#and i feel really alienated from my own needs and emotions in a way that makes it hard to like. communicate or even know them

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 16 "Destroyer of Worlds"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: We're really getting there now 🥹🥹🥹 I'm so excited. And I'm very pleased with this chapter 🤭 I can't wait to hear what you think!

Reposted from my Ao3💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Day 100

No guards frame the door that is tall and glinting back, just like Feyd had assured her. When she had approached it and passed through it several weeks prior, she thought it may as well lead to hell, but today she is certain of it. Except it won't be Feyd's hell or hers, it will be his.

And he will have no time for tricks.

With her gun of clear, shiny plastic raised in front of her chest, the relic enters Baron Vladimir Harkonnen's bath chambers.

The scented, herbal fog hasn't grown as dense and thick yet and the white, fleshy heap at the center of the tub fills out her sight at once. And unexpectedly, there is movement to the right, not a guard or a servant but Glugo who quivers in a damp basket near the wall.

While the woman's eyes are briefly averted, the Baron's shield flares up around his misshapen form at a flick against the massive, silver band at his middle finger. The smallest and priciest model on the market, Ixian technology.

"I expected my nephew," he drones, voice amplified by the vaulted ceiling but distorted by the shield.

"Hands on the pool edge," the woman demands, voice as cold as cryogenic vapor. Vladimir acquiesces, unable to reach for the transponder behind his ear. An invisible muscle ticks at his fleshy jaw.

"I hold audiences every Freitak," he attempts to jest, arms spread out in mockery as he adjusts them on the slippery edge. "No need to assault me in my own bath chambers."

A blunder, he realizes quickly as her face hardens with rancor. Not a molecule would fit between her clenched teeth.

"You're troubled because of what you saw," he concludes. "It was a mistake." Vladimir concedes all too quickly. His finesse seems to have evaporated along with the curling steam and he realizes he knows nothing substantial about the woman.

"Quite," she confirms curtly, closing in with slow, deliberate steps. The crosshair projected by her interface, only for her eyes to see, dances over the Baron's face, but she won't take any risks. At the center of the vaulted chamber, a generous distance separates them still, but she feels more confident in her aim.

Pulling a trigger is as easy as dropping a bomb. She should have it in her. Her kin have dropped bombs like rainfall back in the slaughterhouse warfare for oil and soil and rare earths.

The Baron gawks at the muzzle, an unassuming hole among glossy, alien plastic. His old eyes might be deceiving him, but he thinks he can see the inner cogs and channels shimmering through the surface, and a metallic component that doesn't belong.

A lasgun! She's either a maniac or an idiot! Or truly a relic of long-forgotten ages, like the sisterhood had said.

He could either deactivate his shield and die certainly, saving the palace and the capital from nuclear fallout, or he could take them down with him, his nephew included.

"You don't want to fire a lasgun at me, kid."

His voice booms and the Tleilaxu creature leaps out of its basket, hand-feet splatting across the damp tiles. Thank God, it flees out the door, the relic thinks. That tiny moment of inattentiveness is enough for Vladimir to flick the switch at the ring on his pointer, a special gift that was given to him just a few days ago, and just in time. Already, he feels safer.

"That's not a normal lasgun." Her attention is back on the Baron and she smiles knowingly. Vladimir despises the self-assured look of it.

"We can find a civilized solution for this," he declares with renewed confidence. Pretending to think, he sways his fatty neck from side to side. "I know my nephew has plenty to offer, so I don't see why we shouldn't be able to share."

She laughs out brightly, a sound like a whiplash across the Baron's heaving chest. "Where I'm from, there's the death penalty for abusers like you. I couldn't build an electric chair, so I brought something else."

"And what have you got there?" Get her talking, he thinks, beady eyes greedily darting for the door.

"Feyd's wedding gift."

"Feyd's wedding—?"

Thumb slipping over the back of the gun, she cocks the hammer.

"Did I understand that correctly? If you miscalculated, this test will cause an atomic explosion?" The memory of a few days prior fills out her mind, easing the terrible anxiety that now dampens her palms. "Yes, but I did not miscalculate." "Then why test it?" Feyd-Rautha had paced anxiously behind her and sized up the heap of towels stacked in the corner of her room, their outline blue and blurred by a softly humming Holtzman shield. "Better to be safe than sorry." "I'd feel sorry if you blew up my planet." "I wouldn't," she had responded with hardness and pulled the trigger. Doing so fires the bullet first, then a fine tuned laser beam from a smaller second muzzle, as light travels faster than matter and the bullet needs more time to reach its target. The double muzzle is calibrated to take the bullet's weight and distance from the target into consideration. Light may have no inherent mass, but photons do transmit impulse. And so the photons that comprise the laser beam collide with the Holtzman shield's nuclei and propel them into motion towards the body they are meant to protect. The beam's impact isn't hard enough to trigger a nuclear chain reaction, but just right to accelerate the nuclei. And by the time the bullet arrives at the crime scene too, its relative velocity to the shield is that of a slow blade. With a thump, the bullet had sunken into the stack of towels.

The door moves at her back and the only reason why she doesn't jump in fright is because she recognizes his footsteps.

"Wait, my darling."

The Baron could weep with joy at the sight of his dear nephew. Not who he had called, but an even more welcome sight. It was he who had given the boy everything; schooling for his cunning mind, planets to govern, blades to play with, toys to warm his heart and his cock with. Everything in exchange for a measly bit of affection!

Feyd-Rautha, dressed from neck to toe with not an inch of skin showing aside from his face and hands, loops his arms around his betrothed's waist, chin tilted and leaning against her temple.

"Let me do it." 

Vladimir pales, shuffling in the sloshing bath water as his nephew gently takes the gun from the cursed woman's hand and closes in like a starved viper. His chest rises beneath the full coverage of his suit.

Desperately, the Baron looks at the door.

"My dear nephew, you're falling for a hoax! Do you want to blow up the city?"

Feyd-Rautha stops, still several meters away from the tub. Vladimir seethes.

Anxiously, the relic observes the jittering path of the digital crosshair, weapon out of her hands and out of her control. As Feyd halts, the red mark settles on the Baron's pasty forehead. His aim is perfect.

"You want me dead, then come closer, at least! Look me in the eyes when you do it, my boy." The Baron's tongue flicks out, grey-pinkish flesh, to wet his bottom lip. He wants him so close that he can see the whites in his nephew's eyes before the city blows up. Stripped naked and unarmed aside from the poison needle in the signet ring on his pinkie, he feels more than ever like a heap of flesh, defenseless and abandoned and to his own surprise, it is the latter that hurts most.

Feyd-Rautha doesn't speak.

"Say something, boy! You've had more than enough chances to do this, but you didn't, and I'll tell you why." The Baron raises himself slightly, bulging chest emerging from the inky water. "You don't want to kill your own un—"

The echo of a bang ricochets off the vaulted ceiling and the Baron finds his head knocked back, vision filled with fractured red, his shield dissolved.

With his head rolled on the tub's edge, he can only see the ceiling, and something wet slips over his brow, into his blurry eye. Vladimir had always thought, when Feyd finally manages to kill him, he would ravage his body with blades, take him apart to the last organ, gorge on his flesh while it is still warm. It had almost aroused him.

But his nephew's final touch — denied. 

How cruel.

"You did it!" His betrothed's arms loop around his waist from behind, the embrace hard and stormy, her face against his spine. Feyd still stares in awe at the corpse of his uncle, massive, white flesh afloat obscenely in the tub.

"I did," he confirms, his voice hard, with tremors around the edges.

Feyd feels like he should perhaps burst into tears or yell, but none of the like wants to come out of his heart. The accomplishment might take a few days to feel real. What is entirely real, however, is the face of his darling as she slides to his front and cups his cheeks, overjoyed. The tears that his eyes are missing in his, shimmer distinctly in hers and before he knows it, she has tilted his face down to hers and pressed her lips on his, comforting and needy.

Anxiety melts under soft kisses and tears track down her cheeks, coloring their lips with salt.

"I see you've done us all a favor."

Feyd and his woman snap apart, staring in horror to the ajar door. A few steps into the chamber stands a figure swathed in black like a bad omen on the battlefield. The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam looks appreciatively at the corpse of Baron Harkonnen.

Even through the mesh of her veil, her sharp eyes perceive the wicked twitch of the na-Baron's hands around the gun.

"Hold still!" She commands and Feyd-Rautha's finger freezes at the trigger.

A pop-up blinks in the corner of the relic's interface, signaling the detection of the soundwave pattern she had picked apart a few weeks ago.

"What are you doing here?" The relic hisses, fingers screwed around Feyd's dangling wrist. She looks a tad haggard compared to when the Reverend Mother had last seen her, with a touch of madness in the eyes.

"My presence was requested by the late Baron and he was right to do so."

"Your presence?" Feyd's voice rings out in distaste, aiming for mockery but rage oozes from every strained muscle. The Reverend Mother sees in him a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

"I wasn't any less surprised than you are, Baron Feyd-Rautha." She tilts her head and with her moves the crass shadow thrown by her oblong headpiece. "That's how I knew the gravity of the situation. Your uncle was beginning to feel a bit uneasy. He had a feeling you were plotting something, so he requested my help, thinking I was the only one who could."

"But you are too late," Feyd barks, fingers clenching helplessly around the gun. "He's dead!"

"He is. And yet, I arrived perfectly on time." The Reverend Mother calmly crosses her hands in front of her body.

"You could have intervened and didn't?" Horror much bigger than when she had the Baron at gunpoint rises to the relic's chest.

"I must confess, I was… curious." Gaius Helen Mohiam waits but the younger woman remains silent. "How did you do it?"

The engineer laughs out, a sound that's shrill and unpleasant from her clamoring heartbeat. "Sure, I'll tell you and give away the single most valuable piece of information in the universe."

The Reverend Mother purses her lips. The truth is, she had made her decision the second the bullet had passed through the Baron's shield. That knowledge must die and not even reach the ears of her own sisters. Temptation brings out the worst in humans and careful plans are traded all too easily for short-lived power.

Perhaps Feyd-Rautha knows too, but he is a force they can control. The wildcard however has no place among them.

"This must not come out," the Reverend Mother declares, her tone a whiplash.

The glint in the wayward woman's eyes tells her everything she needs to know. The terrible relic is not horrified by the idea of throwing the world off balance. She embraces the potential of destruction like a tumor the flesh it feasts on. Thousands of years of selective breeding are at risk at the whims of one wicked catalyst.

"I think maybe it should," the relic snarks. 

"You're an abomination!" Mother Mohiam snaps. "You should have stayed in the ice like the fossil you are."

"You shouldn't have thawed me then. This is your doing!"

And this is why the Reverend Mother must undo it. "There is no place for you here," she coldly proclaims.

"Then watch me make one! I'll carve, dig and shoot a mold for myself and if I end up destroying something on the way, I'm not sorry."

