#and it reeks of privilege and guilt

[bardnuts]

ppl who aren't voting because they think both trump and harris are morally wrong in their policies really fundamentally don't understand the reality of the electoral system huh. They still think they're electing the homecoming queen or something huh.

having the right to vote, and not voting, because you think both candidates are fascists is in fact what the fascists want you to do. i hate to break it to you buster but our democracy is at best a capitalist oligarchy and the power we have over the current system is limited, but voting is one of the most concrete expressions of power we have within that system. it's also one of the first things to go if we become a fascist state for real. People have fought and died over generations for the right to vote. Don't you dare fucking piss it away.

[hilacopter]

idk who needs to hear this right now but constantly being so very sorry and feeling so very guilty over your existence as part of a privileged group is not activism and you're not a bad person for not being constantly miserable

[desultory-suggestions]

Is it necessary to induce guilt and shame for people to care about this war? Is it necessary to make people feel guilty for being alive in a situation that we have no control over? I understand the emotional response to motivate people and call to action. But on a holiday that we can't control either, to induce guilt and shame for enjoying freedom is something we also cannot control. Is it really necessary to remind us every single waking second of every single waking moment that we are free while others are dying? Is there no acknowledgement for the fact that we as bystandards are equally as traumatized by these things and that people have legitimate reasons to not be involved or to step away because we are already facing our own wars of guilt and shame? To the point that our mental health suffers from posts like that? Is there not a better way to promote freedom for Palestine without inducing shame for what we can't control?

Yes, we must have a constant and meaningful awareness of the state of the world and our relationship to it. This is not a world-bending concept. Every moment we can have a coexistening awareness of our world and our current place in it. This doesn't have to be constant suffering, in fact, we must take those feelings of powerlessness and grief and channel them into becoming stronger and more loving people who are willing to take action.

No one is making you aware of this every second. In fact, if you really wanted to you have the privilege of turning off your phone, of blocking the tags of people trying to raise awareness. I think that would be wrong. I think that would be a cheap excuse to place your comfort over others. Do you?

We are not "as bystanders equally as traumatized by these things" and you should be ashamed of yourself for believing that. In no way is seeing a horrible image of what is being done the same as living it. In no way is seeing photos of dead children the same as seeing your dead child, as pulling emaciated bodies from the rubble, as hearing the constant deafening drones, as trying not to fall asleep because at any moment you could be bombed or shot or bulldozed. Don't ever try to compare what we as bystanders see to the reality of the Palestinian people.

Your post reeks of shame and guilt, and that is for you to deal with. What are you ashamed of? If you are doing everything in your power, to the best of your abilities, then you truly have nothing to be ashamed of. We will all struggle with these feelings as we ask ourselves how we can help, and if it is ever enough. It is our job to deal with those questions.

If you have a legitimate reason to be unable to help right now you know this post isn't about you, don't you? That isn't why you sent this.

The Characteristics of White Supremacy outlined by Dr. Tema Okun is a useful guide for times like these, where we must examine how our culture and society have taught us to think. I would encourage you to go read the section on Right to Comfort.

[britneyshakespeare]

I had the worst dream last night that I had had a daughter at some point in the recent past and of necessity gave her up (I am far from the financial situation for raising a child and I don't even have the support of a partner, so that part is realistic). And I was just so wracked with guilt because I didn't even remember her name or who she was living with now. I felt so inadequate as a human being for not being involved in my child's life. And if I had to guess I had this dream because I was thinking a lot about abortion rights yesterday and how frankly they alone should be enough of a reason to go out and vote against Republicans. Like if you can't take a stand against people who are pro-forced birth, I don't wanna hear any excuse about it at all. It's some out-of-touch nonsense which reeks or either ignorance or privilege. Because if that were your own trauma-preventing medical procedure being legislated away, would you just let others get away with it being low on their list of priorities? Would you feel like those people still care about you or are your allies? The pro-life camp actively ignores cases where abortion is necessary to save the life of the pregnant person and/or the fetus has no chance of surviving to be born. They also constantly act like you can "just" put your child up for adoption, which to me is a much more terrifying and guilt-inducing idea than terminating a pregnancy. Idk. I just feel like family planning is as essential a human right as any other and yet it's constantly demonized on the right and still somehow trivialized as a "women's issue" from the center and left, from people who don't feel "personally affected"

[xtrablak674]

Cece's Letter

[Originally published in Fashion Fag Magazine, Volume 1 Number 4, November-December 1994, as a response to FFM - Rage: Not Easy to Articulate, Volume 1 Number 3, October 1994]

Dear Miss Trevah,

I have decided to officially take up office in this cafe called "Limbo" on E. 3rd and Ave. A, because I always find myself sitting here, and my life is always in a permanent state of Limbo, too. Plus in the back room, they have a big ole couch where everything + everybody lounges, including a napping dog, whom I plan on joining once I finish this note.

I sat here re-reading Fashion Fag, "Rage: Not Easy to Articulate." Hell you can say that again and I thought you did an extremely good job of it. I couldn't just read it without responding, so I guess that's what I am doing now. Damn, I just burned the end of my pony tail in this candle here and the alcove has that pleasant reek of burnt hair.

As you know, I'm living in the Bronx, at least for this day + the next. Although there are a bunch of hunched over Irish grandmothers running the streets, the neighborhood belongs + is run by people of color - Latino African American, and a small percent of Asian. As the white girl I am the outsider.

When I walk to the subway, my face must really be a sight. I get all tangled up in a confusion of facial expressions trying to find the right one to greet people out on their streets. Ironically they could probably care less what face I wear as long as I stay out of their way. No expression seems right. If I smile, I imagine the people are staring back at me "smiling white devil" running through their mind. If I keep my face cold and expressionless, I imagine they'll think I am a white bitch too snobby and all-mighty to be humane.

If I'm walking to fast I imagine they'll think I'm afraid, hurrying to the train because I think all the people of color will mug me. If I'm dressed to nicely I imagine they'll think I'm flaunting my privilege. If I dress like a slob, which I tend to do anyway no matter how hard I try, I imagine they think I have no respect for myself, for my people, and for them. So I get caught in this ridiculous game of calculation where my moves all have the intention of trying to convey - "I am not responsible for all the oppressive heinous crimes committed daily in the name of racism, I am one of the good white people."

Finally home in the privacy of my own living room, the facade comes down and I realize the wall I'm up against is insurmountable. All of these faces + gestures are meaningless. I cannot escape that I am a part of the white race guilty of racial oppression. Nor am I sure that this burden of guilt should ever be lifted off my shoulders. Yet, there's nothing so odious as the guilty white person sitting mired in guilt yet too soft to take action to do anything about it.

So back out on the street I go screwing up my face like a ninny trying to find my humanity in a smile, the catch of an eye, a stride taken in sink [sync] - anything that brings two people through and past skin color to being human as well as "of color" or "white" or "black or gay etc." My intent is far from saying "Gee, don't white girls have it tough." Nor am I trying to righteously say I'm doing all I can about racism - my racism. I am taking responsibility for seeking out some solutions and answers to the fucked up shit in this society. Shit I need another cup o' coffee!

-Cecilia

[Photo by Brown Estate]

Rage: Not Easy to Articulate

[scribbledquillz]

Stay

~~~One~~~

It is in his best interest to win her favor. The Warden is not a fickle woman, so far as Zevran is aware. Neither is he an imbicile. And only an imbecile would content themselves with the protection of something so brittle as another's mercy.

Charm and flattery will not be enough. She has not despised his attentions, much as she tries to hide her flustered stammering and the lovely bloom of color at her cheeks behind a scowl. But she has also proven herself a modest sort, and temptation will not be enough for her to welcome him into her bed. He must find another way to make himself of worth, lest she turn her blade back to his throat to grant him the end he once courted.

An opportunity comes soon enough, dressed in darkness and the scent of cheap liquor. He does not know what has shaken her so thoroughly, and truth be told he does not feel compelled to care. But the night is young, the fire is warm, and the giving of his company while sleep remains unconquered is no great sacrifice to make. He beckons her to his side with the promise of as much or as little shared between them as she wishes.

Please, he offers her.

Stay.

