it’s not like you’re simply visiting with him. You’re there against your will. He's your captor, you’re his prisoner.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“But if it does-“

“It won’t.” Shinsou begins kissing down your spine. “Getting you here was a drag, but I won’t be letting you go under any circumstances.”

“Why?”

Darks skepticism envelopes his timbre when he asks, “why, what?”

You can't blame him. There’s been plenty of one-sided conversation where you’ve practically begged to be released, only to have Shinsou give you the cold shoulder. This won’t be another one of those discussions. You couldn’t bear it.

��Why do you like me?”

“Why do I like you, or why am I in love with you?”

You think about it for a second and decide to hell with it. You threw your dignity out the window the second you asked your first question. You hide your face in the pillow and mutter, “both.”

Shinsou hums against your back, pretending to consider the question while he squeezes your hips, pressing his thumbs into either side of your tailbone.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, pushing your ass up so he presses deeper on you, “that feels so good.”

“Reason one as to why I like you-“ Shinsou moves his hands down to your ass. He kneads your muscles, partly because he knows you want it, but mostly because he loves handling your ass- “you sound like that when you moan.”

“Be serious!” You bark back half-heartedly, because he seriously knows how to give a good massage, and you can’t stay annoyed when he’s touching you like that.

“I’m being plenty serious. It’s hot.” He squeezes your bottom, adding just the right amount of pressure to get you to moan again. He chuckles and thumbs the side of your underwear, letting it snap back to your skin pap! “So hot.”

“So, you like me because I’m hot?” You exhale when he squeezes more lotion onto your back, the cool sensation making goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Well-“ there’s a shrug in his voice when he makes his way back up to your spine-“it’s one of the reasons.”

Shinsou begins listing things he likes about you: the curl of your hair, the dip in your hips, the curve of your ass, the way your nose scrunches up when you smell something you think is going to be nice, but is actually unappealing, and that “cute little mole in that one place,” he suggests, “you know, the one I like to kiss…”

It’s all almost nice to hear, except they all have one thing in common: they’re all physical. You won’t always look like what you do now. You don’t think that Shinsou is so superficial that he only judges you on your appearance, but you can’t stop the swelling in your chest.

“And I especially like your neck,” he whispers at the column of your throat, right before licking a stripe up to your earlobe. You shudder when he smiles against you. “So sensitive…”

“So that’s it?”

You’re being negative, demanding even, and you shouldn’t feel bad about it because it’s with Shinsou, but you do. You need to hear more. You need to feel like you matter.

“There’s loads more, but this is what I’m focusing on right now. My partner’s half naked in front of me and I’m only human.”

You turn to face him, maneuvering the pillow your head was on to the front of you, hiding Shinsou’s eyes both from your chest, and from the tears you’ve left behind.

“What about when I change?” You ask, squeezing your fluffy shield against your stomach.

“What do you mean?”

“Like-“ you bow your head, fiddling with the fringes on the pillow- “I don’t know. If I’m gonna be stuck here forever, then obviously I’m gonna age.”

Shinsou frowns. “So?”

“So...I won’t always be-“ you make a flippant gesture at him-“your version of hot!”

He snorts. “My version of hot? What’s that?”

“You tell me!”

He shakes his head, laughing as he brings his hand to the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “You’re my version of hot...it won’t matter if your hair turns silver, your skin wrinkles, you get all saggy and crinkly-“ he chuckles- “same thing’s gonna happen to me, only with my job, I might end up losing an arm or—heaven forbid—I get a scar over an eye.”

You dismiss that. “Scars can be hot.”

“Duly noted.” He smirks. “I might have to be extra reckless on my next mission. See how you react to my battle wounds.”

“Please don’t,” you say immediately. You gaze up at him to see that his usual sleep-ridden eyes have softened. Geez, he’s acting as if you said something nice to him.

“What’s going on with you?” Shinsou asks as his hand falls over your pillow shield. He tugs on it to move, but you keep it clawed to your chest. “C’mon...let me in.”