"That I can see, and that is precisely why there is no place for you in this world."

Feyd-Rautha stands at his betrothed's side, a shackled guard dog watching the heated exchange between witch and scientist, between the present and the past which might become the future once more.

"It is a pity," the Reverend Mother continues. "But there will be more opportunities to continue this bloodline." She tilts her head, sharp eyes locked onto the relic through the shroud of her veil. "Kill yourself."

Her interface flashes red, a warning at the center of her vision. For a brief moment, all joy fades from her eyes, all hope, and to end her own life seems to be the only logical consequence — until the code sequence she had programmed weeks prior is triggered into action, playing an opposing sound pattern directly into her skull.

Sound waves meet in destructive interference and only a dull, sad ache behind her sternum remains.

Mother Mohiam grows cold with terror when the abomination remains unmoving and smiles.

"You're full of surprises." The Reverend Mother's tone carries a hint of begrudging admiration. Underestimating her is a mistake she won't make again. The woman whose only ability of notable importance seemed to have been prescient dreams had somehow bested her command. But it doesn't matter. There is never only one way to the goal.

Feyd-Rautha realizes that too, but a second too late.

"Kill her."

The na-Baron slackens and turns, soulless eyes holding no recognition. She releases his wrist. Terror devours her when Feyd-Rautha points the gun at her forehead. And just like before, his aim is perfect. A red glow, visible only to her, bleeds into her vision from between her eyes and she remembers.

He aims with the gun that is linked to her brain. The trigger clicks only half a second after she jams it via remote control.

No bullet breaches her skull and the relic stumbles away from her love who stares at the handgun in confusion, pulling the trigger three more times before discarding the weapon with a dissonant clatter. A muscle tics at his jaw, cat like eyes narrowing into slits and he reaches for his belt. Glinting steel emerges from its sheath, a hissing purr. Her betrothed prowls.

"Feyd, don't—" She pleads, backing away with quickening steps. There is nowhere to go, only the tub where she could hide herself behind the Baron's floating corpse. "It's me, you don't want to kill me. You love me!"

"He doesn't know that," Mother Mohiam coldly reminds her and the relic glares hatefully.

"You're destroying his life!" She sobs, stumbling over the steps that lead up to the bathtub and falling on her bum. "How can you live like this? You're the abomination! He will kill you in revenge, he'll blow up your whole planet!"

Her beloved towers right over her, head crowned by a corona of glowglobe shine, his chiseled features entirely calm, innocent.

"Do it!"

"I'm sorry," she cries. "I love you."

Feyd grabs her by the front of her shirt as she tries to roll away. She squirms and sobs pathetically, helpless with no further tricks up her sleeve, no hidden blade or gun, no voice of her own to wield against him or her.

The Reverend Mother raises her chin in triumph, but all of a sudden, there is movement at the door, at the unsuspecting witch's back.

Mikhail Kyelug comes flying through the door, sword flung out in a wide arch. Right after him sprints Lilia, with Glugo clutching her hand.

The Reverend Mother spins in surprise, lips open, but her words are severed along with her head, terrible voice silenced forever as Mikhail's blade cleaves through her neck and spine with an awful crack. The world spins together with her head. The headpiece comes off, giving away thinning, grey hair. Voicelessly, she curses that her last ever sight is Baron Vladimir's Harkonnen's bloated face, dead eyes locked with dead eyes.

Feyd-Rautha whips around from the racket, blade quivering in his clenched fist. The relic's nails have dug inky crescents into his wrist. For a moment, no one moves and three humans and one humanoid wait with bated breath for Feyd to drop the blade.

But the voice is no link to be severed by the wielder's death, it is a temporary alteration of the brain, and so Feyd's face remains empty, shark eyes glaring at the intruders. Mikhail sees it too.

"Back! Back I say!" He roars and barges like a bull. Feyd-Rautha releases the woman's shirt, facing the threat that is bound to crash into him with hissing metal.

Blades collide.

Lilia jumps over the Reverend Mother's corpse and dashes past the fighting pair to  collect her weeping Lady from the steps. Glugo's hand-feet splatter after her with haste and it picks up the discarded gun, cradling the devious, shiny thing protectively against its misshapen chest.

Glugo had known right away, when it scuttled past the tall, old witch in the hallway and she had commanded it in that terrible voice to leave, that she meant harm. So, it had ran as fast as it could and pulled at Lilia's hands and skirt, because Lilia would know what to do. 

The three of them huddle down in the corner, the relic crying into Lilia's chest. Glugo slips a quivering hand-foot into her palm but its milky eyes are aimed at the center of the room where its friend and Mikhail are grappling and grunting.

By the Sun, the na-Baron fights like a demon! His pupils are shrunken into pinpricks and his mouth is pulled apart into a gashing grin. Mikhail's armor is torn at the shoulder and black blood weeps down his armpit. Every next parry burns as if his muscles were about to tear apart and with the rush of pain comes a rush of clarity.

Fists, not blades. 

Mikhail drops his blood-slick sword and catches the na-Baron's wrist, stopping the tip of the blade centimeters away from his neck. Roaring, he shoves the na-Baron backwards until he collides into the wall and slams the taller man's wrist against the tiles, once, twice. Feyd's blade slips out of his twitching fingers and clatters to the ground as his lips skin back from glinting, black teeth in anger.

Mikhail doesn't hesitate. He drives his thick-knuckled fist into the na-Baron's guts like a battering ram. Wearing no armor, Feyd doubles up, spitting saliva across his own chest. Ringed hands grasp at Mikhail's chest plate, attempting to hurl the guard to the ground, but Mikhail's boot crashes into Feyd's pelvis and scarred knuckles find Feyd's soft cheek. Skin splits open and his molars sink into the soft flesh inside his mouth.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Feyd blurts out, choking on spit and blood, hands raised in the air as Mikhail's final blow cracks across his jaw. He lurches to the ground and rolls on his back in defeat, his eyes clear and wide in terror.

"My Lord," Mikhail pants, raising his bloodied fists in a shaky salute.

"I— I didn't—" Feyd's head turns to the corner where both women are huddled up, Glugo in front of them, clutching the handgun in one of its oily-black hands.

"My darling," Feyd rasps, spluttering blood. "I nearly killed you."

"It's not your fault," she sobs immediately and frees herself from Lilia's embrace. The pair meet in the middle and her arms whip around his neck, his around her waist and he squeezes her until he feels her very heartbeat against his own, convincing himself that she's still alive.

Their foreheads fall against each other and she gently cradles his aching jaw, thumb stroking under the bleeding cut on his cheek. Feyd-Rautha's long, lowered lashes cast shadows across his eyes and something dark and bitter flashes in them.

"No," she insists immediately and her tone forces his eyes back on hers. She won't allow him to hate himself for something he almost did. "We're alive and they're dead. This is our victory."

Next to Feyd-Rautha and his Lady, Lilia has rushed over to her husband, making an endearing fuss over the wound on his shoulder and his bruised hands. Deft fingers have unclipped the shoulder piece and tugged the cut fabric apart to inspect length and depth of the laceration.

"S'fine, my darlin'," Mikhail rasps with exhaustion and slings his good arm around her middle, pulling her into him to place mindless kisses atop of her head.

The relic peeks over Feyd's shoulder and unlatches one hand from her beloved, beckoning for the pair to come closer. "Thank you," she sighs with tear-thick voice.

Lilia confidently seizes the offered hand, thumb brushing comfortingly over her Lady's knuckles. Mikhail stands awkwardly behind her, one hand on Lilia's waist, not daring to touch the woman of higher standing so affectionately. "My Lady."

Feyd-Rautha releases his woman after all and turns to face his saviors. At once, the guard and the handmaid drop to one knee before him and lower their heads in devotion.

"Baron Harkonnen," they mumble in unison and a muscle twitches across Feyd-Rautha's cheek.

"No," he interrupts with grating tone. "Stand up!"

The pair obey, glancing up with confusion as they raise themselves. Feyd-Rautha regards them with a long glance and exhales deeply, then slowly kneels in front of them, pale head rolling forwards until his eyes are trained on the ground.

"Thank you," he says. "You saved her life, and mine."

"My Lord," Mikhail mutters, overwhelmed and looks to the Lady for help while squeezing Lilia's waist. "It was only our duty, eh?" He insists but that is hardly true. Not duty but friendship had hastened their steps and fueled his fists when they barged into the room.

Glugo can no longer contain itself and scuttles over on hasty hand-feet, mewling with worry as it flings four of its eight limbs at Feyd's chest, tugging on the thick fabric while pressing its misshapen pug face against his sternum.

Feyd winces when shiny plastic is waved about right next to his face and he tries to capture the gun out of Glugo's innocent, little hand-foot while cradling the creature's head with one big, pale hand.

"It's jammed," his betrothed reassures him. "Come here, give that to me, hm?" Gently, she grasps the weapon and places it back in its holster.

"Hush, hush," Feyd mumbles and allows himself in a moment of vulnerability to rest his bruised cheek atop Glugo's head while his darling softly squeezes his shoulder.

"It is actually Glugo who deserves your gratitude, my Lord," Lilia reveals and Feyd holds the glugging creature a bit tighter. "It came to me crying and begging and I knew you needed us."

Glugo doesn't know exactly why everyone smells so much of tears and joy, but it knows it did something right and that it is surrounded by the kindest beings it has ever known.

"I wouldn't go near," the relic remarks, stopping Feyd whose prowling footsteps have carried him closer to the round tub in which the fleshy, white mountain of his uncle's corpse still floats, unmoving. "He's radioactive."

"I won't," Feyd grates out, plush lips skinned back from his teeth in distaste. He feels none of the morbid fascination he had always assumed he would feel when his uncle is finally dead by his hands, only a grim, long-awaited sense of accomplishment. Turning his head, he finds Glugo tugging curiously on the dead Reverend Mother's dress. The poor thing does have a penchant for liver after all. Feyd clicks his tongue. "Don't touch that!" 

Glugo scuttles away and back to Lilia's outstretched hand. It will receive a proper victor's feast later, something more worthy of its bravery than an old witch's, rotting corpse.

"I want the bodies completely eradicated, both of them," Feyd demands. Lest they return as Gholas, a voice of paranoia whispers to him, but he is all too happy to listen.

"How?" His woman curls her arm around his middle and Feyd pulls her to his chest, inhaling the scent of her hair before he makes a decision.

"Burn it down," he rasps. "Burn down the whole wing."

In the afternoon hours, the citizens, guards and slaves of Barony are left gawking and gasping, faces turned in shock towards the colossal palace pyramid where vicious smoke curls from the very top, black claws against the crass, white sky. At the na-Baron's behest, no one is to extinguish the wrathful flames. 

Proudly, he watches it burn, the place that holds two decades worth of abuse. The biting smoke soars towards the stars, like the herald of a new age.

I am Time (Death), cause of destruction of the worlds, matured And set out to gather in the worlds here. Even without thee (thy action), all shall cease to exist, The warriors that are drawn up in the opposing ranks.

- Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita

A/N: Killed the baddies with the power of friendship and science 🥹 (2 more chapter to come)

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

[garpond]

i want to take a hiatus from talking and socializing so bad but im scared if i go any further with pulling away ill never want to come back. i know its irrational but i feel so confused lately that i sometimes genuinely think it would be better if i didnt interact with others in the world. i should probably get over it though and figure out what action to take because i really just need like. a hard reset, i am hearing my emotions about it loud and clear and i should really be responsible and address it before it gets to the point of no return and i just explode and harm people in the process

[dan-crimes]

I love writers I love when they ramble on abt characters and their motivations, their core values and the reasons why they react to things in certain ways and having character interactions work off of each other due to their differing ways of viewing the world and in general I just love character analysis

[drchucktingle]

my masks

hey there buckaroos. due to all of the attention the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION situation has gotten i am going to take a minute to talk about my personal way as an autistic buckaroo. im going to tell you about my masks.

im doing this for a few reasons, some are good FUN reasons full of love and some are not so great. 

lets start with the GOOD STUFF. first of all, i am talking about this because speaking on my way can help other buckaroo feel more comfortable speaking on there own way, ESPECIALLY if they are good at ‘passing’ for neurotypical like chuck is. 

unfortunately the NOT SO GREAT reasons im talking about all this dang stuff are two fold. reason one: i have been put into a position of having to explain and justify my needs and boundaries by the TXLA. this is not something that i WANT to be taking up all of my time, but when large organizations do not make space for those who they have pledged to support, it puts us smaller buckaroos into position where were have to defend our existence. it is not plesent but it is necessary.

the second NOT SO GREAT reason is that ‘passing’ bisexual and autistic people like myself are ALWAYS just seconds from being gatekept from folks both outside and inside these communities. there will probably be a day on chucks deathbed where i take off my mask and say hello to this timeline (mostly so you can all see how handsome i am under here but I DIGRESS). i KNOW with absolute certainty (the same way other bi and autistic buckaroos are probably nodding along right now) that when that day comes i will STILL be accused of ‘not being real’ and ‘faking’ because i ‘dont look autistic’ and i have a beautiful ladybuck partner in sweet barbara.

ALL THAT IS TO SAY, i am taking a moment today to talk FOR THE RECORD about my neurodigence and my particular needs. hopefully i will not have to keep diving this deep every time an organization takes a discrimantory action against me, but i will also say this: at least it is a good fight on an important battlefield

anyway buds, here is the story of my way on the spectrum

when i was a young buckaroo i knew that my thought process was different. i could socialize easily, which is unique in contrast to many autistic buds (it is a spectrum after all), but my social ease was for an interesting reason. I ALWAYS KNEW WHAT OTHERS WERE ABOUT TO SAY. it was like a strange ‘human game’ where someone would say one thing and i would think ‘well you actually mean something else’ in a sort of logical way (this is why i later related to DATA from star trek so dang much). at first i remember thinking ‘well i am just NOT going to play along with this human game’. i quickly learned neurotypical buckaroos do not like this, that there is a BOB AND WEAVE to social interactions that must be learned. 

later i realized ‘actually if i WANT to make friends and prove love is real then i can do this like an expert because i can SEE the game where most cant’. this got chuck many buds and took me on many adventures. please understand, i am not saying these connections are not important to me, they are just different. they are full of love, but i express this in my own unique way.

HOWEVER, while growing up i felt disconnected from this timeline in other ways, like an alien or a reverse twin trotting along in a world that is not quite my own. i did not feel emotions the same way my buds did. they would get upset over the ‘human game’ interactions and i would not be moved at all, HOWEVER i could see the way sunlight hit a window and start crying my dang eyes out over the beauty. so my emotion was still there and VERY STRONG, i just felt it in more existential ways (like hearing the call of the lonesome train). these days that feeling has progressed to where i am pretty much in a constant blissed out state of cosmic emotional connection (make of that last sentence what you will, but it is the truth). when i make existential posts online i am not just FIRING OFF SOME CONTENT, i really mean every word. this is really my trot.

anyway as a young buckaroo these feelings made me worry sometimes. i thought about various mental health dianosises and marked the parts and pieces that matched with myself. am i this? am i that? sometimes, instead of just being’ different’ i worried i might actually be ‘wrong’. 

when i saw david byrne on letterman in my younger days i immediately recognized something connected to myself. i thought ‘wow this is the mystery being solved before my very eyes.’ i could hear it in the music of talking heads too. i started doing research and realized that i might be on autism spectrum, something that was later confirmed by a therapist (back then the diagnosis was called asperger's). it was a glorious and fulfilling moment. i was SO EXCITED TO BE AUTISTIC LIKE MY HERO. i felt very cool because of it, and i still feel very cool because of it.

one of the big reasons i talk so much about being autistic these days is because i want to make sure OTHER buckaroos can have that same moment that i did. they can see chuck and think ‘wow i really like this autistic artist, maybe being autistic is cool’

so what does an average day WITHOUT wearing the pink bag look like for me?

my thought process is exactly like ROSE from CAMP DAMASCUS, which is part of why i wrote the book. we have the same stim (complex order of finger taps), we prepare for social interactions the same way, we analyze things in the same logical trot that neurotypical people might think feels ‘detached’ but for me feels natural (certain reviews of camp damascus are very funny to me in this way. you can tell when a reader is just very confused by existing in an autistic brain for 250 pages.)

from the outside you would not be able to tell that i am on the spectrum. in fact you would probably find me very socially adept. 

the problem is, all of that masking can take its toll. i spent years trotting in and out the emergency room, talking to confused doctors who could not figure out the chronic phantom tension and pain that radiated through my body. i eventually accepted the fact that i would either live a life constantly on heavy painkillers or just stop living altogether.

eventually, however, i started noticing a correlation between the way that i felt, and the space that i allowed for chuck and the pink mask. i was exercising that tension, allowing my mental mask of neurotypical existence to take a rest. i started practicing physical therapy and this time THE RESULTS STUCK because i was approaching from two sides, MIND AND BODY. after a while, i got my pain down to about 5 percent of what it once was. i still have flare ups in times of stress, but the healing has been very real and life changing.

lets get VERY specific now. if i attended the TXLA confrence without a mask and gave my talk i can tell you this: i would do a dang good job. i can work the heck out of a crowd and (not to reveal too much about my secret way) I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO THIS ON OCCASION VERY WELL. however, going home from this event i would very likely be in pain. i would likely need to do physical therapy. i would likely need to stim for a while. i would NOT be emotionally fullfilled in the same way. in other words, without my pink mask i can charm the heck out of buckaroos, but THE SPACE OF CHUCK TINGLE IS NOT THE SPACE FOR THAT. the pink bag is a place for me to not have to put up with that tension. it is a place for me to unmask mentally by masking physically.

this pink bag space SAVED MY LIFE and i am not going to risk blurring these lines. if and when that ever happens it will be MY decision, not someone elses. that is my boundary. the part of me that neurotypically masks could handle a library conference in a purely technical sense, but the part of me that chuck represents absolutely cannot and should not be asked to do that without the pink bag. unfortunately, the complexity of this point makes it even MORE difficult for me to think about and takes up even more of my time, because it forces me to START QUESTIONING MYSELF and my own needs. to be honest, that is the most insidious part of other people questioning your identify and refusing to accept your accommodation needs without ‘proof’.

the thing is, while all of this discussion of disability and accessibility is important, i have a much larger point to make by writing these words.

a conference should not uninvite someone with an unusual physical presentation or a strange way of speaking REGARDLESS of it being classified as a disability. it does not matter WHY i look the way that i look and wear what i wear. i should not have to spend all day writing this post instead of writing my next book, just because my sensibilities are unique and my presentation is unusual. 

fortunately the solution is very simple: let other people be themselves. its not hurting you to simply accept and nod at the buckaroos you think look strange. let us exist

[drdemonprince]

ENM/Poly circles explicitly discourage real talk around jealousy, and practical considerations around nonmonog in ways that routinely exclude and excise POC and disabled people.

ENM/Poly expects everyone involved to act as though “love” is the reason for every relationship choice. Cliche #1: love isn’t finite. Which… sure. Maybe love isn’t finite, but attention and time sure are— and those are at a premium.

Cliche #2: Love is all you need/love is what makes a family. I am familiar with criticism of this from a family abolition, anticapitalist standpoint, but I have seen this be uncritically repeated by ENM/Poly people. It’s not true that love is what makes a relationship work or not work. It’s also about dumb shit, like geographical proximity and practicality. Good luck being ENM if you can’t regularly host because you have roommates or live at home. Good luck being the gold standard of ENM (out to everyone, including family and maybe even the workplace!) if you are any kind of marginalized. Love is simply not enough. There’s real world shit to consider.

Most ENM/Poly people are white gen x’ers and older millenials for a reason. It’s a framework that works awesome if you have abundant spare space, disposable income to blow, and free time. Plus most ENM/Poly people are heavily in therapy, and just have a fuckton of time to deal with their various baggages… or at least like to posture as though they are doing those things.

Non monog can be liberatory— disabled polycules caring for one another. QPRs! Multiparent households! But ENM/Poly is very lodged in a liberal, hyper-independent Super Good Boundaries Thank You Very Much world of its own, and so most of the “resources” like More Than 2 or Polysecure have hella flaws in that respect.

COME OFF ANON SO I CAN FOLLOW YOU! Because you just said a whole word.

I find "ethical nonmonogamy" and polyamory circles to be viscerally unpleasant and alienating to be in as a crazy, chaotic antipsych person who does not always make choices for carefully therapized, restrained reasons -- and who doesn't believe that most other people do either, no matter how much they claim to.

I don't fuck multiple people to serve some higher purpose; I do it because I'm horny, impulsive, and have a variety of niche fetishes that are really difficult to satisfy.

I didn't choose to be openly nonmonogamous because I nurtured my soul and found that it was abundant with love that I just had to give -- all my relationships already were nonmonogamous at one point or another, either because I cheated or the other person did or both, and I eventually decided to move with my feelings rather than against them, and to stop denying all that is inside me -- all of the hunger and darkness as well as the light.

And I can't say that my nonmonogamy is inherently "ethical" either -- just like my monogamy sure wasn't! I'm a human being, and a crazy one at that, I get jealous, I have emotional blowups, I lash out and fuck other people to make myself feel better or to affirm that I am desired, I make big demands of the people I date, I fail to show up for people consistently, I get hurt, and I hurt others, and I will continually have more to learn. I will also continually have wild animal emotions and triggers, and I won't always deal with them in the way my partner(s) might want me to. I try to avoid hurting other people needlessly, of course, but sometimes your own needs are incompatible with another person's, and hurt is inevitable.