~~~Two~~~

The Deep Roads were meant to be his end. Had Revka not proven herself in desperate need of sense, he has no doubt they would have swallowed him whole.

She coughs and sputters from her slab of broken stone. A small, battered thing cast down among the debris of the bridge they had stood on mere moments before. He damns her as he drops to her side, and again when fingers he cannot keep from trembling fall against the arrows buried in her body. Fool, he calls her with no care for the venom it carries. Because it is the truth.

It had been his footing which faltered, his life which clung to the crumbling masonry as the darkspawn bore down upon them. The choice had been so simple. What was one wretched, ruined life to the furthering of their goal, to the promise of her own survival? Everything, she murmurs through bloodstained teeth, and it isn’t fear or anger which sees the air turned to knives in his lungs. There is no time to dwell on it now. His hands are already troublingly slick and warm as her eyes begin to flutter, the grip she keeps at his arm steady, but not strong. Words pour from his mouth as he throws himself to work, an accidental litany laid bare at her feet as he cuts away the ruined leather.

Please, he urges her.

Stay.

~~~Three~~~

His world has narrowed to this moment, existence outside of their bed of moss forgotten to heady satisfaction. For one blessed moment there is no Blight, nor demons or blackened hearts to carry on bowed shoulders. Here there is only the minute; sweat on cooling skin, the kiss of Revka’s breath at the hollow of his throat, the weight of her body against his chest. He drinks it all down with shameless greed, made a man doomed to a thirst too exquisite to ever see sated.

It will destroy him, in time. There are no gentle endings for heroes, and fewer still for the likes of such vile creatures as him. They have already tempted fate’s grace, the knotted scars beneath his palms a testament to what could - what should - have been. Soon enough this will end by her will or another’s, and he will watch as another piece of himself is carved away. Lost to the Void and leaving him with only ashen memories. Yet he knows he will not regret what he has paid.

The sublime was never meant for permanence, and Revka is no exception. He will content himself with what he is given, and offer nothing less than the gratitude she and the Maker are due for the privilege. Because to squander these moments and their fleeting divinity would be a crime even he could not bring himself to see through.

So when she finally stirs to speak of obligation, he feels no guilt in how tight his grip turns about her waist. Their work is done here, the Bracillian at peace, and their companions no worse for their absence. She sighs as he traces a thumb over reddened lips, yielding to his kiss as he speaks.

Please, he whispers to her.

Stay.

~~~Four~~~

He will never wash this blood from his hands.

Taliesen is dead. His partner, his friend, his lover, his past. Dead, along with the last shattered piece of the man he once knew himself to be. And he feels nothing. No regret. No guilt. Nothing, save the numb, aching certainty that he has done what was needed.

He does not know how long they have sat here on this bed, or where, precisely, Revka has taken him. Away, which is all that is of consequence. Hidden someplace far from leering eyes, that does not reek of death and wicked trechery. That alone is a kindness more than he deserves.

She has not moved from his side, the weight and warmth of her presence, of her fingers woven between his staving off the worst of the ice building in his chest. Ever his silent, watchful Warden - his light within the shadows, his harbor in the storm. Without her here he knows he would fall, and this time there would be no return from that looming, frigid darkness.

Please, he begs her as salt and loss tear at his throat.

Stay.

~~~Five~~~

He cannot lie to himself any longer. Can no longer pretend every moment spent in the comfort of her company does not come with the pain of an end he does not yet see. And that is the trouble of it, isn’t it? The thought that each night spent beside her, every kiss or glancing touch might very well be their last. He has tried - sweet Andraste, he has tried - to keep his hold of these pleasures slacked. Reminded himself countless nights of the unspoken promises he made to her, to himself, to the Maker, to take only what was given freely and dare not dream of something more.

But his heart has never been a loyal beast, its refusal to cease its beating all those months ago born of the same stubbornness which rails against him now. It makes traitors of his hands. Turns them to talons and sinks them deeper into the want of her with every effort made to draw himself away.

He does not wish to fight this any longer. What he feels… there are no words for what he feels. Not yet, when there is still so much of himself he had thought long dead struggling to take back its breath. So he does not offer them.

The earring gleams within his outstretched palm, flickered candlelight glinting against gold to match the unsteady beating of the heart which drove him here. He gives both to Revka freely, and knows no matter her answer they will always belong to her. As they already do.

Please, he asks her in silence, once more left bare to her mercy.

Stay.

~~~Six~~~

The golden ring at Revka’s ear sparks with the light of a hundred fires as she turns back to him across the battlement. Around them the world is ending, filled with the stench of blood and taint and smoke. The Archdemon shrieks in its agony and rage, felled but no less deadly as it snaps a wicked maw and flails claw and tail and body against the poor souls within its reach.

In an instant he has forgotten their talk of miracles. What spell cast by mortal hands - no matter their talent, no matter their conviction - could hold against the sheer brutality of such corruption? He reaches out to her unthinking, as though his will alone would close the distance in time, the same heart he has only just given turned to a stone fist within his chest. And she smiles. A brittle, sorrowful thing broken under the weight of what has been left to the whims of the Maker and his fates. Her lips tremble, mouth stumbling over words he never thought to see spoken, and the same stone heart crashes against his ribs.

I love you.

And she is gone. A blur of Warden silver and blue, the flash of brilliant steel. He cannot move, cannot tear his eyes from what will surely be the end he has feared for so long. The Archdemon rears its monstrous head, hate and death burning in black eyes as she throws herself between the world and an unending Void.

Please.

Her blades strike true, the monster screaming as a brilliant beam of light swallows the both of them whole.

Please.

He is on his knees, thrown back by the force of the light or the fear burning through every inch of his flesh, scalding his soul.

Please, he prays as he drowns in the agonizing unknown, as he crawls toward the faint shape of her form upon the stone.

Stay.

[mithliya]

Does it seem weird at all to you that people our age and slightly older's reaction to tragedies is to post personal GoFundMes, PayPals, venmos, ect? I just saw a post listing multiple Asian-run GoFundMes and they were like "asian americans feel free to drop your donation links down below!" If there was another gay club shooting I can't imagine my first response being "I know I wasnt there and I have no medical bills as a result of this violence and I know we're all pretty broke right now but if you feel bad for the gays right now give me your money to soothe your guilt for being straight! Comfort me with your cash please thank you xoxo". Like I just can't imagine seeing a horrible tragedy and thinking "I'm part of this targetted minority so I should profit off this instead of asking people to change legislation, help survivors pay for hospital bills and therapy, send out relevant petitions, other things that actually help victims and might prevent more violent hate crimes." Asking your followers to give you $15 just invites them to do fake activism to feel good about themselves and gets you extra cash. It's so performative and cold.

i havent seen this happen but .... actually yeah that sounds really cruel and fucked up to me. when the christchurch shooting happened, my reaction wasn’t to try to get money out of it. same goes for the pulse club shooting. or many other hate crimes relevant to the groups i’m a part of. it simply did not directly affect me and no one should be distracting from such events to make it about themselves and their specific needs! i get it, many minority groups end up being economically disadvantaged as a result of being minorities and yes people should support & help poc that are economically disadvantaged and all that but...............there are better times and places. putting in ur own gofundme and relating it to a tragedy as someone who wasn’t at all affected by said tragedy reeks of entitlement and privilege to me, i can’t imagine distracting from something so terrible and horrible by trying to profit off of it. 

