#and so many people miss the point so badly

[localwebslingers]

Little by little, Harry looked less and less okay and Peter wished he could do something to try and make it easier. Make it feel just the slightest bit better than it looked like it did, because he didn't need the same kind of heightened instincts to immediately notice the second the first cracks started showing in Harry's composure and mask. Watched the little pieces of it fall away and for a second time, and probably only the second of many more to come, Peter wished there wasn't technically an audience for this. That the cameras would give some privacy or just shut down all together as they sat there and he fell quiet. Trying to get himself pulled back together and calm down. That was what Harry needed from him right now, for him to try and stay calm.

As badly as Peter wished he could do more than just that.

The question that Harry countered with wasn't answered quickly either, it wasn't one that should be. It was a good question, a reasonable one and the kind that would scare anyone to think about. Would terrify them and shake them as bad as Harry looked now. Peter was quiet and thought before saying softly, "Then I'm going to get to know him too, as many days as it takes." he paused a moment, "But you should know even if you don't remember it, or realize it, I already see stuff that I've seen are you. That I know and recognize are the same you that you were before this. It's not just remembering things, or knowing some secret right answer to something, it's-..." how did he explain this? How did Peter possibly explain that even with the amnesia he could still see those glimpses of the things he was familiar with and knew. The things that had been from all those years Harry was missing.

He bit his lip, gave the barest hint of a frown, and shifted in his seat, "...why are you staying in there?" it was a question, not an accusation, and Peter waited a moment before going on, gesturing to the door next to him, "You opened that from your side to get the bag, it's not locked. Not on this side not on yours. You could leave here at any second, right? So why are you still in there...why are you choosing to stay in there right now? Because I have a guess what it might be...do you?" not because doctors told him to, or because Norman did. Not to be observed and monitored and have any possible exams done. If Peter had to guess, it was the same reason Harry locked himself away before. He could hurt someone, he didn't want to hurt someone, and staying away from people was the best way to do that right now.

"....that, is you." he pointed over to the mess of papers and notes cluttering the desk, "That, is you, Harry. What you were just doing, just a few seconds ago," the hiding, the careful expressions, and posture, the image to keep others from knowing what was actually going through his head, "All of that, all of that is still you. That's what I mean...those things you know but don't, and maybe they're even driving you crazy that you do but you don't, because who wouldn't get frustrated by that but it's you. And I wish I could...that I could explain that better but I don't..." he wanted to make Harry see what he meant, that those little things really did count and meant something. That they might not feel like anything important but they were something.

Peter watched Harry, through the glass and hating that he was, and turned ideas over in his head. Threw them out, dragged them back, shook them turned upside down for any other scrap of an option. Anything that might try and show what he meant that maybe Harry would believe, "....let me try something?" he asked, "...I'll need you to come closer, and I'll need to open the door, but I'm not coming inside, okay? I promise, I am not going to walk into the room without you saying I can I just....I want to hold your hand. It might sound weird but, I want to try something, and if in even just two or three seconds you want me to move away and shut the door again, then that's what's going to happen. But that's all I want to try, just sit on the floor, and hold your hand, for as long as you'll let me. That's it."

Maybe it would be nothing, but maybe it would be another something.

|| @inhcritance ||

It would have been easier, not knowing. He didn't know if it would have been kinder, he didn't even know what kindness was or what it meant beyond a concept he barely understood these days. Not when he was supposed to have the experience and the knowledge and it was all in shambles, and every time he reached for a piece of the puzzle he got either air or the wrong piece.

Maybe it would have been kinder to accept. To just accept and see how things progressed, because there was being some progress. Some minimal, frustrating progress for someone who had always been proud of his mind. And what a curse it was to remember that, of all things.

But he also remembered enough to read Peter, and he was suddenly, sharply glad that there was the glass between them, because he could see the fear, but if he'd smelled it? Brief as it might be? He didn't know if he'd have been able to keep it together. He wasn't keeping it together now beyond the barest definition of it, anyway.

And yes, maybe he'd locked himself up in the past. And maybe he should have been brought to near-tears by such a declaration, and a part of him was, because he saw it was honest and he didn't think he doubted Peter, not with the rawness of his voice. Not when he wanted to offer at least some support back. Not when a part of him wanted to yield.