When there is only so much time and attention available in our lives, it's true that somebody's often going to come up short. And ultimately the person that I choose above all others is me. And so, no, I can't say I'm always doing nonmonogamy in some caring yet dispassionate way, or that love is the solution to all problems -- I am driven by passion and need, and sometimes being alive in those ways means getting hurt, or hurting in turn.

I would echo essentially all that you've said. We need time and resources and spaces to enjoy privacy with other people, and if you're not some rich work-from-homer, that shit's all in short supply. I hate the sheen of calm positivity that "ENM" and polyamory folks tend to place on everything -- as if no choices they make are fueled ever by bitterness, dislike, resentment, or hell, fucking white hot irrational DESIRE. With how fair and measured so many of them make their polyamory sound, I don't even see what's fun about any of it.

Sometimes you want to upend your whole life because you're so down bad for a person. Sometimes you hate the shit out of your partner's partners and you say and do little manipulative shitty things to convey those feelings, or to try and blow the relationship up. Sometimes the hours just don't add up and somebody gets shafted. Sometimes you make a promise and then you can't follow through, or just don't WANT to anymore because you have changed.

These are real human realities whether we like it or not, and I find it terribly unrealistic AND unsexy to refuse to acknowledge all the darkness and frustration that comes out in any relationship. I think a lot of the ENM/poly crowd that is white and middle class and heavily therapized is so averse to naming anything edgy or prickly in themselves that they make their spaces actively hostile to anybody who openly expresses negative feelings. That means Black & brown people get tone-policed a ton, "mad" people like me get no-true-scotsmanned out of "ethical" nonmonogamy for ever doing anything messily, and all the romance and sexiness of relationships gets sanded down into a Canva-graphic beige blandness of weekly polycule meetings and processing sessions.

In this world of self-optimization, even fucking and loving other people has to be cast as therapuetic -- our desires must justify themselves by somehow making us better, more capable, more controlled people, But fuck that. Sometimes sex or love is worth exploding your whole life over. The ENM/poly crowd says their way of loving makes them more even-keeled but it seems like a kind of death to me.

[k2ntoss]

Like...

Jason makes love and just fuck rough just sometimes... but he loves making love, not just a thing to pleasure, but for the feeling, for loving his girl... it's a intimacy thing...

I don't he him as a abuser... a guy that don't ask for permission even if it's just a look in her eyes

Sorry for felling up ur inbox with my sad and horrified ass

Love u!

MORE THAN YOU KNOW !! JASON TODD

request for this pretty girl and for me happy 3 months after my concert i'm emotional and too attached to that event i'm not even sorry!!!

t/w ⭒ SMUT!!! a little bit of angst and so but mostly some kind of fluffy smut and also... john constantine's sidekick!reader, i'm not even sorry but i have to do this

word count ⭒ don't know i've slept like 4 hours in two days so here you have this made with love and pouring my raw feelings on it

song ⭒ more than you know - blink-182

things had always been a little harder for jason, after all that's what he always expects from life so the punches sometimes hurt less but there's always something or someone that holds the power to make everything hurt worse than hell. how can he explain it? if he has always struggled with his feelings, after being left down over and over again he built walls to protect himself and pushed away whoever tried to come closer.

he didn't knew if he had to curse or thank for the day he met you. little cocky bastard that somehow connected with him from the very start, that understood him on a level that scared jason to death but he would never say it out loud, that would let you grip his throat and leave him helpless because his heart was open wide for you.

it was sad you didn't knew it and he didn't knew either if you felt the same things for him. he knew you would be there for him and so would he do for you, jason knew he had everything he lacked in your presence. you made him feel things he had never voiced because he didn't knew why and the day you started to find the way to voice the things you had bottled up he felt a little left behind.

"i- look, it's hard but i have to grow a pair and say it, jay... i want us to be different, to work a little more on whatever we are because i feel like i need more and more from you and honestly it scares me more than anything" the sudden confession feels alien for you, jason feels like he has been kicked in the face because this is not what he had expected. you always hid yourself underneath halfhearted confessions, never your real deep feelings.

"what do you mean?" the question slips past his lips before he can really think about it and the small flash of disappointment that crosses your face makes his chest ache. how can he put his words out for you? it's almost impossible to see himself saying it outloud, it was a sickening need to protect himself even if he knew you could never hurt him.

"i mean... i don't really feel like i know what you feel for me, i feel like i've been left with nothing at it freaks me out to feel you can leave me to die if i ever lose you" the words from your mouth now sound strained and realization downs on him. it's heavy, the knowledge that you felt the same fear he felt, the way you had let him hold youe life on his hands until the point that losing him would shatter you to pieces.

the lump on his throat subsided, the way you had finally voiced your fear made jason find his own grasp on what he felt. he felt like he had been cursed, his life was a constant fall as if he was sinking like a rock but there was also something else when you were around and even if neither of you had ever said it the feeling was there, deep and rooted in your hearts and it was too hard to say it out loud, love wasn't something you had ever experienced in conventional ways during life.

"why do you poison yourself with the thought i won't love you to death?" the question slip with an ease he had never felt before and the surprise in your face made it all worthy. it wasn't just giving you the power to burn him to ashes, it was giving himself the permission to lean on you, to indulge him to have a ray of light even if he sunk down further "i know i've never said it before, i've never told you how i really feel but trust me it's more than you'd ever know"

he had reached to you, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face as he leaned closer to press a soft kiss to the corner of your lips. the contact was so simple and light but yet so intimate it made you close your eyes, his hand hovering over your jaw before settling on the side of your neck as you closed your eyes.

"i feel like i shouldn't be trying at all, jay... but i just know i need you with me" your whisper made him sigh and it was all he needed to hear. his lips pressed against yours in a slow and deep kiss, jason cupping your face tenderly as you held onto his shoulders while leaning in across the distance between you in the small couch on jason's safe house.

the tender touch of his calloused hands against your face was a stark contrast, to wounded souls merging into one as he caressed your sides slowly pulling you closer to him. drinking you in like a man starving because he was giving in to you. the weight of your body making him aware of the fact that he had pulled you into his lap and breaking the kiss he looked up at you with adoration.

"can i...?" he asked, trailing off as he saw the same resolve in your eyes. you were just giving in to him, letting yourself be totally vulnerable for him to either take care of you or destroy you completely. that same resolve and trust made jason decide he would always protect you, even from himself even if it meant changing his whole being because he knew it was the least he could do for the person that was willing to do the same for him.

a silent nod from you was enough. his hands wandering across your body to free your figure from the fabric of your clothes, his eyes taking in every detail as his hands caressed every dip and curve of your body, your hands doing the very same on him as your lips lavished his neck, jaw and shoulders with tender and lingering kisses.

jason held your waist, slowly picking you up as he kissed your neck while walking to his room in long strides filled with purpose until he was able to lay you down, placing you gently on his bed and looking down at you with adoration and need. he knelt on the bed, his large frame hovering over yours as he leaned in to kiss a trail from your neck down to the middle of your chest, feeling your hands on the back of his head.

words weren't needed, the way jason looked at you as he settled between your legs was everything you needed to know what he felt and thought, the absolute trust he was putting on you mirroing yours. it was the first time he felt sure he wouldn't be betrayed or disappointed by someone he felt he needed as much as he needed air.

"jay..." the murmured call of his name that left your lips made jason shudder and he looked up as his hands caressed your waist and stomach softly, soothing and worshipping you.

"y/n..." he whispered back, moving until his face was next to yours and he pressed a soft kiss to your temple "are you sure?" the question was soft and even if he felt like he couldn't resist it another second without feeling you around him he held back. wanting to make this as special as he could.

"i'm sure" you whispered against his jaw, lips ghosting over his skin and with that confirmation he kissed your lips firmly as he sunk into you, a slow and steady stroke to settle between your warm walls. the overwhelming feeling stronger because of all the feelings poured in your words.

a low growl escaped his throat, his face hidden against your neck as you held onto his shoulders, face nuzzled into his hair as a low and soft moan escaped your lips at the first jerk of his hips. the pace was gentle and passionate, his lips peppering your shoulders in kisses and soft nibbles as your nails drew patterns on his back.

the breathless moans and grunst filling the room slowly turned into needy whimpers and low groans as jason picked up the pace, his hands gripping your waist and even if everything got more heated there was still that look of adoration on jason as he looked down at you.

and just like before. words weren't needed, all the feelings that had been poured at the start were loud and clear in the way jason let go off your wais to hold your hands, your legs wrapped around his hips as your fingers intertwined, gasps and soft kisses between each stroke that made his hips snap against yours until your body tensed.

he looked down at you again, leaning in to press a kiss to each of your closed eyes and then on your forehead and one deep thrust made you crumble apart underneath him. your body clenching around his as you moaned loudly made jason groan "jason!" and the sound of your voice was enough, his grip on your hands tightening.

a low growl of your name was all you heard in the moment he reached his own peak, his release spilled inside you in a jerk of his hips against you and the intensity of it all made you whimper silently against his chest.

"i love you, jay..." you whispered as he released your hands, his arms moving to wrap around your waist as you hugged his neck tightly and he chuckled tenderly.

"i love you too..." he muttered. days ago he would have said he didn't had highs but he had some lows but having you was definetly a high. he belonged there, right into your arms.

[twopoppies]

i keep seeing your tag, rip liam, and it makes no sense to me. because how could this be, you know? how come we’ve lost a member of one direction so soon? every time i look at it, it just feels surreal. the shock from the first two days has passed, but it still feels like it makes no sense, like it is so alien.

the worst thing is, for a while i’d been having a bad feeling about liam. we could tell he wasn’t okay, and even though i in no way expected this to happen, so suddenly too, i did see the path he was walking wasn’t a healthy one. but i guess now that everyone is sharing their one direction favorite videos, interviews and all (which is so so great, keep doing it, because laughter is a part of grief. grief is also about celebrating the person that was), i keep thinking that the liam who died was that one. the one on the stage, the young one, bright-eyed, full with expectations for the future.

i was never his fan, i never followed his career, but i’m truly so heartbroken that things didn’t work out for him. i saw this video where he broke down in tears after writing something for his album, and it touched me so deeply. deep down, he was still full with emotions and expectations, he was the same kid. he longed for something that always remained just out of reach, and isn’t that heart-shattering?

addiction is so fucked up. i’m actually studying about it for a UNI presentation. man…

and for the last couple of weeks, with everything that was coming to light, i was really angry with him. actually, not really angry, i wasn’t angry. but learning how abusive he’d gotten, i was totally done with him, you know? but this? just… no. he deserved to get better for his own self, to live life lightly. and his victims deserved to hear an apology. it’s a horrible situation all around.

my friend said something and i so agree. if he’d survived the fall, his life would probably change completely. he’d probably come to the realization of how bad it’d gotten and he would probably get better. his life would take new meaning, and everyone would be able see how badly he needed help.

why is reality so harsh. when your other anon said that one direction became this generation’s nirvana, queen… devastating.

all those boys deserved so much better.