[clonehub]

You gonna have a problem with the New Zealand rugby team too 😂 considering they're called the 'All Blacks'? 'They're like half an inch from saying a slur.' The 'I'm right and you're wrong so you must conform to what I say is correct because my perspective is the right way' is literally the bread and butter of how Colonization and Christianization worked alongside violence. Attempting to control other people's opinions, perceptive, and language because -you- think it's not acceptable and -you- are offended by it and -you- believe your way is the only correct way. I hope you're aware of your elitist western privilege because your content reeks of it. Hiding behind your race doesn't absolve you of the racist rhetoric you are contributing too with this need to shame, guilt, and control others.

Anon you started out responding to something I didn't actually say so I'm gonna be honest I only skimmed the rest of this, which looks really dumb from what I gather

[lightcreators]

Inside every eye of an student he might cross, he would see an resonance sadness. Something himself owned inside his gaze, wrapped inside cloudness of loneliness, emptiness, distress, sadness, wrapped themselves with that anchored sensation of guilt and responsabilities who had been carefully hidden … in middle, of course, of an remnant of brightness who had to being presented for the appareances of the circumstances, no matter what, for pretending remaining untouched. For one long previous year, where the sentiment to had touched antichamber of hell of the year before seemed distant memories where an light was still presented, his conscience faded away inside an complete dissonance of everything coming from the outside world … Memories themselves had been damaged, leaving out an black hole inside couple of circumstances … nevertheless, even with the main cause gone, the walls of his manor reeked of this ghostly presence … that would take a long time to disappear on his mansion. Inside illusions of an standing appareance, who have yet one year to survive inside charming place of Hogwarts, he could feel amusement to be next to someone holding same trick. For one year yet, as he would pretend nothing happened, there will endless remembrances of the marks of the war. Himself turned out to be an terrible victim and tourmented by it, even though, complains of his voice couldn’t escaping his face, regardless how much he would want such gratification … He was part of the culprits, ones of responsible who didn't avoided war.

Short-term thoughtfulness who changed into an slight playfulness, where sarcasm words were embraced brightfully. It was actually so amusing towards his emotional disaster of an person he could smile towards the notion, inside an next future, inside the following year, at the moment he will be welcomed with an fragment of paper indicating he would finish school --- the world of daylight he enjoyed so far would be over, and oh, there will no more lights that might anchoring him inside that sphere … for wrapping himself inside an ocean of obscurity as a new home ! Lips were tempted since a long while to being mocking over his own survival. As it was another joke coming from that word of Fate, in which he wanted so badly spit on it --- ❝ Unfortunate child who will find inside complete loneliness realm for having miraculously survive~ ❞ Every word was self-mocking, nevertheless, his expression remained fullfilled of playfulness. He wasn’t the only one. He wasn’t the only one  that would have to pick up the fragments. An interest triggered greyish eyes in front of her comment. Oh. ❝ That sound an brilliant career to me. Something I will, for sure, follow from afar. Back when I was an innocent unbearable brat, I wanted becoming an professional of Quiddicth myself … as an consequence of an jealousy feeling at the beginning. ❞ There was an moment of silence, as he remembering that long time ago period when he had to mourn such wish to begin with. ❝  It’s not possible anymore. ❞ There was sadness who betrayed each corner of his tone, expressing an clear ending to it. ❝ You must be careful of gossip and avoid any kind of scandal, otherwise life will be quiet. ❞ He advised slowly, before humming towards her question. ❝ Politics: this world of wolves who devour each other. Probably not officially since my family has some privileges of influence that I can allow myself nevertheless I intend to enter the Ministry ... and clean up. ❞

         GRIEF CLUNG LIKE A DEADLY POISON,    swirling in the air and threatening to swallow all whole. even now when she sat high above the ground, she could look down and see, the remnants of what had happened. the death that had occurred. and the way they'd all fought to rid the world of the most dangerous wizard. even her as a slytherin, had fought. because if she hadn't she'd have had to admit the truth. that her father and brother were among, the other side. (    players in the dangerous game!    )  so she did all she could to separate herself from it. even as a graduated student. and now here she sat, one year free of this place, and still she'd been dragged back. for a memorial. to remember all who had died. to remember what they'd lost. and she wanted to scream.    or get violently drunk which was the only option, she was managing to hold at bay so far. to stop herself from giving into.

          ❛   how unfortunate for your loneliness that you're alive.   ❜   she drawls relishing in the opportunity for sarcasm that he presented her. even if she can see the emotions he was fighting to cover. the way he wished to cling to a sense of normalcy instead of giving into what he felt. she understood it, for it was what she was doing.     (   what everyone around her was doing!   )    still she hums softly as she drags her hazel hues away from his silver ones. and looks out across the grounds, shoulders rolling in a shrug.     ❛   not too sure that playing quidditch professionally will give me peace. but at least i get to hit something.   ❜    eyes flash as she glances back momentarily. sure he remembers the times on the pitch, when despite her process as a chase, she'd taken it upon herself to cause pain to others. she was a snake after all, it was in her nature.   ❛   what you aiming to do when you're finally free.   ❜    the genuine curiosity isn't hard to mistake. even if she shrouded it, in her usual sarcasm.

[quillify-tries-to-talk]

I think I figured out the problems in Roshani Chokshi and Sandhya Menon's books (as much as I love them, their Indian rep doesn't resonate with me as much as I'd hoped).

DISCLAIMER: not hating. There are valid issues that PoC face in foreign countries and I'm not trying to invalidate them. This is just an opinion

A little background first. Contrary to what you're shown in Hollywood movies, south asian countries are not a wasteland of forests and slums, but the situation isn't great, either.

Majority of the population is somewhere in the middle class rungs that often comes with a plethora of issues starting from academic pressure to feelings of guilt and anxiety over spending money on yourself. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. (Colonial trauma is a bitchy, vicious cycle).

It is a privilege to leave the country, to have enough money to live an entire ocean away. Not all of us will ever be able to do that so we'll have to deal with whatever shit is thrown in our faces by the society and government (the CAA/NRC act, privatization of govt institutions, the farmer bills that aren't actually pro-farmer, covering up atrocities in the most outlandish ways, controlling media houses so actual news never reaches common people, catering to billionaires, mismanaging the pandemic and opening your eyes only when you see the ashes).

Not to mention a lot of Non-Resident Indians (NRIs) are wealthy, upper caste people, absolutely cloistered from the atrocities that occur everyday against marginalized communities.

So when I read books by Indian-American authors, my feelings are mixed. If they're set in historical times my anger is through the roof. Let's take an example.

Laila from The Gilded Wolves by Roshani Chokshi gave me immense joy at first for being beautiful, bold brown girl. But as I read further, my feelings started to grow more negative.

It's because of the way Chokshi did zero research on South Asian colonization of the British while waxing poetic about the tragic fates of her male characters. Laila is from Pondicherry, and the French colonized that place (we only get mentions of forests and magicians because apparently that's all there was in the 1800s, huh :))). We have no idea how she ended up in Paris, or how as an 18 year old brown girl she took up a job as a courtesan/sex worker (I don't have a problem with sex work, but I would like to know how she got that job and I would like to see her childhood and trauma explored. Okay, Severin gets pages of backstories about his fathers but his love interest doesn't?). She didn't have a surname first while everyone else did. And now, in the second book we move with the fact that we have zero ideas for her real name too. For a book that's about colonization, desi history gets ignored by the author, and instead Laila is sexualized af. I'd like to ask what's her role in the story beyond causing Severin angst, baking, reading objects for him, and being a generally sweet person? Chokshi keeps *telling* me that she isn't there for Severin and is her own person, but where's the proof? She has no backstory, no name, and no role beyond romance and smexy courtesan.