It’s hard because you want to. You want to let him in, and you’re stupid for it. At least you have the mind to shake your head at him.

“Alright then,” he says, “what do you like about me? Or should I say, do you like me?”

“No.” That part is easy enough to say. Even if it's a lie, which you aren’t sure if it is or not, you know it’s what you should say every time. Regardless of what he makes you feel, what he does for you, how he takes care of you, you’re still there against your will.

You don’t get a moment to feel guilty about saying it either, because as soon as the answer rolls off of your tongue, you freeze, unable to move or speak. Immediately you want to rebuke, tell him off, scream at him, but your body disobeys every single one of your furious demands. Shinsou hasn’t used his mind control on you too much lately, and you let yourself forget that he has it. You’re absolutely seething.

Bastard.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m a slave to my own whims.” Shinsou takes the pillow away from your body. His eyes scan over your torso appreciatively before finding the dark dots stained from your tears on the fabric of your pillow. He flexes his jaw, then places the pillow back behind you.

“Lay back,” he commands, and you’re helpless to oblige.

For a moment, the two of you are still. Shinsou’s staring at you, but not in a way that’s weird...er than normal. He’s seen you naked plenty of times, so he’s not being entirely a pervert. It’s only when he rolls down to level his face with yours, you see that there’s mist in his eyes.

“You’re intelligent,” he says, placing a hand over your navel, “and not in a way that’s annoying. You can hold stimulating conversations, and you think...differently, but you’re also interested in listening to divergent viewpoints.”

Shinsou starts moving his hand in circles, using his fingertips to draw intricate designs across your skin.

“You don’t know how to make a proper playlist, so when you listen to music, the weirdest shit comes on, and you sing along to all of it. And you’re so bad at singing, but you belt that shit out like you don’t even care.”

You kinda wanna hit him. You kinda wanna laugh. You kinda don’t wanna accept that you've gotten comfortable enough around Shinsou to actually sing around him, even if it’s in the goofy voice that you use.

“You’re kind to animals, you laugh in your sleep, you yell at inanimate objects, and you always read the last page of a novel once you’re halfway through it, which is infuriating, but it’s because you get so excited that you can’t stand not knowing what’s going to happen.”

Shinsou brings his hand up to cup your face. “You piss me off. You challenge me. You’re stubborn and defiant and abrasive and I-“ he pauses, sighing- “and I love it. I love every part of you—vexing vices and valorous virtues.”

He leans down so that his lips are a hair away from yours. His voice is tight, raspy from something he’s holding back, but still, he speaks. “I know I’m fucked up for this. I know you hate it here, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever let anyone else have you. You’re so fucking weird, and beautiful, and angry. You’re precious to me, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ll always be in love with you. And that means damning you to me. I would say that I’m sorry, but I’m not. At least, not for keeping you. You’re the only thing I've ever wanted—the only sin I don’t regret.”

Your brain is ocean fog when his lips meet yours. He kisses you softly, because he doesn’t want to bring you out of your stupor just yet. His fingers travel down your sides, resting at the waistband of your panties. He pulls back and eyes you deviously.

“And if you don’t like me yet, I guess I’ll have to deal, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna keep gunning for your affection.” He smirks, hooking his thumbs around the sides of your briefs. Your entire body flushes in direct reaction to him, anticipating what comes next. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

With a devilish glint in his indigo eyes, he smirks up at you and says, “at least I know some things you love about me”

#yandere!shinsou x reader #yandere!shinsou #yandere x reader #reader insert #bnha reader insert #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou x reader #yandere bnha #bnha yandere #tw yandere

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ifninomiko · 8 years

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[Ficlet] Damsels in Distress

This is what I did instead of make progress on Archipelago. I have fic avoidance down to some sort of art form.

Series: Prowl meets Cable? I don’t know if this counts as a series yet? This is a sequel to In Rear View -> Back Alley Doctors and references this.