I was thinking the same thing this morning. If he'd somehow survived, he'd probably have found the ability to stay clean and sober. And life would take on new meaning for him.

He deserved better. He deserved more time.

[xergoxponderx]

"I can fix him" type beat (literally) Jason Todd x You Playlist angst and sadness and emotional messes and such

Risk - Deftones "I'll find a way, I'll confuse them. But I think I can try...I will save your life..."

No matter what happens you always stood by Jason. When Bruce took him in, you assured him he'd be a great Robin. When he died part of you did too, as you mourned him. After his resurrection, you treated him like a person and not a monster that would snap. Why? The rest of the family felt wary, alienating him. You ran to his arms, and thought of ways to let him know he's loved and accepted...by you...

Is It Really You? - Loathe Face away. Deal with the pain. Your own way, how could they deal with the pain? I knew...it was mine too...and you? Is it really you?

When you saw him you didn't know what to think. One second you were helping Bruce hunt down the Red Hood. The next...you saw your best friend before you, smirking. As if he never died...as if the Joker never took him from you. You walked closer, placing a hand on his cheek. Even with the domino mask you knew it was him. He let you caress his face, uncertain as to if he should push you back or hold you.

"Jason...I missed you...is it really you?", you ask, just wanting to hear him say yes. That this isn't a dream.

You didn't need words...not when he pulled you close and hugged you with all of his heart and its broken pieces.

Covet - Basement "White hair and a hopeful smile, your inside is on its outside. I need a pleasant surprise. Good heart, and desire to please. I want a fatal disease, with you. I don't wanna be with you. When I'm with you, I don't wanna be with you"

Despite the heartfelt reunion, Jason found it hard to go back to the way it was. He wanted to hold you like he did that first night. It's so hard. He's also scared...scared he'll take his anger for Bruce out on you. He avoids you, making sure to not cross paths with you.

But he yearns for you. He sees it in your eyes. How badly you want to help him. To hold him. To make him feel loved. You were his own personal symbol of hope. When he's near you, he shuts you out to pretend he doesn't need you. But when you're gone he misses you...God how he misses you.

Bloodhail - Have a Nice Life "I see the top of the roof come off, kill everybody there. I'm watching all the stars burn out, trying to pretend that I care. But I didn't, no one ever does. And I wouldn't, no one ever will. Can't you see it's flown all out of my hands?"

When Jason kills, he thinks about you. Dark, I know. But he wonders how much you'd change your view of him because of it. Would you love him less? He has his reasons. These people harm others, they're scum. They made their beds and must lay in it.

Part of him feel a tug in his heart. He doesn't want you to see him as a monster...like everyone else does. But part of him doesn't care. He's off the deep end. When Red Hood decides it's so...these people shall die. Little does he know how deep your love runs, to the point where his murders can't stop you loving him. As he takes another life you sit in the night, doing tasks on your own.

You know what he does, the blood on his hands...and still you love him anyways. Whether it's right or wrong...

All They Wanted - Pachinko "Girl with the Fuck Me eyes. Girl who has to lie. The feelings and they wanna die, and when it's all over she cries. All she ever wanted is to feel like she's wanted. All she ever needed is to feel like she's needed."

Let's talk about you darling. You. With that heart full of love that runs deep. You who viciously loves and cares for others. You. So loyal and fierce yet soft and comforting.

When Jason was gone, others tried to help you cope. Dick tried to comfort you. He saw how deep your loyalty for Jason ran. How you admire him, what he did as Robin. How smart, snappy, and yet talented he was.

Someone as charming as Dick could swoon any girl...all but the girl with those mesmerizing eyes. How he wanted them to look into his own with the same love and affection you did when you merely thought about Jason. You tried to lie, you know. You tried to lie and say you were over Jason. Just so you didn't come off as even more of the sad longing person who lost the only one she ever loved.

"I just wanted him to love me...I wish he was here so I knew if he loved me...I wanna be loved...", you admit to Dick as you tear up.

How he wishes he could tell you that he loves you. That he's right here. That he could grant you that wish. But he knew there was no use. You wanna be loved, sure. But not by him or anyone else but Jason. And so...he watches from afar. The girl who he can never have. And when Jason came back, it hurt Dick in many ways. You're the glass shard in his heart that he couldn't ever take out, even if it hurts, at least a part of you is still in his heart.

Starting Over - LSD and the Search for God "Be careful what you wish for, cause it might come true. These wise words you once said, 'It only takes a moment to fall in love again'"

When he came back it felt like a gift to you. But it felt like such a curse to him. This turmoil caused a rift between the two of you. Your hopeful eyes spited him. He was so sure everyone would hate him, yet here you are. Loving him. But doesn't it come with a price? Bruce seemed to have loved Jason, but under these new circumstances, whether or not that fatherly love still existed wasn't quite clear. This taught Jason that love has expectations...standards.

But what Jason didn't know was unconditional love. He thought that you'd stop loving him if he let you close enough to see his flaws. But God was he wrong. He would rather try to forget you than try to hold you, just to mess up and have you pull away from him. No. He can't handle that.

But when you were patrolling and saw him, seconds before shooting the head of a mob boss.

You didn't run. You didn't stop him. You saw it happen. This is the life of a vigilante who shows no mercy.

Red Hood looked back, realizing you were there. His eyes widened under the helmet. Fuck. Did he mess up, mere feet away from you? Did he just scare off the one person who loved him? He never cared about the scum he killed...but this time he cried and wished he didn't do it. Not for the sake of the mob boss, but for you.

He teared up under the mask, mentally preparing for the one girl who looked at him with hope and love to call Batman as backup to send him to Arkham, or even Black Gate. He stood and waited for his best friend to fight him.

He stood still as you walked up and hugged him. You get it. You understand...you get him.

"I'm not angry. I'm not scared...I'm not turning away from you...not ever..." you whisper.

That cracked the armor he held up so desperately around his heart. He hugged you back. He clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling into that dark dark place.

"I'm so sorry..."

All I Think About Now - Pixies "I try to think about tomorrow. But I always think about the past. About the things that didn't last. If I could go to the beginning. Then for sure there would be another way. Make it better for today...

Jason finally took to spending time with you, one on one. Of course this had to be kept a secret from Bruce...who would find out eventually on his own. But whatever, the two of you decided to enjoy it while you could. However long that may be.

"I try not to think about it. But so much time was taken. I died. I died and he didn't even do anything.", Jason says as he sits next to you. You lean against him and look down, soft music from your personal playlist ringing in the silence.

"I know...the more I think about it the more I don't understand him or why he can't just kill the Joker...", you admit.

Jason's eyes widen as he looks down at you. He didn't expect you to see it that way...his way. Even if you seemed a bit unsure about it. "Nothing matters to him but his mission, and his stupid moral code.", Jason hisses with clear distain.

"Shhh...", You say calmly as you clutch him just slightly tighter. "Don't think about him Jason. Right now it's us. I just...I'll do anything to make you happy. I can't change the past but if I can be your rock for the future...if you'd let me care for you like that...", you trail off, drunk off of just being around him.

"You're so positive all the time...", Jason says, his voice low as he tries to feign judgement...yet his eyes are soft. "I love you..." he says in a hushed wisp of a sentence. Too bad you couldn't hear.

Black Hair - Alex G "It's not what you are. It's just what you did. Don't hang up the phone. I love you to death."

{3 Jokers Storyline}

You feel the tears fall as Jason tells you about the note he left Barbara. How he promised he would drop being Red Hood and murdering if she promised to be his. Thank god you're on the phone and not in person.

"(Y/N), are you crying?", Jason asks on the other end.

"No. Jesus Jason are you that dense?", you say with pain and poison on your lips.

"What? What do you mean? I just-", Jason doesn't get to talk as you speak.

"Why are you acting like Barbara was the only one who cares when I was always there? Who held you while everyone thought you were a monster? Who held you after you took a life in front of them?", you cry as you speak, "I did! Without hesitation!"

"(Y/N), I'm sorry but I don't fucking get it. Why are you so pissed? I had to fight of hundreds of Joker clones today and you yelling at me-", Jason states.

"I'm sorry you went through that. But why did you kiss Barbara? Why did you give her a proposition to drop being Red Hood just to be with her when I would be with you no matter what!", you ask as you tear up.

"I...(Y/N)...I didn't think-"

"No. You didn't think. Jason, Barbara cares about you just as much as Bruce does. Can't you see that? They both think you're wrong for being a killer. They both want you to give up your ideas and be like them. They both want you to live and live their way. The only reason you clung to Barbara like that was because she was there and you were in need of care. You clung to the closest thing you could find when I was just a phone call away...", you state, your heart breaking in each word, "Your hatred for Bruce blinds you. Barbara doesn't love you like I love you. You just needed someone and she was there....in your physical proximity..."

You never called him out like this before. But now that he's hearing it he realizes. How much you think about him and his actions. How much you care. How much you love him. He's a fool. A fucking fool. All this time he spent running away so you didn't hate him and think he's a monster...just to mess it up later down the line.

"Please...don't hate me...I know that was a jerk move when you're right here...waiting for me...", Jason pleads.

"You're not a bad person Jason and I don't hate you. I just...didn't think you'd choose someone else over me when I always chose you..." You say softly, "I gotta go..."

"Please don't hang up...please...(Y/N) don't!", Jason beggs, his voice getting louder as he realizes his mistake.

"I gotta go...bye Jason..."

"(Y/N), please! I love you to death!"

[lxmelle]

Geto Complex / Suguru Complex

Reposting from my Twt 😅 I need to stop blabbing in different places.

Out of the numerous things Gojo could have developed a complex about (like almost dying, feeling alienated/sheltered, etc.), it was that he “couldn’t stop” Geto from defecting.

This is interesting. He did not blame Geto or anyone / anything else. We know he was a “resigned person” who could accept things rationally / objectively, but Geto’s defection really hit him harder than anything ever did in his entire life.

While he could accept his departure & even the necessity of his death, Gojo carried this relationship in the pocket of his heart like the one & only treasured photograph within a precious locket. Geto’s pain was his own. He guarded it very, very well. In fact I’d even call him a bit of a guard dog where he just didn’t let anyone into that space. At all.

This is also why I respect him as a teacher. Some lines you just don’t cross professionally. His students were his students. The relationship chart thankfully depicts that too. It doesn’t cheapen the quality of their student-mentor relationship: it strengthens it. Gojo would never lay his hands on the youth that he was determined to protect, after all.

He took onboard a lot from Geto. These boundaries and respect were birthed from the things he experienced with Geto. But! Some things were just natural to Gojo.

As much as he said he hated righteousness and the expectations that came along with the burden of “the strong” - Gojo actually practice it. From a young age, going on missions and doing what was loosely expected of him, within the parameters of the jujutsu tradition. He just… didn’t imbue it with too much emotion - because, again, Geto was the subjective (compassionate and emotional / philosophical) type and Gojo was the objective (rational and pragmatic / straightforward) type.