Like Wikipedia has a whole ass page. Wouldn't have taken much to just Google it all. And for an author of south asian ethnicity to ignore this, the way white historians do? Reeks of privilege.

Her MG series, The Pandava Quartet, is also set in America. A story.... about Hindu mythological legends... in America.... it was jarring to read, honestly. For once in my life I'd like to see something *not* being set in America. America is not the center of the world for crying out loud.

Same with Sandhya Menon's books. We'll leave out her twisted idea of feminism: gurls ruleeesss!! Boys droolzz. It was very obvious in When Dimple Met Rishi, with the way Dimple kept hitting and punching Rishi, and it was deemed as badass. All her boys have the same archetype: Love Interest Cameras.

Y'know, romance works with *two* characters, right? Two of them, each bringing something to the table for a healthy, balanced relationship that progresses slowly through various stages (because real life often isn't a Bollywood movie). Boys need to have good role models and a role beyond "hot, sexy love interest." Y'all have become the very thing you swore to destroy.

Wait, I derailed. Sorry.

Ahem. Back to the topic.

I shouldn't have been shocked, but I truly was while reading Menon's books. It just made me realize the privilege a lot of NRIs have and they don't even realize it.

Case in point: most of Menon's characters are all wealthy and loaded af, and that makes them extremely hard to relate to. They are disconnected from their culture, they don't speak any of the native languages, not even a little bit. The little mentions we got were so inaccurate, they made me grit my teeth and make a whole post about it. It feels as though she just slapped a south asian name on a white—I'm not even gonna call them characters—they're basically puppets for her romances (who tf kisses right into 3-4 chapters of a book, c'mon!).

I'd have expected such disconnect from a white author *side-eyes Cassandra Clare*, but not from someone of my own ethnicity. It was heartbreaking. I'm sorry if you don't agree but I had to get this off my chest

Again, BIPOC in foreign countries have issues that need to be examined, but we keep forgetting that most of them aren't in America. We're living in our countries, and there are a host of marginalized communities whose stories need to be heard, now more than ever.

[luna-rainbow]

I’ve been rewatching Hannibal lately & holy shit I know this is probably an unfair comparison since it’s an entirely different genre & I’m pretty sure Hannibal is considered to be one of the best shows ever made but at the same time how tf does a show literally about a serial killer cannibal manage to address trauma & mental health issues better than tfatws.

Thanks for the ask!

I haven't watched Hannibal, so I think my answer will be on a bit of a tangent....

I think what comes across in TFATWS' writing is the clear lack of care for trauma and mental health. I'm not just talking about Bucky, but how the script deals with John Walker's evident PTSD, Karli's significant traumas, and particularly Sam's own traumas about everything that's happened in the last few years. Even Sharon's arc reeks of "bad things happened to her so now she gets to do horrible things to other people yay girlboss!" Not to mention Zemo's driving force in CACW had been his trauma over the destruction of Sokovia by people whose actions had no regulation, and that was quickly hand-waved aside to make way for grooving Zemo.

The counselling session was really just lip service, and to some extent I almost wished that never came up, because they clearly haven't done any homework. (Sebastian, on the other hand, did, and that was the saving grace of those scenes because he's bringing all the denial, irritability, guilt, apathy and self-deprecation by himself)

I talked about Sam's paramedic voice before, and I think people (these writers) need to realise that professionals working in certain jobs will have certain habits of seeing the world. Sam will have his therapist lens on (as well as his EMT and military lens) whether he likes it or not, even if he's not dealing out treatment. Good psychologists are fantastic at picking up somatic cues. There is no possible way that he won't pick up the PTSD features in Bucky and John - the amount of agitation John was showing before Sam went in to speak to Karli would be pretty concerning (and kudos to Wyatt Russell for that).

And why is it important for Sam to pick up these cues? Because so much of his pre-Avengers work was about danger minimisation. Having a volatile mentally unstable person on the field is a massive liability. Sam already has Bucky to deal with, and having John like this would have raised alarm bells for Sam's inner therapist because there is no safe way he can (or should) manage two volatile people on his own.

Not only that, quite a few of the lines that Sam is given to say are quite...tone deaf to mental health. I'm not even talking about the stuff he says to Bucky, but the stuff he says to John when the man is at his most mentally unstable is so poorly judged by the writers it literally made me wince when I rewatched it.

So yeah...without knowing much about Hannibal, I suspect that show was much more interested in exploring how its protagonist became the person he was than TFATWS was in its own heroes.

But also what gets me is that...how privileged does someone have to be to get through life without sympathising with any of the traumas of these characters? Sam's loss of multiple close friends in rapid succession? Bucky's false imprisonment and torture? Karli's helplessness as a homeless orphan? John's PTSD? Zemo's loss of his children and then country? The only thing they got right was John's imposter syndrome and...uh, I will refrain from drawing a comment on that.

[sweetbunnykook]

Forget-Me-Not

Adopted!JK x Detective!Noona - Oneshot/Drabble

Warning: taboo relationship, angst (manipulation/unhealthy boundaries)

Word: 1,855

Synopsis: Jungkook prepares to surprise you during Halloween but you have other plans that fuel his insecurities.  

A/N: I combined most, if not all, of the drabble ideas you guys sent me. Thank you and I hope you enjoy this drabble that is borderline a oneshot! ♥ Everyone had such wonderful ideas I couldn’t just choose one. I also had to force myself to stop writing because it was going to turn into a chapter. 

Jungkook just wanted to spend Halloween with you in peace. That was it. Just you and him, in front of the television, wrapped under a single blanket, wearing matching clothes and drinking warm tea. He even planned to order food from your favorite fried chicken restaurant with the little money he made doing art commissions. It was supposed to be a surprise and you were supposed to be jumping with joy when you see him holding two tea mugs in his hands, wearing a pumpkin patterned pajama pants and a large plain white cotton shirt big enough for you to climb inside in its warmth.

Is it surprising that when you walked downstairs, saddle bag in hand, dressed in an outfit he’s never seen before (a dress that was certainly revealed too much of your decolletage), he would be furious?

“Where are you going, mom?”

He can feel his stomach drop when your bright eyes suddenly dimmed upon seeing the cups in his hand and his eyebrows furrowed.

“I…” You struggle to find the words, knowing that his gaze is steadily trailing up and down your body. You’ve never dressed like this for any of your previous dates and Jungkook dreaded that you were going to end up in another man’s house, in another man’s bed, and come back reeking of this bastard’s cologne.

“I have a d-date,” your meek reply comes as you walk down the last few flights of stairs and open the shoe closet, grabbing a pair of boots and a clean pair of socks, your back towards him.

“With the same guy?” Jungkook’s voice lowers and you can hear the clinking of porcelain as he sets down the mugs on the coffee table, next to the rental DVD.

You nod. “Yeah.”

When you risk a glance towards him, you regret it immediately. Jungkook’s fists are clenched at his sides, his jaw is tight, and his eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

“Kookie,” you sigh, dropping your shoes back onto the rack to stride towards his tall figure cloaked in semi-darkness. “I’ll be back soon, maybe around midnight, okay?”

“The last time you said that you didn’t even come home. I was worried sick.” Jungkook pulls away from you when you reach to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I’m a detective,” you chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood. The pitter-patter of the rain outside isn’t helping nor is Jungkook’s anger seeping out of every pore. “You know there’s nothing to worry ab-“

“It’s easy for you to say, mom. It’s easy for you to pick up your bag and go because you never look forward to our plans like I do. You never think for a second that maybe I want to spend the night with you and not have to wait for your leftover time like…like a pet.”

Has he always felt that way? It seems almost impossible given you spent your waking hours showering him with affection.