‘Verse: Marvel comics and Transformers.

Description: The reinforcements arrive.

Warnings: Very literally a write and post adventure. I am my own very beta, which should be all the warning you need. Meanwhile, unreliable narration is always in place.

"Rude much?!" Two bullets cut through the two men closest to them, a deadly unwasteful accuracy, economy of motion rather than a generous spray of ammo. "Don't you guys know that you're supposed to hit on a sexy nurse and not actually hit them?" A rough voice asked, lilting upwards into a smokey tenor. Nathan's never been more glad to hear Wade's beautiful voice than he is right now, unarmed, trapped in an alley with a non combatant and an alien that wouldn't break cover to act.

The men fall as Wade lands on Prowl's roof, knees bending as he folds into a crouch and rolls down the hood to bleed off momentum rather than break his legs. The roof doesn't flex beneath his weight and neither does the hood, as unyielding as concrete, more proof that Prowl more impervious than he appeared.

"Wade -- " Nathan doesn't like how breathless he sounds, like a damsel in distress rather than a soldier. Reinforcements, he thinks hysterically, Prowl called Wade to reinforce them!

Wade drew his swords, spinning them in his hands in a deadly whirl of steel, inhumanly fast as the remaining men take shots at him, only to have the bullets reflected back at them off the gleaming curve of steel. They must not have more than the one energy weapon if they're using bullets now.

"I'm hurt, Nate!" Wade declares as he leaps clear of Prowl. A door swings open, knocking an attacker into the downward arc of Wade's blade, splashing blood across the white and black paint of the police car. Headlights flash, blinding those in front of Prowl with a strobe light burst. Wade cuts them down as if he had always had a car for a fighting partner. "If you were going to take part in a major crossover event, I expect you to call your friends!"

Nathan almost laughs, except it would hurt too much, "Mario Kart ended our friendship."

Wade spins, decapitating a man, "Batter up!" The head flies through the air, and ricochets off the door Prowl flicked out to prevent it from striking Linda. Wade thrust his sword point first at Nathan's face, an action that would have been more threatening if he hadn't been all the way across the alley from him. "The blue shell was a betrayal too far," he said dramatically.

"Blue shell?" Linda asked incredulously.

"He knocked me right off Rainbow Road," Wade complained to her, outraged, as he gutted the man sneaking up behind him from stem to stern before kicking him off his blade, "and I was going to win too!"

"He wasn't going to win," Nathan eased off of Linda and sagged against Prowl's tire. Wade was here, despite everything that was between them. There was a brutal efficiency in every motion despite how flippant his sweet voice was, a sign that Wade took these enemies seriously and what Wade took seriously usually ended up alright. "And the look on his face was not to missed," he confided.

Linda sat up immediately and turned to help Nathan into a sitting position against Prowl's side despite the incredulous expression that had overtaken her face.

"For the look on my ugly face he ends our friendship," Wade said dramatically, "Don't you know the bro code? Fellows before shell ... " there was a brief pause where Wade realized that didn't actually rhyme, "-os!"

Nathan helpfully pointed that out, "That doesn't even rhyme."

"Shut up! I am a master poet, you unappreciative, uncultured barbarian!"

"That's Deadpool," Linda hissed quietly, no doubt finally matching all the talking with the uninhibited violence taking place around them. The red suit probably helped with that too. Nathan smirked in reply.

"That's my call sign, don't wear it out! Though beautiful damsels in distress can call me Wade," Wade sang out before adding pointedly, "This asshole who used to be my friend can call me Mr. Pool."

"Bros before hos, Wade." Nathan tipped his head back against Prowl's warm side at Wade's cry of outrage, closing his eyes as he smiled. Wade was here and he was so tired.

"Boss!" "Cable!" "Nate!"

Prowl's doors snapped shut with a bang that jerked Nathan out of the dark well he had been sinking into. He was half on his feet again before the world rushed back in and he clutched his side, Linda staggering under his weight when she tried to steady him. He reached out blindly with his mechanical arm and Wade pushed himself underneath it, babbling into his ear, "Let me get this big lug off your hands."