It seems aligned with his character shown in HI where Gojo took on the “blame” when things went wrong too, shielding Geto when he apologised & made plans to proceed with their mission (this is how they balanced each other out when their relationship was healthy) - staying focused and generally being reliable, dependable, and offering an aura of security to Geto.

The subtle undercurrent that likely facilitated the Geto complex was that, young Gojo had this attitude where he also readily accepted that “things are just mine if I want”. He was powerful. Never experienced insecurity or poverty. He was a genius. He never had close relationships, so he never knew loss. He never particularly wanted anything and people came and went easily. Nobody really mattered.

But nobody could hold a candle to Geto Suguru. Gojo didn’t realise that there were some things that he needed to look after.

So with this attitude he didn’t imagine he needed to treasure Geto after enlightening, so I think he realised that too late. He didn’t realise he was thinking arrogantly. He just had no idea he took anything for granted. He was born to just be strong. Everyone treated him that way.

Except: Geto Suguru.

That’s why he had a Geto complex... he blamed himself (like always) but it was a painful lesson he experienced for the first time -

To want something he cannot have.

To want to save someone who didn’t want to be saved.

To want to be with someone who didn’t want him to come along.

To love someone who did not want to be loved.

To learn something only for it to be too late.

To be strong, yet, not strong enough.

So what else could Gojo Satoru do with his love, but to love and respect Geto from afar, living in a way that would make Geto proud…

Isn’t that profound?

To let someone change you so much because that is all that is left of them- so he treasured him like that...

And perhaps, also important, is that Gojo recognised that what he had received (and was receiving even when being left behind) was love.

So, really… the pure love between them was also undeniably shared.

If Gojo had a Geto complex, I’m certain Geto had a Gojo complex of some kind where he never forgave himself, wore the kesa with his best friend’s name on it & brainwashed himself with “love to the strong” & “weak & foolish deserve to be punished by death” (these were the wall scrolls in jjk 0).

[dathen]

Then my friend's wiry arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair. “You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt!” It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.

OOOOOOUUUUGHHHGH THERE IT IS THE LINES WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR

I have yet to see an aromantic analysis of this but now my brain and heart is overflowing with Many Thoughts brace yourselves

Look at the wording of this. This is not a character development moment for Holmes, but for Watson--a realization it took him far too long to come to, a glimpse that made him realize how deeply Holmes has cared for him all along. All his years alongside him culminating in a moment of revelation.

But to guage the significance of the revelation, we have to go back to the start--particularly, the start of this "Holmes is an unfeeling machine" viewpoint Watson has expressed so often.

In The Sign of Four, when Holmes admits to not noticing if Mary was attractive, Watson replies, "You really are an automaton-a calculating machine! There is something positively inhuman in you at times." Aromantic Holmes fans have talked about how deeply relatable this moment is--which of us haven't been compared to a machine for lack of the feelings we're supposed to have, or felt inhuman because of our alienation? It's painful to see Watson say this so bluntly, but their relationship doesn't stop there.

Over time, Watson understands that Holmes cares for and feels affection for him, but he seems to see himself as rather inconsequential to Holmes' life, no matter how many times Holmes insists he cherishes his company, no matter how many ways Holmes demonstrates how much he loves him. They're speaking different languages about what love means. This is also intensely relatable to aromantic people, especially neurodivergent ones like Holmes clearly is. (side note: It's been wonderful reading these stories alongside other nd fans who easily spot those demonstrations of love)

And then there's this moment is when Watson finally UNDERSTANDS. It takes Holmes trembling with fear over him being hurt, snarling with protective ferocity for it to hit how important he is to Holmes. We've been staring at what feels obvious the entire time, because he's like us, and then Watson says "For the one and only time I caught a glimpse" of it. Holmes isn't the one framed as needing to change--whether what his love is, or how he shows it. It's that Watson needs to understand and realize it's always been this way.

Swapping to Holmes' side: this line often comes up in conjunction with Holmes saying he's never loved in The Devil's Foot, as a way to disprove it or show that Holmes was lying for some reason. But I feel that Holmes' side of things is that he is not a murderous person. As this story shows, he had a gun to a man's head, his most beloved friend gets SHOT, and instead of pulling the trigger he just hits him with the gun instead. In Devil's Foot, Holmes is musing over this urge to kill out of revenge and concludes that his hesitation to kill is because of something he lacks: he's never been In Love, never been swept up in all the irrational impulsive floods of emotion he's observed stem from that. He's also never seen Watson shot and fear this deeply for his life.

For Holmes, the realization of this moment isn't being surprised at how much he loves Watson, but the realization that his own kind of love is capable of this murderous ferocity. It's not something inherently tied to the way Normal People (tm) fall in love--this is his Watson and his dearest friend and companion and confidant and life partner and he WILL tear someone limb from limb if they managed to kill him.

[kathaynesart]

I remember when you first started Replica and I haven't been here in a hot minute!

May you please do a debrief of what it is, the characters and their relationships.

I want to be able to give my friend (who I finally dragged down into this TMNT rabbit hole) a good explanation of your wonderful comic!

(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

Aw thank you so much! Hm… I suppose a summary would be good to have on hand. For the uninitiated with no context, here is the basic elevator pitch:

The year is 2044 and the last remaining Resistance of Earth has just fallen to the alien invaders known as the Krang. In a last ditch effort to save the planet, Casey, a freedom fighter is sent back in time to undo the events that first led to the invasion. While he is ultimately successful in his mission, the state of his original fallen timeline remains unknown. The last of the freedom fighters, his family, perished to ensure his safe escape, leaving their world to the mercy of the Krang.

Which brings us to the ultimate question: when you already know the heroes are doomed to fail, what can be gained from being told their story?

For the rest below, I’m going to write with the assumption that the reader has some basic knowledge of the series and the film because I feel that this story is best enjoyed with proper context.

SUMMARY

Replica is a story meant to answer many of the questions the first 4 minutes of the movie left us wondering. It’s to explain the basic history of the bad future timeline and how it came to be. The plot focuses particularly on the later half of the apocalypse, all with the intention of leading up to the opening scene where the Krang wins and Casey Junior is sent back in time to fix the mistakes that Leo and his family could not.

It’s to answer questions like:

How did Leo get injured?

Why is Mikey so old looking?

What were these characters like in the future?

What happened to Raph, Donnie, and April?

Where is big bad Krang Prime in all this?

How did the Resistance finally lose to the Krang?

Did they plan to send Casey back in time in advance?

What happened to this world/time-branch after Casey Jr was sent into the past?

MAIN CHARACTERS

For the most part, the cast is comprised entirely of characters from the series. My goal is to keep this as canon as possible, so no new OC's... save for one (kind of).

Omega Bootyyyshaker 9000 is where this story starts and ultimately where it ends. He is a brain scan AI of Donatello, created to act as both a support system for the Resistance after the turtle’s untimely death and also a key component in a plan that will hopefully put a stop to the Krang should the Resistance fail. Omega is great because he adds some much needed levity to the story, acting a bit more like the aloof but silly teenage Donnie (a side affect of not having to experience the usual physical weariness that comes with being an organic, aging organism in an apocalypse). However, he also adds more weight by being the thing that is supposed to outlast all of them and act as the last line of defense for the remainder of the universe. He claims to merely be a "replica" of Donnie's mind, but whether he's just a digitized scan, his own AI person, or somehow connected to Donnie in a deeper way has yet to be seen.

Leonardo Hamato: the man, the myth, the legend. Casey Junior spins tales of how great his sensei was in the movie, but in this story we really get to see Leo go from his lowest point as a pawn for the government, crushed by the shame of his past actions, to his greatest height as the leader of the Resistance. He is going to fail a lot in this story... but ultimately his greatest success is overcoming his own inner demons and coming to terms with being the father figure he had never asked to be. He cares deeply for his family and Casey... but he thinks he'd be a horrible dad.

Michelangelo Hamato: the only other surviving turtle to see the end of the world. He is the emotional bedrock of the family and a stand in therapist when he's not being a silly little guy. His mystical powers are unparalleled, but in his attempts to regain his lost Ninpo he taps into something far deeper, leading them down a path that intertwines the destiny of their doomed future and a past that has yet to occur.

Casey Jones Jr: a sweet boy taken in by the Hamato family. He strives to become a great warrior like his mother (Cassandra) and his Sensei (Leo). We are going to watch him grow from child to teenager as he slowly takes on the roll of being a fighter in the resistance. Through it all he must walk an unsteady line that allows him to find the strength to weather the storm but retain a certain spark of hope that helps keep his family going.

April O'neil: Commander of the Resistance and another honorary Hamato family member. She is the voice of reason and most emotionally stable of the family. Even after dealing with so much loss, she keeps a stiff upper lip as well as cold and calculating mind that always puts the colony's wellbeing first and foremost.

Donatello Hamato (deceased): The story begins shortly after Donnie’s passing during an infiltration mission against the Krang. He was dead set on planting a probe behind enemy lines that would allow them to spy on the Krang’s movements. However it seems that he had a secret agenda in planting something that would work as a final doomsday weapon against the Krang. What that is exactly, we do not yet know. The man self-destructed in a last ditch effort to avoid being interrogated by the Krang as well as a final attack to injure Krang Prime.

Raphael Hamato (deceased): The eldest brother who sadly passed away many years ago in the fight against the Krang. A boisterous but considerate man whose death sapped a great deal of the fighting spirit out of his brothers. His absence is greatly felt, but he might not be as far gone as he seems.

Krang Prime (One): Our big bad of the story. He is the leader of the Krang that has latched onto this planet like a cancer, using up its resources and assimilating its population. However, unlike the hundreds of planets that have come before this one is particularly personal. He doesn't want to merely assimilate but utterly destroy the descendants that caused his imprisonment thousands of years ago. His current state is unknown after being last seen with Donatello at the time of the man's self-destruction.

NEED TO KNOW DETAILS

All Resistance fighters have tiny self destruct bombs in their brains so that the Krang can not probe their minds to find out the Liberty Colony's location. They go off automatically after Krang infestation reaches a certain percentage, but can also be set off via voice command.

Donnie's brain bomb was far more potent because of the amount of information he knew. He did not want to risk the Krang getting any part of his mind.

The Krang have been searching for the resistance in a frustrating game of cat and mouse which has only become more difficult now that the Resistance easily knows their every move by using Donnie's probe.

Central Park Colony: now destroyed, but was once the last massive human colony in North America, housing both the EPF (Earth Protection Force) and US Government. Racism was a huge problem as most yokai and mutants were either quarantined, tested on, or used as living weapons in the fight against the Krang. It has since been destroyed.

Liberty Colony (aka the Resistance): grew from the ashes of the Central Park Colony. It is comprised of the survivors and lead by Leonardo, April, and several others. It is much smaller and more militaristic, but treats yokai, humans, and mutants equally.