You pressed your lips together. “I didn’t know we were going to spend time today and I always, always prioritize your needs above mine. Don’t ever say that to me. Where is this coming from? Jungkook, if you need me to-”

Whatever you said might have struck a nerve within him for he flinched backwards, shaking his head.

“Forget it,” Jungkook takes the mugs back from the coffee table and paces towards the kitchen, knowing you’re trailing behind in concern as you struggle once more to keep him calm.

He knows he’s being unfair. He knows that you may have forgotten to tell him you were going on a date today, that it was his fault for planning a surprise on a holiday when you’re free from work. You only went on your rare dates on your day offs when you didn’t need to go grocery shopping or tend to other household responsibilities. The fact that you bought a new dress tells him all he needs to know about how much you looked forward to this night, even forgiving his snide remarks about your date when you first introduced him months ago. You don’t deserve to be treated this way and it makes Jungkook’s eyes fill with tears not just from frustration but from guilt that you ended up with him, a burden. This wounded, bleeding burden of a boy who falls more and more in love with you as the years go by.

Jungkook hates your little dates where you most likely had sex before coming back to him. The idea of a man kissing your soft nipples, your full hips, the inside of your thighs – it makes him sick with wrath. Jungkook hates that you still see him as the boy you took under your wings all those years ago. Jungkook hates that you’re so comfortable walking around in a towel in front of him because you don’t see him as a man; he knows you would never be that carefree with a date. He owns a piece of you that no other man can see. But his punishment is that he’s kept in this mold of the adopted son he desperately wants to be rid of. Changing his body to become stronger, becoming independent, pretending to be mature most of the time about the idea that a stepfather can appear in his life at any time – Jungkook was sick of it. He was sick of it all.

He throws the mugs in the sink, the two porcelain clattering in cacophony as it hits the sink and cool tea swirls down the drain.

“Jungkook…” your strained, mournful voice reaches his ears and his heart breaks. He can’t breathe, he needs to get out of there, he needs to get out fast.

“Kookie, wait-” You reach for him once more but he turns back into the living room, taking the rental DVD in his hands before he takes the flyer for your favorite restaurant laying haphazardly and balls the paper in his fist.

He skips up the stairs, noticing that you didn’t follow him this time. Somehow that makes it hurt even more.

Jungkook throws the DVD and paper on his bed and opens his closet, reaching for a pair of black sweatpants and a matching hoodie. He sheds off the plain shirt and pajama pants (so much for October festivity) and quickly change into the black set, keeping an ear out for the sound of the front door closing. He grabs his cellphone, his wallet, and keys off the textbooks stacked on his desk and shoves them into his pocket. For a moment he catches his reflection from the mirror pinned to the closet door and Jungkook decides, from his teary red face, that he hates himself more than he hates your dates and your cluelessness.

He’s gotten taller, much taller, stronger, smarter, but emotionally he is still the boy you rescued all those years ago. He’s still the boy who looked up at you and called you his superhero and smiled through the bloody black and purple bruises on his face when you held him and sobbed.

Jungkook slams the door shut behind him as he walks away from the comfort of his bedroom. Stepping down the stairs, he’s surprised to see you sitting on the couch, your feet still bare and your phone clutched in your hand. Why haven’t you left?

“Kookie I’m-“ You pause. You take notice of his attire and take a deep breath. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Please don’t do this,” your voice cracks and Jungkook grinds his teeth. Yes, he hates himself more than ever. He’s self-centered, dramatic, and immature, he thinks, it’s no wonder you won’t see him as anything other than a child. Hell, being regarded as a dog would be better.  

“Just go on your date, mom. Sorry for ruining your perfect night or whatever and tell him I said hi.”

Jungkook walks past you to grab his backpack. He won’t be able to focus on schoolwork and he doesn’t have anywhere else to go except Jimin’s house yet he slumps the bag over his shoulder anyway.

“I canceled the date. I’m not going anywhere,” You grab his sleeve, halting him in his tracks before wrapping your arms around him. He’s gotten so large that your fingers barely touch when you hold him.

He’s silent for a second, harsh breaths gradually fading to soft sighs when he hears you sniffle once and lay your forehead on his back.

“…You didn’t have to do that.”

You shake your head. “I should have expected that you’d do something special.”

“It’s not your fault…” Jungkook can see the porcelain cups in the sink from where he’s standing. His cup and yours, the handles designed to fit each other like puzzle pieces. “I’m…I’m just…”

How does he admit that he’s throwing a tantrum because he wants you all to himself? How does he admit that it was unreasonable of him to expect you to read his mind? How does he admit that his heart feels like it’s about to pounce right out of his chest when you’re not near him? It was embarrassing enough for him to slip into your bed at night while you sleep, lying about his nightmares to earn the privilege of your gentle fingers brushing through his hair in your sleepy daze. He might die of shame if he admits that he’s been daydreaming about a night like this when you can be at ease and when he can pretend he’s your lover and pull you close.

Halloween has always been a tradition – not a strict tradition but a tradition nonetheless that is not disrupted by strangers. He’s way past the age of bouncing off the walls for candy and horror movies but he’d hoped that, the older he gets, this ritual of spending time with you and living out a part of his fantasies during special days won’t perish.

“I’m sorry, mom.” Jungkook murmurs at last, letting the rattle of the kitchen windows from the rain keep him grounded. “I…I didn’t mean to be like this. I wanted to surprise you and I just…I got angry and it wasn’t right. I’m sorry. Can you call him again and-?”

“No.”

Jungkook swallows. Forgiveness feels so out of reach. It feels…

“I don’t want to call him.” You continue. “I want to be here with you…if you’ll have me.”

He turns, making you tilt your head towards him to reveal your watery eyes, and wrap his arms around your shoulders, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Your perfume smells like heaven. You smell like heaven and you feel ever better pressed to him; soft against solid, molded like the puzzle piece patterned mugs in the sink.

“Do you even have to ask, mom?…I want you here with me. It’s…it’s okay, right? You won’t be mad at me?”

You peck his cheek, tucking your sorrow deep inside like the same way you’ll fold this new dress into a bag and return it to the boutique.

“I will never make you feel alone.”

[talkingtea]

The fact of the matter is that while DP didn't tweet stuff that was as incriminating as HS (people would have found it, and she's already been called out on her tweets which reek of privilege/tweets were she outwardly tried to stoke hatred directed at Candice and Iris), she clearly did this because she figured that it's possible some of her tweets might one day come back and bite her in the ass. Mass deleting tweets is an admission of guilt, and she brought that on herself when she mass deleted.

Exactly

[greatfay]

controversial opinions?

Cold pizza actually not good. Tastes like angry bacteria.

There’s a completely separate class of gay men who are in a different, rainbow-tinted plane of reality from the rest of us and I don’t like them. They push for “acceptance” via commercialization of the Pride movement, assimilation through over-exposure, and focus on sexualizing the movement to be “provocative” and writing annoying articles that reek of class privilege instead of something actually important like lgbtqa youth homelessness, job discrimination, and mental health awareness.

Coleslaw is good. You guys just suck in the kitchen.

Generational divides ARE real: a 16-year-old and a 60-year-old right now in 2021 could agree on every hot button sociopolitical topic and yet not even realize it because they communicate in entirely different ways.

Sam Wilson is a power bottom. No I will not elaborate.

Allison’s makeover in The Breakfast Club good, not bad. She kept literally and metaphorically dumping her trash out onto the table and it’s clearly a cry for help. Having the attention and affection of a smart, pretty girl doing her makeup for her was sweet and helped her open up to new experiences. Not every loner wants to BE a loner (see: Bender, who is fine being a lone wolf).

Movie/show recommendations that start with a detailed “representation” list read like status-effecting gear in an RPG and it’s actually a turn-off for me. I have to force myself to give something a try in spite of it.