Nathan gratefully relieved Linda of the burden by putting all his weight on Wade's taller and broader shoulders. "Oof! Have you gained weight? You need to lay off the gruel and future grasshoppers. It's done nothing for your figure. Your manhood is slipping away. Is that -- gasp! -- a brown hair on your chiseled jaw? Say it ain't so."

"I need one of them for -- " it was more difficult than normal to concentrate, to cut across the flow of words to get what he needed to say out.

"Questioning?" Thankfully, Wade still seemed capable of reading his mind. "One of them's still alive ... or at least, he's not going to bleed out any time soon. I think your sexy crossover car will probably keep him from crawling off."

"These units are under arrest. Do not be afraid, citizens."

"That is just ... adorable. Can we adopt him?"

"Divorced," Nathan muttered into Wade's throat and couldn't quite remember if he said it as a reminder or because adopting an alien car was too complicated.

"We need to get him inside, Deadpool," Linda reminded him as she shoved the door to the clinic open and gestured for Wade to follow her.

"People get remarried," Wade shrugged and turned, bending at the waist as he hooked an arm under Nathan's knees and literally swept him off his feet. Nathan groaned as the motion lanced pain up his side, but there was too much effort involved in regaining anything resembling dignity so he just let his head fall against Wade's shoulder and shut his eyes. "And since I'm carrying you over a threshold again, I'm thinking we can just skip past all those justice of the peace parts and jump straight to the nuptials. What do you say?"

"Romantically coerce him into marriage after I patch him up."

"Only if you'll be the witness," Wade said sweetly as he strode into the clinic.

Notes: In Cable & Deadpool, Nathan compares Wade's voice to Demi Moore's, which I have always assumed to mean that they both have a rough/smokey tone (in keeping with other descriptions the comics provide as to what Wade's voice sounds like) ... but it entertains me to think that he literally sounds like Demi Moore.

So that up there is the official version, but there were two versions with a randomly appearing Spider-Man, which I have included below. I had too many people on screen and I felt Spider-Man wasn’t being properly represented, so I deleted him. Better he not even be there than be utterly useless, right?

"He wasn't going to win," Nathan eased off of Linda and sat up with effort, breathing hard as he struggled with the flare up of pain. Wade was here, despite everything that was between them. There was a brutal efficiency in every motion despite how flippant his sweet voice was, a sign that Wade took these enemies seriously and what Wade took seriously usually ended up alright. "And the look on his face was not to missed," he confided.

Linda was under his arm in an instant, helping him to his feet despite the incredulous expression that had overtaken her face.

Nathan helpfully pointed that out, "That doesn't even rhyme."

"Shut up! I am a master poet, you unappreciative, uncultured barbarian!"

"That's my call sign, don't wear it out! Though beautiful damsels in distress can call me Wade," Wade sang out before adding pointedly, "This asshole who used to be my friend can call me Mr. Pool."

"Bros before hos, Wade." Nathan steadied himself between Linda and Prowl's side as Wade cried out in outrage.

Prowl's doors abruptly snapped shut and Nathan looked around, past the carnage that was Wade at work as he tried to find what had made Prowl suddenly go still and innocuous. Not five seconds later a thwip thwip thwip sounded and the last three men were being webbed to the dirty wall. "Oh my god, Deadpool, stop!"

Wade flicked his blades, a practiced motion that shed the blood from them, but he didn't put them away. In the close quarters fight, he hadn't risked additional ricochet by adding his own bullets to the mix, but the drawback was that now the alley was littered with blood spray and butchered corpses. Prowl's clean white was splashed in more red than Nathan had realized until now. Wade didn't look at Nathan or Claire, his head had turned upwards as Spider-Man landed on the fire escape above them. "What are you doing?!" He sounded a cross between horrified and utterly scandalized. "I thought we agreed there would be no more killing!"