Artificial Intelligence (like Omega and Shelldon) are able to fend off the Krang assimilation that people and tech would normally succumb to. It is for this reason Omega is used as both a protector of the Liberty Colony and operator for a majority of the vehicles so that the tech can no longer be easily taken over by the Krang during attacks.

Leonardo and Michelangelo (as well as Donatello's) Ninpo have all been stripped from them by this point in the story. While Leo can not tap into his family connection at all, Mikey at least has regained the ability to use some of his mystic powers.

Mikey's mystic abilities however come at a price. Since he can not tap into his Ninpo and the fountain of energy from his ancestors, he is instead using his own life force to cast his spells. It is slowly draining him.

TIMELINE Can be viewed HERE

SOURCE MATERIAL The video that inspired this all can be viewed HERE

Hope this helps! Sorry it's a bit long, tried to break it up with images. At least there might be a few interesting bits of information other readers may not have noticed. I snuck in a few things that haven't been mentioned yet, hehe.

[twinkboimler]

October 2024 fic recs

I'm back with another TOS/AOS/SNW fic rec post! Here's some recent fics I really enjoyed!

SPIRK

I Shall Do Neither by onwhatcaptain. TOS. Mature. 166,262 words. Heavy angst, grief, pon farr aftermath. The writer chose not to use archive warnings, and I recommend reading through all the tags on this as well. This fic explores what might have happened if Kirk had died during the kal-if-fee, stretching across the months that follow. This is an emotional fic. There were chapters where I was crying the entire time I read through it. I won’t spoil what plays out, but I was completely satisfied with how this fic ended. It’s a heavy fic, and it’s not for everyone, but god is it good. Plus I love a spirk fic that really highlights the importance of McCoy in their lives; this one really shows how valuable McCoy is to them. I think this fic should be enshrined as a Must-Read when you enter the fandom.

I need a drink of cool, cool rain by Moreta1848. TOS. Explicit. 12,298 words. This fic was beautifully written. It introduces new ideas about Vulcan culture and rain and explores these ideas in a way that I really loved.

milk and honey by spaceisgay (ChancellorGriffin). SNW. Explicit. 28,651 words. Aliens made them do it, temporary amnesia, smut. Spock and Kirk wake up in a prison cell with no memory of who they are. They’re asked to perform an alien ritual… I’m sure you can guess what that entails. Really liked how this was written and it really nails characterizations for SNW spirk.

SPONES

Overthink, Overdrive by fangirlandiknowit. TOS. Explicit. 12,677 words. End of 5-year mission, getting together, love confessions. Aliens force a love confession, and McCoy and Spock handle it just about as well as you’d expect them to. I love when these two are just awful at talking to each other.

The Doctor and the Mailman by bongbingbong. TOS. Teen and Up Audiences. 9,606 words. Western. McCoy is a small-town doctor, Spock is the mailman. Everyone tells McCoy that he should stay away from Spock, but he refuses to listen. First in a 3-part series, I really enjoyed all three parts!

Ashaya (Tehs-tor) by Adenil. TOS. Teen and Up Audiences. 57,762 words. Fake dating/marriage, mutual pining. Spock goes to McCoy when he’s expected to take a spouse. I read this fic during one of my most-recent flights and it was exactly what I needed to sink into while killing time on my flights and at the airport. 

Handle Me With Care by Affixjoy. TOS. Explicit. 5,234 words. Hurt/comfort, friends with benefits to lovers. While on an away mission on a cold planet, McCoy realizes he has appendicitis and has to perform the surgery on himself with Spock’s help. This fic is inspired by Leonid Rogozov removing his own appendix in Antarctica! The spones moments in this fic really tugged at my heartstrings!

MCKIRK

That's why I won't get vulnerable by strangenewwords. AOS. Explicit. 18,074 words. Academy era, 5+1 things, porn with plot, genital piercings. I love some porn with plot and feelings, and this one just hit. If you like McKirk struggling to use their words and instead using their hands and mouths instead, this fic is for you.

the way things unearth by kurgaya. AOS. Explicit. 11,299 words. Academy era, Jocelyn comes to visit. I absolutely love how this fic wrote Jocelyn and McCoy’s past relationship. Their backstory was so different from any other fic I’ve read. Jocelyn really felt like her own person in this, not just his ex-wife. 

MCSPIRK

Moving across, then coming through by lesbobaggins. TOS. Explicit. 2,754 words. Starts as mckirk but turns into mcspirk. Smut, glory holes, a hot and funny fic where Jim finds out what some of the bathrooms on the ship are used for.

do you love your neighbor (is it in your nature) by Muir_Wolf. TOS. Teen and Up Audiences. 20,071 words. Hurt/comfort, corporal punishment, denied food as punishment. While stationed aboard a small vessel after volunteering to help when the medical staff comes down with a flu, McCoy is unfairly punished by the admiral in charge (of course, it’s far more complex than it may initially seem). I love how much time this fic takes to explore the aftermath of McCoy’s experiences—the comfort in this is so good.

GEN

Give Thy Thoughts No Tongue by WerewolvesAreReal. TOS. Teen and Up Audiences. 38,757 words. Mind control, misunderstandings. Spock is captured while on an away mission, and when he returns, he won’t talk about what happened—but not for the reason you might think. Loved this fic!

[sinelanguage]

32. bodyswap

The Grand Line is a mysterious place; Usopp really shouldn’t be surprised when he wakes up feeling out of sorts. He’s woken up in weirder ways than having an empty, ravenous appetite; this is nothing. He must’ve eaten something weird the night before, leaving his stomach an empty, bottomless pit. Perfectly fine.

Usopp tries to pick himself up out of his hammock, and his foot doesn’t hit the ground. That’s weird; his hammock is closest to the ground. He stretches a bit more, then a bit more, and still, nothing. 

Then, Usopp stretches out way too far, way farther than should be physically possible, until his foot hits the floor. His leg feels like absolute jello. His heart rackets in his chest. 

That’s not fine. 

His chin warbling, he looks over the edge of his hammock until he sees one long leg stretching all the way from the top bunk down to the floor. 

“Luffy,” he says. Luffy’s voice comes out of his mouth. Oh, no. “Luffy, what did you do?!”

“Eh, what do you mean, what did I do?” That’s not Luffy’s voice; that’s not even his own voice. “I’m– wait, woah! Why am I so tiny?! Why do I sound so weird?!”

“Hey, Chopper, quit freaking out,” comes Usopp’s own voice. “Wait– what? Why do I sound like Usopp?”

There’s a loud thunk; Usopp watches in horror as his own body hits the floor. Usopp’s body picks himself up off the ground, shoves his hands in his pockets, and peers around the room with a critical derision that looks alien on his face. 

“What the hell?” he asks. “Usopp, you shithead, what did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Usopp yells, his voice still sounding like Luffy. “Who are you?! Is that you, Sanji?!”

“How curious. The Grand Line is a mysterious place, isn’t it?” says Zoro, sounding way too damn calm for Zoro. Who the hell is he swapped with? “It seems like we’ve all swapped bodies.”

The noise the crew makes is as loud as it is confusing. 

By the time they all get out of bed and onto the deck, Zoro– well, Robin, who swapped with Zoro– explains that they must’ve passed by some mysterious mist that swapped them all around, just like an old story she read. She assured them that they would all be fine, they just needed to wait it out until the effect faded. 

If only it were that simple. 

Instead, the entire crew is caught in the mess of being swapped with each other. Chopper-as-Sanji tries to chase down and lecture Sanji-as-Usopp down for his clear and obvious nicotine withdrawal symptoms, Nami-as-Robin sprouts way too many limbs all at once and almost turns the Merry over, and Luffy-as-Chopper tries to steal Chopper’s rumble balls while he’s otherwise occupied. 

Usopp tries, he really tries to grab Luffy before he grabs the rumble balls, but his arms refuse to listen. They stretch out like limp snakes, his fingers wiggling on the deck helplessly. 

“This is the worst,” Usopp complains. He tries to bring Luffy’s arm back to him but he manages to get it stuck, looped around the mast. “How long did Robin say this would last?!”

“I don’t know what you’re all complaining about, this is great!” Robin– well, Nami– says. She’s using several of Robin’s arms to unfurl the sails and steer the ship, gleeful as she sits perched on the top deck. “I don’t need any of you to steer the ship now!”

“Oh great, then you can just boss Robin around instead of us next time,” says Zoro-as-Nami. 

“What, so you can just laze around all day?! Oh, right, that's what you already do!” Nami-as-Robin counters, trying to hit Zoro in the face. She miscalculates, uses the wrong arm, and hits herself in the back of her head. “Ow ow ow! Oh, this is all your fault, Zoro! I can’t believe you’re stuck in my body!”

“Hey! I don’t like it any more than you do!”

There's a low whine on deck, like the sound of a tea kettle.

“Shut up! You should be glad you swapped with Nami-san, you– you shitty- you-” Zoro-as-Nami turns to face Sanji-as-Usopp, and Sanji's face contorts through a series of rapid emotions before settling on abject horror. “I can’t even yell at you like this!”

“This is a disaster,” Usopp mutters, watching Sanji’s ongoing breakdown. “At least everything is somewhat under control now.”

Robin-as-Zoro is the only sane one, Usopp decides. Everyone else is a weck.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. If we run into any trouble, none of us will be able to fight, will we?” says Zoro– no, says Robin. She smiles, and it looks absolutely horrifying on Zoro’s face. “What an interesting way to go.”

Usopp turns to face her. Robin-as-Zoro smiles at him sweetly again, as sweet as a deadly poison.

No, he’s changed his mind. This is a disaster for absolutely everyone involved; they’re going to be lucky to make it the next hour, much less the next day. They’re all going to die. 

[drdemonprince]

something im kind of connecting the dots to re: your posts about shaming people who don’t wear masks…in ‘20 and ‘21 I spent a lot of time posting shaming instagram stories telling people they needed to mask, and i yelled at family until i was blue in the face bc they weren’t masking, having big weddings, etc. and it really created a rift (obviously) in my relationships. I’ve also spent a lot of time and energy in the past 4 or so years telling people that it’s not possible to be an ally to trans people if they still engage in any media created by jk rowling. Especially given that her anti trans manifesto has been cited in anti trans legislation in the uk, she says that she assumes that anyone who continues to engage with Harry Potter media approves of her transphobia, etc the list goes on. And yet i still see my friends going to the wizarding world of Harry Potter, marathoning the movies with their friends, going to see the new movies in theaters, and so on. Obviously my aggressive shaming posts and conversations (which have alienated a lot of people) aren’t doing jack shit. Your mask shame posts made me realize that it probably wasn’t right of me to do that. But I don’t see how I can stand up for what I believe in and show people that it’s not okay to keep doing this shit AND play nice and not create trouble. Do you have any thoughts?

Thanks for this great question and for sharing your experiences.