Yelling at people to just “learn a new language” because clearly everyone who isn’t you and your immediate vicinity of friends must be a lazy ignorant white American is so fucking stupid, like I get it, you’re mad someone doesn’t immediately know how to pronounce your name or what something means. But I know 2 languages and am struggling with a 3rd when I can between 2 jobs and quite frankly, I don’t have the time to just absorb the entire kanji system into my brain to learn Japanese by tomorrow night, or suddenly learn Arabic or Welsh. There are 6500 recorded languages in the world, what’s the chance that one of 3 I’ve learn(ed?) is the one you’re yelling at me about. Yes this is referring to that post yelling at people for not knowing how to pronounce obscure Irish names and words. Sometimes just explaining something instead of admonishing people for not knowing something inherently in the belief that everyone must be lazy entitled privileged people is uh... better?

Stop fucking yelling at people. I despise feeling like someone is yelling at me or scolding me, it triggers my Violence Mode, you don’t run me, you are not God, fuck off. Worst fucking way to "educate” people, it just feels good in the moment to say or write and doesn’t help. Yes I’ve done it before.

Violence is good actually.

Characters doing bad things ≠ an endorsement of bad things. Characters doing bad things that are unquestioned by the entire rest of the cast = endorsement of bad things, or at the least, a power fantasy by the creator. See: Glee, in which Sue’s awfulness is constantly called out, while Mr. Shue’s awfulness rarely is because he’s “the hero.” See also: the Lightbringer series, in which the protagonist is a violent manipulator who is praised as clever, charming, diplomatic, and genius by every supporting character (enemies included), despite the text never demonstrating such.

Euphoria is good, actually. It falls into this niche of the past decade of “dark gritty teen shows” but actually has substance behind it, but the general vibe I get from passive-aggressive tumblr posts from casual viewers is that this show is The Devil, and the criticism of its racier content screams pearl-clutching “what about the children??” to me.

Describing all diagnosed psychopaths as violent criminals is a damaging slippery slope, sure. But I won’t be mad at anyone for inherently distrusting another human who does not have the ability to feel guilt and remorse, empathy, is a pathological liar, or proves to be cunning and manipulative.

It’s actually not easy to unconditionally support and love everyone everywhere when you’ve actually experienced the World. Your perspective and values will be challenged as you encounter difficult people, experience hardship, are torn between conflicting ideas and commitments, and fail. My vow to never ever call the cops on another black person was challenged when an employee’s boyfriend marched into the kitchen OF AN ESTABLISHMENT to scream at her, in a BUSINESS I MANAGED, and threaten to BEAT the SHIT out of her. Turns out I can hate cops and hate that motherfucker equally, I am more than capable of both.

Defending makeup culture bad, actually. Enjoy it, experiment, master it, but don’t paint it as something other than upholding exactly what they want from you. Even using makeup to “defy the heteropatriarchal oppressors!” is still putting cash in their pockets, no matter how camp...

Not every villain needs to be redeemed, some of you just never outgrew projecting yourself onto monsters and killers.

Writing teams and networks queerbaiting is not the same as individuals queerbaiting. Nick Jonas performing exclusively at gay clubs to generate an audience really isn’t criminal; if they paid to go see him, that’s on them, he didn’t promise anyone anything other than music and a show. Do not paint this as similar to wealthy, bigoted executives and writing teams trying to snatch up the LGBTQA demographic with vague ass marketing and manipulative screenplays, only to cop out so as not to alienate their conservative audiences. And ESPECIALLY when the artists/actors/creators accused of queerbaiting or lezploitation then come out as queer in some form later on.

Queer is not a bad word, and I’ve no clue how that remains one of few words hurled at LGBTQA people that can’t be reclaimed. It’s so archaic and underused at this point that I don’t get the reaction to it compared to others.

People who defend grown-woman Lorelai Gilmore’s childish actions and in the same breath heavily criticize teenage religious abuse victim Lane Kim’s actions are not to be trusted. Also Lane deserved better.

Keep your realism out of my media, or at least make it tonally consistent. Tired of shows and movies and books where some gritty, dark shit comes out of nowhere when the narrative was relatively Romantic beforehand.

Actually people should be writing characters different from themselves, this new wave in the past year of “If you aren’t [X] you shouldn’t be writing [X]” is a complete leap backward from the 2010s media diversity movement. And if [X] has to do with an invisible minority status (not immediately visible disabilities, or diverse sexual orientations and gender identities, persecuted religious affiliations, mental illness) it’s actually quite fucked up to assume the creator can’t be whatever [X] is or to demand receipts or details of someone’s personal life to then grant them “permission” to create something. I know, we’re upset an actual gay actor wasn’t casted to play this gay character, so let’s give them shit about it: and not lose a wink of sleep when 2 years later, this very actor comes out and gives a detailed account of the pressure to stay closeted if they wanted success in Hollywood.

Projecting an actor’s personal romantic life and gender identity onto the characters they play is actually many levels of fucked up, and not cute or funny. See: reinterpreting every character Elliot Page has played through a sapphic lens, and insulting his ability to play straight characters while straight actors play actual caricatures of us (See also: Jared Leto. Fuck him).

I’m fucking sick of DaBaby, he sucks. “I shot somebody, she suck my peepee” that’s 90% of whatever he raps about.

“Political Correctness” is not new. It was, at one point, unacceptable to walk into a fine establishment and inform the proprietor that you love a nice firm pair of tits in your face. 60 years ago, such a statement would get you throw out and possibly arrested under suspicion of public intoxication. But then something happened and I blame Woodstock and Nixon. And now I have to explain to a man 40 years my senior that no, you can’t casually mention to the staff here, many of whom are children, how you haven’t had a good fuck in a while. And then rant about the “Chinese who gave us the virus.” Can’t be that upset with them if you then refused to wear your mask for 20 minutes.

Triggering content should not have a blanket ban; trigger warnings are enough, and those who campaign otherwise need to understand the difference between helping people and taking away their agency. 13 Reasons Why inspired this one. Absolutely shitty show, sure, but it’s a choice to watch it knowing exactly what it contains.

Sasuke’s not a fucking INTJ, he’s an ISFP whose every decision is based off in-the-moment feelings and proves incapable of detailed and logical planning to accomplish his larger goals.

MCU critique manages to be both spot-on and pointless. Amazing stories have been told with these characters over the course of decades; but most of it is toilet paper. Expecting a Marvel movie to be a deeply detailed examination of American nationalism and imperialism painted with a colorful gauze of avant-garde film technique is like expecting filet mignon from McDonalds. Scarf down your quarter pounder or gtfo.

Disparagingly comparing the popularity and (marginal) success of BLM to another movement is anti-black. It is not only possible but also easy to ask for people’s support without throwing in “you all supported BLM for black people but won’t show support for [insert group]” how about you keep our name out your mouth? Black people owe the rest of the world nothing tbh until yall root out the anti-blackness in your own communities.

It is the personal demon/tragic flaw of every cis gay/bi/pan man to externalize and exorcize Shame: I’m talking about the innate compulsion to Shame, especially in the name of Pride and Progress. Shame for socioeconomic “success,” shame for status of outness, shame for fitness and health, shame for looks, shame for style and dress, shame for how one fits into the gender binary, shame for sexual positions and intimacy preferences, shame for fucking music tastes. Put down the weapon that They used to beat you. Becoming the Beater is not growth, it’s the worst-case scenario.

Works by minorities do not have to be focused on their marginalized identities. Some ladies want to ride dragons AND other ladies. The pressure on minorities to create the Next Great Minority Character Study that will inevitably get snuffed at the Oscars/Peabody Awards is some bullshit when straight white dudes walk around shitting out mediocre screenplays and books.