The line of tension in Wade's shoulders was like a scream to Nathan even though his voice was light and airy. "Well, you know how it goes, Spidey. My hand just slipped. Ten times at least! I think I have a real gift for alley decor. Do you think heads on pikes, framing the door in an archway, would be too much? On second thought, there can never be too much warning ... not to fuck with a clinic." A black snarl slid into Wade's sweet voice on the end and Spider-Man's shoulders went back. The moment hung on a knife edge and the tension that coiled in Wade's shoulders vibrated.

"Leave them alone. You're done enough damage tonight," Spider-Man growled, "I'm --

Nathan cut coolly across whatever he was going to say, "I only need one of them for questioning."

"Deadpool, no -- don't!"

Nathan smiled and closed his eyes, tiredness beginning to overtake him, as two men screamed as they were gutted. He didn't feel smug at all.

....

Maybe a little bit smug.

"Leave them alone. You're done enough damage tonight," Spider-Man growled, "I'm --

Nathan cut coolly across whatever he was going to say, "I only need one of them for questioning."

Before the final syllable had even faded, Wade lunged, his blades sliding across two throats so deeply that the heads nearly lolled off their bodies, blood arcing through the air. He flicked his blades, a flashy whirl of steel and fury, before he sheathed them in one smooth motion. He spun on his heel and bowed to Linda and Nathan, sweeping an arm out to encompass the alley, "Hello, Nurse!"

Nathan smiled and tilted his head to stare Spider-Man right in his eye-holes -- at trick he had perfected with Wade -- before dismissing him, reaching for Wade with his mechanical arm in a silent demand.

"Let me get this big lug off your hands," Wade didn't run or strut, but it was an awfully swift and self-satisfied saunter. He pushed himself under Nathan's outstretched arm and Nathan gratefully relieved Linda of the burden by putting all his weight on Wade's taller and broader shoulders. "Oof! Have you gained weight? You need to lay off the gruel and future grasshoppers. It's done nothing for your figure. Your manhood is slipping away. Is that -- gasp! -- a brown hair on your chiseled jaw? Say it ain't so."

Nathan pressed his forehead against the side of Wade's head, closing his eyes tiredly, and murmured against his ear, "Thank you, Wade."

"For what? Being made of awesome? I guess I do deserve a parade," Wade mused thoughtfully, "Or at least a chocolate fountain attended by scantily clad super time soldiers?"

Nathan chuckled and groaned with regret as it made his side spasm in pain.

Linda pushed the door to the clinic open and held it. She looked up at the infuriated Spider-Man and said pointedly, "You could help clean up the mess instead of perch up there and disapprove."

"What?! No! I'm calling the police!"

Linda gestured at Prowl, "They already did."

The air vibrated and Belle whimpered as a high pitched whine built, scraping across Nathan's very nerves. Something exploded high on the wall and Spider-Man yelped, newly outraged, "That was new!" The gravel bounced and Nathan grit his teeth as his whole mechanical arm vibrated, a burning agony that whited out all other sensations. The energy weapon exploded in a shower of sparks and smoking metal, plasma splashing across the concrete by Prowl's tire. A dozen tiny electronics on the soldiers exploded in eerie unison. The vibration abruptly cut off and Nathan gasped for air as the lack of blinding pain brought the world abruptly back into focus. He was no longer standing up at all, he was being carried, Wade's arms under his legs and shoulders. Dimly, he decided that was a good thing, since it meant he couldn't fall down.

"What the hell?!" Wade snapped, kicking out at Prowl's tire.

"Tracking devices neutralized."

"You made the tamagotchi cry!" Wade growled, hitching Nathan higher in his arms.

There was a beat of silence through which must have passed digital communications because Belle abruptly stirred from her catatonic curl.

"It's okay," Belle whispered on his shoulder. Static laced her voice, but it grew stronger as she spoke, "I'm okay. Really. It doesn't hurt any more."