I think when we shame, part of it is a grappling with our own powerlessness. It feels terrible to confront that no matter how much we care, and no matter how much we plead, we cannot make another person take action. When people we love or rely on won't hear our pleas and won't take action, it wounds us so deeply, and it makes sense we react in anger or seek to shame them hoping it will make them care. But it isn't effective.

I think one of the first steps is accepting our powerlessness as individuals. We have to stop expecting ourselves to somehow persuade people to change their behavior and views, when all the research indicates that such change is rare, slow, and very hard, and cannot be accomplished on a person who does not already want to be influenced. We have to sit in the humility of not being able to make others care, and take time to grieve how badly it hurts. Our understandable and huge hurt feelings need to be processed. many of us have a powerful need to express our rage and have it witnessed by others who understand.

From there, we have to think very strategically about what kind of collective work we can do that will shift social norms, facilitate the behavior we want to see, and fight for systemic changes that will actually address the root issues.

This may be things like passing out masks at protests. Joining a local mutual aid fund to contribute to the expenses of people who are quarantining. Protesting an event space to make them institute a masking policy. Unionizing with our coworkers to demand paid sick leave. Shoplifting tests and redistributing them to people in need. Terrorizing the business leaders who dragged us all back into the office. Sharing the wastewater data. Asking loved ones about their COVID mitigation decisions in a sincere way. Organizing outdoor events for our communities. Paying for a buddy's vaccine.

There are countless ways for us to be plugged into an active community that is larger than us. The work is humble, and ongoing, and what you do personally will never be enough on its own, and you must accept that in order to believe that it does not have to be. We are in this together.

In short, I think the tough emotional realities of feeling disrespected and not cared for much be addressed by finding community with people who do care and will give us room to voice our outrage. And then we have to work together to create the circumstances that allow real systemic change to germinate.

Right now, people conflate that emotional need to express rage with the political need to take action. And what feels cathartic to do or say is not necessarily what's persuasive. There has to be room for both.

[love-byers]

hey, just btw it’s actually really sick to compare a girl that been abused her entire life with a monster. like, what’s the thought there? that everyone she thinks loves her just sees her as some disgusting pet? or is it that you think she isn’t a fully developed human being, with emotions and feelings?

literally not at all whatsoever💀

the thought here is that mike claims to have been in love with el from the moment he saw her, when his behavior towards her draws more comparisons from dustin's interactions with dart than, for example, jonathan and nancy (who are canonically in love)

that does not mean el is a monster or unloved or sub-human. literally not even close.

it *potentially* means that what mike felt towards el was not romantic love (as he claims) but fascination/ admiration. similarly to how dustin felt about dart. SIMILARLY. not identically. dart showed up on dustin's doorstep. dart was fascinating, incredible, unlike anything dustin had ever seen. dart was dependent on him and trusted him. dustin felt that dart would make him appear cooler. others called him out on his attachment to dart being based on essentially nothing. sound familiar?

the duffers have said that they were heavily inspired by et, el obviously paralleling et himself. mikes name was originally elliot, aka the boy from the movie. the duffers paralleled el to an alien. does that mean she is unloved or viewed as a monster or a "disgusting pet"? no!!!! not at all!!!!!!not even a little bit!!!!!!!!!!

i'm not saying mike viewed her as less than human. obviously he didn't. in fact, he was the first person to treat her as human, besides benny i guess. but that does not equal true love. their relationship is built on the foundation of dependency and fascination, hence why millie said mike isn't loving el the way she wants to be loved. and there is absolutely no shame or negative implications from them letting go of that and growing past it. they can still care about each other a great amount without being a couple.

you really think i believe el is subhuman and just mike's pet??? my sweet precious angel sweetie pie daughter el hopper???? if you actually read my posts you'd see i constantly express how el IS her own person and deserves to experience the world authentically. it is not healthy to jump into a relationship after only experiencing freedom for a week. she was in a relationship before she even knew who she was, what she enjoyed, her style, etc. she needs to experience the world separate from that.

[thefollow-spot]

hello you're the resident silmarillion fan out of my following list so I'm curious, how bad do you think the Rings of Power is as a Tolkien-world story compared to what was actually written in the book? Like, i get the feeling that the story is the kind of adaptation that would stand up really well on its own as a story if it weren't related to the source material at all?

I started the book (and by that I mean first chapter) years ago and never got to finish it, but i've been meaning to do it after seeing you reblog things about the story. I only saw like three episodes of TROP season two as my father (LOTR fan) watched it and i was laying on his couch sick, and he mentioned that he likes the way the story expands on some things such as how the rings came into being, he says that the book didn't really do that. But I've seen some people say that the show really deviates from the book almost to the point of scoffing at Tolkien's established world and plots. So, I think it's likely that i will watch the show and read the book at some point in time, but i wanted to know, is this a case in which i absolutely must read the book first before the show ruins it, and if so how hard do i need to hold onto my hat?

Hello!! I’m so flattered that I’m your resident Silmarillion fan, even though I’m sure there are more Qualified™️ Tolkien fans on this hellsite <3 And THANK YOU for asking me this; I would LOVE to share my thoughts! Full-disclosure: I’m a self-proclaimed recreational Rings of Power hater. Of course, none of this is really that serious and I bear no ill-will towards fans of the show + hope anyone who likes RoP is out there having the best time, but hating on The Rings of Power is like candy to me so I’m going to be sooo mean about it <3

The short answers are: IMO, Rings of Power is a blatant cash-grab, which reveals itself in every structural choice. It’s an abysmal adaptation, and I personally find it to be an uncompelling piece of original fantasy. I would 100% recommend you read The Silmarillion in general, and definitely before watching RoP!

As someone who loves The Silmarillion, please please please give the book another try, I am begging you!! If you absolutely must only read the relevant sections to RoP, “Akallabêth” and onward + the appendices to The Lord of the Rings are all you need (but you’ll be lacking some really compelling context). The Silmarillion is a book where you get out of it what you invest—the first time I read it, TBH I found it really dry, but the second time I read it, I absolutely fell in love.

I’m in love with Maedhros being the best of his family until he loses it all to grief; I’m in love with Fingon never forgetting how to love people despite always being left behind; I’m in love with Túrin being a damning examination of cultural alienation and queerness (even if Tolkien didn’t 100% know it). I am so so so in love with this book PLEASE try it again 😭

If you do end up watching The Rings of Power first, I feel I need to emphasize a non-exhaustive list of things to keep in mind:

RoP does Elrond a disservice by erasing his past as a child of war

RoP does Gil-galad a disservice of sidelining him when he should be a main character

RoP does Celebrimbor a disservice by depicting him as a stuffy older academic instead of as an ambitious artist clawing for esteem in the shadow of his bloodline being the most infamous noble house in Elvish history

RoP does Galadriel (and women) a disservice by aging her down several thousands of years and portraying her as emotional, unreasonable, and politically ineffectual instead of as celestial, war-sharpened, eldritchly wise, and so so so exhausted with Sauron’s bullshit

You can stop reading here, but if you want longer answers and ✨me being a recreational hater✨, it’s under the read-more:

Is The Rings of Power a good book adaptation of Tolkien’s Second Age?

No!! The Rings of Power is a financial asset owned by Amazon disguised as a television show! We can tell that the production is focused more on marketability than on artistic merit by looking at the character breakdown, plot structure, lore, and themes:

Tolkien’s works are vast in scope, therefore every age of Middle-earth has its own set of key players; a Second Age story should focus on Celebrimbor and Gil-galad, but RoP focuses on Elrond and Galadriel for no reason but name recognition (RoP producers, probably: “No casual LotR fan is gonna watch a show about a cast of randos they don’t know!”). As a result, they are NOT telling the story from the book(s) because they’ve pointed the camera away from the people who are actually doing anything in canon! They are making up plot and lore because the canon plot is unprofitable!!

The showrunners are adamant to give the Second Age the same thematic wash as Peter Jackson’s Third Age story even though the two periods are completely different (they go on and on in interviews and marketing material about it needing to feel like “Tolkien” but what they really mean is, ‘like the successful fantasy media franchise we’re corpse-robbing for nostalgia money’). The Second Age is a transitional period—the Third Age is practically post-apocalyptic. But these writers cannot do thematic textual interpretation beyond beating the Lord of the Rings movies to death and dragging its corpse around… which is actually a win for Amazon because woohoo, that makes these poor fuckers marketable!

If Amazon hired anyone who actually cared about the Second Age, they would have a less familiar property, therefore a difficult-to-market product; a Second Age story written by people who care about the Second Age would feel thematically different from the name they’re trying to capitalize on. I cannot stress enough how disappointing Rings of Power is as an adaptation of one of the most compelling and underexplored periods of Middle-earth history.

Is The Rings of Power a good fantasy TV show?

IMO, no! Because the producers greenlit a show written by two writers who are utterly incapable of doing their own thematic reading, the resulting product is what you get when you throw money at people with no artistic vision. I say this as someone who believes 100% in the value of poorly-crafted TV: I find Rings of Power to be tonally and structurally confused, inescapably derivative, and over-reliant on clichés. Maybe this is just because, as someone who knows anything about the Second Age, it also actively punishes me for knowing what I do but anywayyy.

They jammed a ‘whodunnit mystery’ format onto a fantasy epic, and write dialogue scenes with no stakes and little charm. The world is often lacking in whimsy or gravitas due to their CGI sets and underbudgeted costumes and hair design (RIP to the costume designer Kate Hawley, she’s done some fantastic stuff on productions that give her respect and resources). And every single person talks like Kilgharrah (RIP to the actors who are all putting in a valiant, earnest effort with the under-edited material and poor direction they’re being given). They advertised the show on diversity, yet underwrite their OCs of colour and disrespect their female characters. The best part of Season 1 was when Halbrand almost took his shirt off in the finale, but he didn’t even take his shirt off all the way so that was the worst disappointment of all 😔

Re: how the rings of power were made & does the show scoff at Tolkien’s lore?

It’s true that (at least according to the books I’ve read), there are no in-depth descriptions of the magic or silversmithing techniques used in the forging of the rings of power (but this is unsurprising, given that Tolkien’s magic system is soft-magic rather than hard-magic). In The Silmarillion and in the appendices to The Lord of the Rings, the important part isn’t so much how the rings were made, but why—the political circumstances surrounding their forging. I think it’s evidence that the writers don’t have a fucking clue what they’re doing that they’ve focused on the mechanics of smithing rather than the seduction of Celebrimbor.

The Rings of Power does more than scoff at Tolkien’s established world and plots—what it does is treat Tolkien’s writings as an outdated hindrance to their goal of telling the clumsiest, self-aggrandizing, resumé-padding television story known to modern audiences.

Okay, okay—I'll shut up now <3

As you can tell, I am unhinged about this topic LOL!! I hope I’ve answered your question, and if you DO decide to watch Rings of Power, I hope you have a better time than I did and wish you all my best <3 I’ll just be over here in the corner shaking my fist in RoP’s general direction, for enrichment 😌✌️