Canadians can stfu about how the US is handling COVID-19 actually. Love most of yall, but the number of Canadian snowbirds on vacation (VACATION??? VA.CAT.ION.) in the supposed “hotbed” of my region that I’ve had to inform our mask policies and social distancing to is ASTOUNDING. Incroyable! I guess your country has a sizable population of entitled, privileged, inconsiderate, wealthy, and ignorant people making things difficult for everyone, just like mine :)

No trick to eliminate glasses fog while wearing my mask has worked, not a single one, it actually has affected my job and work speed and is incredibly frustrating, and I have to deal with it and pretend it’s not a problem while still encouraging others to follow the rules for everyone’s safety and the cognitive dissonance is driving me insane.

It’s really really really not anti-Japanese... to be uncomfortable with the rampant pedophilia in manga and anime, and voice this. I really can’t compare western animation’s sneakier bullshit with pantyshots of a 12-year-old girl.

Most of the people in the cottagecore aesthetic/tag have zero interest in all the hard work that comes with maintaining an isolated property in the countryside, milking cows and tending crops before sunrise, etc. And that’s okay? They just like flowers and pretty pottery and homemade pastries. Idk where discourse about this came from.

You think mint chip ice-cream tastes like toothpaste because you’re missing a receptor that can distinguish the flavors, and that sucks for you. It’s a sort of “taste-blindness” that can make gum spicy to some while others can eat a ghost pepper without crying.

Being a spectacle for the oppressive class doesn’t make them respect us, it makes them unafraid of us. This means they continue to devour us, but without fear of our retaliation.

Only like 4 people on tumblr dot com are actually prepared for the full ramifications of an actual revolution. The rest of you just really imprinted onto Katniss, or grew up in the suburbs.

Straight crushes are normal. They’re people first, sexual orientation second. Can’t always know.

The road to body positivity is not easy, especially if what you desire is what you aren’t.

You’re actually personally responsible for not voluntarily bringing yourself into an environment that you know is not fit for you unless you have the resolve to manage it. Can’t break a glass ceiling without getting a few cuts. This one’s a shoutout to my homophobic temp coworkers who decided working a venue with a drag show would be a good idea. This is also is a shoutout to people who want to make waves but are surprised when the boat tips. And also a shoutout to people who—wait that’s it’s own controversial opinion hold up.

Straight people can and should stay the fuck out of gay bars and queer spaces. “yoUrE bEInG diVisiVe” go fuck yourself.

[tigereyes45]

I'm glad this is finally about black lives this time. Why? Because everyone needs to speak up every now and again, and also the fact that can't be understated about how white lives don't matter. I may be a white myself, but we're not best here. We've all been criticizing and victimizing other people to racism, and that's something I wish we have to worry about. Imagine a world where whites are the victims. Wouldn't that be a better place? #whitelivesdontmatter

Wow okay so you are like almost completely missing the point. (Why the fuck would you send this to me?) 1. The Black Lives Matter movement is to put Black Lives first. At the forefront, where they and their issues should have been instead pushed back behind all the less important white people issues, such as hair salons opening back up, and such. It’s not finally about black lives, it’s that people are finally mobilizing behind it like we all should have been, 2. EVERYONE SHOULD SPEAK UP AGAINST INJUSTICE AND RACISM ALWAY! Not just every now and then, BUT ALWAYS! You see something happening that isn’t right then you STAND/SPEAK THE FUCK UP AGAINST IT! 3. The second half of your sentence literally undercuts the point of the beginning of it. “ Because everyone needs to speak up every now and again,” is completely left pointless by “and also the fact that can't be understated about how white lives don't matter.” If everyone needs to speak up then so do white people meaning their lives have value since THEY NEED TO SPEAK UP! You can’t have it both ways anon. If they need to speak up then their voices must matter (or you know at the very least they should matter. Which come on we all know white people’s voices are heard the most in America) 4. ONLY WHITE SUPREMACISTS THINK WHITE PEOPLE ARE THE BEST HERE!! NO RACE IS SUPERIOR OR BETTER IN ANY WAY THEN THE OTHERS!! 5. With racism not to racism. And let’s make this clear not everyone has been criticizing and victimizing people with racism. There are lots of actions that are racist. Some macro some micro. At one point or another, almost every white person has committed a micro transgression against someone of a different race. Often times they never even realize they did it because of two reasons. One.) They aren’t actively trying to be racist to cause harm to people and Two.) They have often learned microaggressions that have been normalized by our society. Yes they are still harmful, yes they need to be weeded out, but we have to fix our society first. WE point out they are wrong for the following reasons and fix it! That way they don’t keep happening. However, that does not mean every white person has victimized people with racism, and especially not intentionally. It’s still wrong, but intent does count in some cases when the transgression is something small. We have to fix the big problems first before allowing ourselves to look at small stuff or else the battle against racism will be lost since many who are not educated on micro and macroaggressions will not understand how they are racist. 6. You wish we had to worry about victimizing people. Okay, so I’m going to assume you wrote this in a rush for some reason. I get it. It happens I rushed a lot of messages while I was at the protest down in Indianapolis tonight. But the way you phrase this matters. You wish we really had to worry about victimizing people, well good news if you are a decent person you worry about others! You actively think and try to become a better person due to worrying about other people and try your hardest not to victimize them. But you working on yourself and correcting/encouraging others when they make a mistake or are trying to get better is the only way to get other people to worry about it if they aren’t already. Don’t be a dick, but point out what they are doing wrong and why it’s kind of racist. You can’t require people to be worried about something though. (If you could pretty sure racism and climate change would be the first two a lot of people would force others to worry about.) 7. I would never want to live in a world where white people are the victims! Not because I’m white, which I am, but because I don’t want to live in a world where anyone is a victim of anything. Racism, circumstance, wealth inequality, discrimination of any kind, etc. I wish none of those affected people in the world we live in, but sadly they do, and it wouldn’t be better if white people were the victims of racism instead. That would just be the reversal role of a lot of the same shit happening right now. Equity and equality is the only way things could get better. Not trying to make another group the victims. 8.This whole thing just reeks as the kind of talking points you see on fox news about white guilt. They would say that white guilt is a horrible thing that no one should suffer from because it leads to self-hate, and would quote half of this post as evidence of that. WHITE GUILT ISN’T NECESSARILY  A BAD THING! It makes people aware of their privileges and should force them to acknowledge that they have perks no one else gets, but you should not allow white guilt to affect you to the point where you say shit like whitelivesdontmatter.

I’m here to tell you that EQUALITY MATTERS and that is in part what BLACKLIVESMATTER is trying to get. They are seeking to achieve justice for those murdered by police officers who aren’t convicted because black lives aren’t treated equal! They are after the equality they deserve not here to push whatever fucking agenda you are trying to achieve by twisting their message and tag.