"That's it," Linda snapped, "Get in the clinic!"

Notes: I admit it. Spider-Man was originally there so Prowl could blow up his camera.

#Fanfiction #Cablepool #Cable #Deadpool #Transformers #Prowl #Nathan Summers #Wade Wilson #Night Nurse #Linda Carter #Claire Temple #Spider-Man #Peter Parker

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guwop-aye-bro-blog · 7 years

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Some thoughts on the Facebook Killer and how we reacted to it.

Nothing good stems from Facebook live. The only time I remember it exists, someone is getting murdered on it. Sometimes I wish I could see the meetings that hatch these ideas. Does every social networking company gather around solely to ask each other how to (slightly) repackage what the other one is doing? Are Snapchat, Facebook and Instagram all under an umbrella, in some clandestine cabal? Let me know if I am on to something. Apparently, it took Facebook two hours and 14 minutes to take down the video of Robert Godwin Sr.’s murder. Mark Zuckerberg, likely reflecting on what a shitty idea Facebook Live is, said they’ve “got a lot of work to do.” Well, Mark, I’d suggest faster moderators. More importantly, however, a watchlist for whoever shares an article from Thought Catalog. The cesspool that resides in any and all Facebook comment sections, though? Beyond repair.

A little background on Sunday’s events. The 45 hour manhunt started with Steve Stephens going on Facebook live and literally killing somebody for the world to see. The victim, Robert Godwin Sr., 78, was a stranger. Stephens forced him to say his ex girlfriend’s name (Joy Lane) before shooting him. I haven’t seen the clip and don’t plan on it. However, I unknowingly heard the audio when 93x played it on Monday morning as part of their news segment. I would ask who was responsible for letting a snuff film play on the airwaves, but then someone would say 93x and I’d believe them. In a nutshell, he lost it over some relationship troubles and decided to take it out on the world. Almost two days later, Stephens was caught at McDonalds when he was waiting for some nuggets and fries, per the request of the quick thinking employee. This was the only sensible thing he did. If I’ve mustered up the lack of shame to order McDonalds, I will wait until the fries are ready, even if I’m on the run. All jokes aside, the idea of an elderly man being killed in cold blood on Easter shakes people up, understandably. In this instance, though, it shook them up enough to strip themselves of empathy and politicize it immediately. Good work.

The state of discourse is warped. Given the short shelf life for stories, stormy political climate, and ideologies weaponized ad nauseum, a productive approach to the conversation is, at best, uncommon. If you’re a rational person, this isolated, domestic incident is better left apolitical in its early stages. Even if your argument holds weight, you’re just going to piss people off. During the last election cycle, however, I’ve noticed the Internet throwing their two cents in all at once, hoping to be the first with a take. Some immediately shoehorn an agenda, which is obviously the tasteful option. Others, become forensic detectives and blood spatter analysts overnight. Ever heard of a crisis actor? A stranger with an Android screenshot wants to tell you about it. All of this, of course, under the guise of empathy for Godwin Sr. and his family - or in their words, “that old man that died on Facebook Live or whatever.”

If you’ve spent any time on Twitter lately, social justice is as present as ever. Saying anything deemed “problematic” will make you go viral in the worst way. You don’t want those problems. Frankly, they aren’t out of line most of the time. I’ll always encourage mobilizing against racism and careless language. A few of the younger users tend to virtue signal and leave it at that, but whatever. When I was 17, I liked Ron Paul. They’re far better off than I was then. But, we’re all at risk of getting lost in the sauce.

Within an hour of the story breaking, there were tweets pinning the Cleveland shootings on complex things like hypermasculinity. For the record, it’s no secret that patriarchy played a role here. Men will be destructive, selfish and crazy and still manage to do the mental gymnastics to blame a woman. It’s a tried and true trope. However, “snapping” over a woman versus commanding a stranger to recite their name before ending their life is a little different. Call me crazy, but I think Steve had some screws loose.