[sassyseeker]

Sometimes when I’m reading fanfic I start having ideas that grow on their own. Like, I am reading a MGiT au now and started imagining Solas with a non-inquisitor, secretly future-knowing character, in the Inquisition. Solas knows she is from another world and knows some stuff that will happen in Thedas, but not that she knows his secret. From here on, it diverges completely from the story to the point it distracts my reading. In my mind mc is head over heels with Solas and in private she showers him with kisses, gives him gifts and sweets, serenades him, likes to hold his hand and cuddle and caress him, to be understanding and say supportive words that almost reach deep. He is still not committed though, he’s undecided, flattered but not used to her kind of affection, not sure it’s a good idea to indulge. He doesn’t see himself as someone who deserves such adoration. He is still suspicious of the world, himself and her. After Wisdom died, she declared her love and is ready to go all in. He desires her but does not want to have sex before she knows of his past and he can’t tell now. She says it’s okay, she knows he is the Dread Wolf. But it’s not a relief to hear. He asks why. Why she didn’t tell them, tell him? Was she going to blackmail him later? Was she hoping to gain his favor, to manipulate him? Perhaps blackmail was plan B? She says no, she tells him all she knew from the start and how she loved him even before coming to Thedas. He sort of believes her. Then he asks if she chose him from among all the others because she wanted the most powerful partner she could get. Did she like him for being godlike? Did she hope to conquer him, to wrap an evanuris around her little finger with her attentions? Did that make her feel powerful? Did she see a life of privilege and luxury with him in her future? She doesn’t know what to say, she came to love and accept all of him, the parts that are powerful and godlike, they’re part of who he is and yes, she loves it too, she can’t deny. Would she love him without it? She thinks so but it also seems so out of character, so unexpectedly how could she know the answer to that?  He says he was actually happy that she seemed to love the humble apostate before because he had nothing to give, so it should be true. Instead she is just a child, with childlike notions and the same selfish desires that are so commonly expected from her pitiful race. She has no words to defend herself from the pile of assumptions quickly growing. He tells her to go away and not look for him again, maybe the Inquisitor can still be second-best replacement. She knows he means it.

(Just a heads up that the ending is not happy 😔)

She cried her eyeballs out for two days, until her tears dried, and stayed in her room. She wouldn’t say what happened to the Inquisitor. Cole can’t defend her before Solas because she doubts herself, so he sticks around for comfort with mc, where the pain is greater. Solas suffered the first night, wondering if he judged her wrong. When memories of her gestures of affection threatened to come again the second night, he shut them down. It is easier for him to fall back into his usual rhythm, it is the way it should be and now he can focus completely on his goal. At least he was right and will not mourn the death of this world. Bull, Varric and other observant companions know Solas is involved with mc’s breakdown, they give him a large berth and he is happy with it anyway. She doesn’t tell his secret and he remains in the Inquisition but they don’t see each other. She only goes on travels when he’s not. Solas leaves after Corypheus’s defeat. Cullen courts mc to no avail, some Orleasian nobles and common folk too, she is not interested. When she decides to open her heart again, it’s to somebody who will never doubt her feelings. In time, the spirit of Love crosses the veil to finally be with her. He takes the form of an Elvhen man to please her, with a head full of hair. He doesn’t have a coin but she is happy to provide for him with her savings from the Inquisition. They buy a small but comfortable house in a place of their choosing. Solas is curious and cannot contain himself from seeking this Love spirit in the fade. Love does not care for him. The couple did not join the allies army when the war with Sola’s forces started. They joined no side but were thrown in the middle of it regardless. A skirmish near their home takes the life of Love, as he is shot in the crossfire, trying to protect mc and other civilians. She weeps so loud, so desperate and mournfully, both sides make silence and quietly go home. Mc was not heard of after that. Solas tore the Veil down. There were few survivals. The humans who survived do not like him. The elfs who survived realized how close they came to death, how lucky they were, and they do not like him. The elvhen who were woken from uthenera never asked for it, they don’t like the state of the world, don’t like that they were forcefully tasked with fixing it now and they do not like him. The evanuris do not like him. They are weak and will remain so for a very long time, since Solas was thorough to gather all the remaining power in the land before undoing the Veil. They are too weak to kill Solas. Solas is strong, but not enough to take all the evanuris down or to rebuild Elvhenan without help. If he were to attempt uthenera, it would be a matter of who would be the first to find and kill him for what’s left of his power. Solas goes to a gathering of his people in a public place. They disagree, many despise him, they argue and somebody pushes him to the ground. Somebody else spits on him before they all disperse. Solas stays lying there for a long time. After what feels like days, maybe weeks, an old woman in a cloak gives him water and pets his head, humming to herself, until he gets his bearings again. She helps him up. Before she can leave, he insists on why she did it. Doesn’t she know who he is? She doesn’t speak but after a while a word comes out: Vhenan. That voice… He removes the hood and it is mc indeed. Her eyes seem blind, she is not old but weak, everything about her reeks of neglect, she’s almost unrecognizable. She starts walking again and he follows to what is left of her house. There he cries and takes her to his abode. He closes himself to the rest of the world, decided to help her recover. He bathes her, clothes her, feeds her, puts her to sleep. He calls her by her name, she seems to react to that sometimes. He asks, “who am I?” She says “Vhenan”, and he smiles, laughs and embraces her, raining kisses on her head. He likes to watch her humming to herself. She starts to recover very slowly. Her eyes are bright and focusing again, she is not blind. Doesn’t talk much though. One day he puts her on his lap and asks again who he is. “Vhenan.” “And why is that?” He hoped to hear it’s because she still loves him, eventually, but her response is: because “love never dies.” She repeats the words a few times, confusion and pain in her face, big tears start forming. He is mortified and changes the subject, trying to distract her. She continues to get better and speak more. She no longer needs help with personal matters like bathing, dressing or making her own bed. He doesn’t ask who he is, but calls her vhenan himself instead. She asks what place that is and why he is helping her. He kneels at her feet, crying, says that once he did her wrong and he is sorry. He did many wrongs that he cannot change, so “please, please vhenan. Let me help you, let me fix this, right the wrong that I did to you, please, I beg you.” She looks out the window, pets his head and hums until he calms down. She undoes a knit piece in her room and tries to knit it again with a wooden stick. He brings her what knitting material he manages to find and it’s her favorite pastime. He did not know she could do it before. There’s probably a whole lot he never got to know about her. She remembers his name. She starts to look at him curiously, suspiciously. When she refuses to cuddle on his lap, he doesn’t insist. One day she asks “Solas, why do you call me vhenan?” He says he was her vhenan once, hoping she will remember. After thinking for a while, she replies “You were ma vhenan but you did not love me back.” He wants to deny, to say that he did but the guilt of the memory of how he dismissed her back then holds the words in his throat. She breaks the silence: “You’ll never cease to be vhenan to me,” she pats his hand in a consoling gesture. “You’re just not mine/ma (vhenan).” She goes back to her knitting and he leaves, feeling miserable. When they are taking a walk together on the garden, Love’s wisps approach her. They are drawn to her as she is drawn to them. Solas takes a step back but keeps watching. They communicate and she says out loud: “Look Solas, Love does not die, it changes when necessary…” He wants to take her inside and hide her, but it would be useless. Love’s wisps want her to follow and he lets her, but follows behind them. They go a long way into old, powerful territory. Solas is not into their private communication. Mc turns to him and says: “I want you to know that I really loved you, my friend. I cared for you deeply. Even though it may have started for less than noble reasons, you were truly cherished. I am sorry.” He nods bitterly, “I am sorry as well.” He watches them together for some time and is about to ask her to come home when something changes. A bright light covers her form and great amounts of power are displaced. When he can see again, her form is vanishing into colorful wisps that dance happily around Love’s. They spin together through the air until their matters join and shape into the form of a new spirit. Forgiveness is born. Solas searches for any clues on the place of Forgiveness’s birth. He consults his annotations, the Vir Dirthara and his spirit friends. He befriends categories of spirits he is not used to interacting with, that’s when he has a breakthrough. Finally,  he goes to that same place of power. He concentrates to separate spirit from matter, liberating the rest of the power he accumulated back to the source, away from his peers’s grasp. A bright light envelops him and… The wisps float aimlessly until an unknown force drives them together… A new spirit is born, quickly greeted by another called Forgiveness, who was nearby and witnessed its formation. The new spirit’s nature is Regret.

(why do I do this to myself) (the worst is, I wrote this before and tumblr simply lost it, “oops, we don’t know what happened.” I was tired but also pissed so here it is again, but now it’s even longer -__-) (guess I can go back to reading my fic now)