Twitter user GeauxGabby, dubbed “The Most Annoying Person On Twitter” by the good people at Bossip, had this to say:

“14 people were just murdered because this man is hurt over his girl. THAT IS HYPERMASCULINITY.”

This was part of a rant about men being murderers. I’ll never attempt to invalidate a woman speaking up about something like that, but it took a strange turn when she got specific. Suddenly, she started to focus solely on black men. I didn’t know who she was so I decided to do my Googles. In a few articles, GeauxGabby is named as a “member” of Black Twitter, although I don’t think she is warmly embraced as such. Her bio is adorned with a #BlackLivesMatter hashtag, as well as a reminder that a retweet does not mean an endorsement. The latter may come as a relief to many.

One of the (deleted) tweets in the thread said “N*****S ARE PISS” echoing sentiments shared with Darren Wilson, George Zimmerman and probably the entire Trump administration. She came to this conclusion so early that the information isn’t even correct - we’ve yet to hear about the 14 other murders. Usually I’d give a pass for misinformation when a story is developing, but not when it’s used to support flippant, dangerous accusations. It’s disheartening to see a valid critique of hypermasculinity mutate into an attack on black men. There’s a lot of opportunities to be thoughtful being squandered by “drag culture.” Nobody wants to unpack ideas when they’re wielded as social currency and provocation.

On the other side of the spectrum, Pepe frogs were doing what they usually do. The reactionary right wing response was expectedly tone deaf, clamoring for a response from Black Lives Matter. How stuck on semantics can you be? An organization against police brutality and systemic oppression isn’t obligated to speak on some lunatic. Immediately, conservative pundits began digging for evidence that Stephens was affiliated with BLM and Islam. It’s almost like they’re trying to smear people they hate, if you can believe that. A comment on the Blue Lives Matter website (I got there on accident, don’t bother visiting unless you want to buy a wristband or something) said that they were expecting an “outcry” towards police when they catch him. How nauseatingly out of touch (or just plain racist) do you have to be to assume that the same people that defended Eric Garner are going to be crusading for this asshole?

Finally, the conspiracy theorists. Now that Alex Jones is doing the pump fake in court, I was worried that I’d be without my dose of crazy when I need it. My fears subsided when I saw a Facebook page juxtapose Christopher Dorner and Steve Stephens, suggesting they were the same person. This was after someone posted an anecdote about their Dad breaking down why the video was fake. Usually I trust Dads, but I don’t think everyone is Dexter Morgan. There were points about the blood drying too quickly, the shot not being realistic, etc. In fact, this theory is dumber than “Dexter” got after John Lithgow called somebody a c*nt. That’s saying something.

These conspiracy theories imply that professional actors are used by the government to deceive the public. They believe that the same people are used in multiple instances. For example, the Boston Marathon bombing and the Sandy Hook massacre were theorized to use the same Academy Award winners. They have gone so far to personally attack the parents of children slain in the 2012 school shooting, and I’m assuming the same will be done to Godwin Sr.’s family if history is any indication.

I’m at a loss as to why they would hire the same person to appear in multiple publicized tragedies and events. Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep a few on retainer? Can they not afford more actors? Actually, can I be a crisis actor? If someone could suggest a template for a resume or do some press shots for me, I’d really be interested. All I have to do is show up and cry, which is what I usually do when I log on to Facebook anyway.

All in all, I don’t really have a thesis here. Sorry to say, but these knee jerk reactions rendered Godwin Sr.’s death into a contest to see who was the loudest in the room. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure whether we project our narcissism whenever we can or have just turned into desensitized shitheads. Look at the president - both options are viable. Regardless, someone died, and I was a bit disturbed (albeit not shocked) at the immediate attempts to politicize and twist the situation to fit a narrative. It’s not a bad thing to just write someone like Stephens off as crazy and leaving your critique to the wayside while families mourn and communities heal. In fact, it may stop us from treating the news like a microwave.

John Dorcy

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kidsviral-blog · 7 years

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