But he did not remember that. He thought he could remember a lab. At least two, maybe. And maybe he was as passionate, as caring as Peter was saying. Maybe that was true. But he didn't feel too passionate and too caring while sealed away from the world, with nothing but a lab for trustworthy life experience.

He didn't feel very kind for hurting like this the one person he thought meant the most for him, at that moment.

And yet, he thought, as he lost what grip he had on his composure, first a hand through his hair and then, when he couldn't hold himself in check further, he just rested his face on his hands for a moment and breathed, and tried to keep himself together again.

He'd been good at this, once. He'd been steady despite a propensity for anger and recklessness, because he'd trained himself to be. Or so he thought. And now...

Now he breathed out, the seconds ticking by, and regarded Peter, and wished there was anything but the exhausted sorrow and the fear he knew he couldn't really hide.

"Because I'm me." Harry spoke. Slow, careful, holding himself together and feeling the most human and the most raw. "But what if I'm not me anymore?"

And that, of all things, was what he was the most terrified of.

"What if I can never be that man again?" He breathed out, but looked at Peter straight in the eye again, challenge and plea both. "What if the person I am without all that I've lived turns out to be someone else?"

@localwebslingers

[kaythefloppa]

It rubs me the wrong way when people say they hate Rani solely because they sunk their ship. In fact, most of the hatred towards the character has been because Kion got with her instead of the other girls in the show.

Seeing artworks or fanfics of Rani fighting with Tiifu/Zuri/Jasiri/Fuli/Vitani for Kion's affection, or Rani being jealous of Kion's female friends for being friendly with him, or said female friends being the other way around [ok Zuri I can kinda understand but the rest], or most infamously, Kion cheating on Rani with Fuli or Jasiri just gives me the ick, [the fact that people spent 2 years harassing Ford Riley to make that type of story canon in a Season 4 still fucking sends me]. It gave me the ick back when the finale came out, and it still gives me the ick now. It lowkey reeks of misogyny to see these female characters have all of their interesting or unique traits being stripped away for the sake of shipping, or in this case, sinking a ship [which is ironically what motivated a lot of people to dislike Rani so much]. It's giving the same vibes as those early 2000s fan arts of Vitani turning into a prissy Disney-Princess/Nala/Kiara clone with all of her charm and wit removed and pairing her up with Kopa in an overtly-het relationship with him.

Now that's not to say there aren't valid reasons for disliking or hating this character. Because there are. I dislike how Rani was written, and not exactly the character herself. She was hyped up as this important character only to appear in the last 9 episodes of the season. Too much of her story amounts to leaving the audience having to do the writers' work for them, her arc is too rushed, her pre-romance relationship with Kion is inconsistent and incoherent, and the actual romance begins way too close to the end of the story, and said romance winds up stealing the spotlight away from other characters, as the final scene is dedicated to Rani and Kion's child-wedding rather than the 5 main characters themselves. None of that has anything to do with whether or not Kion gets with Fuli or Jasiri.

And to be clear, you are allowed to like or dislike Rani, or praise or criticize her. But doing so for reasons such as "Oh she sunk [X] ship and angered the shippers!" is not a reason. And definitely don't go after people who like Rani's character.

[dragon-susceptible]

I wonder if I can just start a reblog with the cut. that'd be hilarious.

Does he even know that though, really? I mean Corvus is observant but his social logic skills have repeatedly shown to be lacking. staring significantly at how he told Ezran the king was dead, FULLY KNOWING Rayla hadn't revealed it yet

Right at the end of it Corvus is going to prove himself and only after he's GONE is Skor going to be cursing in his own mind as he has to confront his own prejudices. But they'll meet again sooner than you might think! And he'll be the one to tell Corvus gruffly to "Stay live." and Corvus will be like ???? okay I thought you hated me, how did this change when I wasn't even around

Hey, Ram's taller than Andromeda! And Callisto was right in that little side fic I made - he's a perfectly average 5'8" tyvm. He's lumped in with the kids because he was one of the kids Much more recently than literally anyone else except Rayla.

Ellis and Ava are indeed approaching! Not in the next chapter to be posted, because that'll be, well, this one, and the unwritten second half of it, but the one after that I think.

I like to think this is one of the reasons Amaya likes him. He's a manipulator, but not like Viren - he just gives you adorable kitten faces and blatantly lies to you and it's honestly just your own fault if you fall for it because he's not even a very good liar, he's just cute

Dude, Skor has already been carrying Ezran around on his shoulders and catching feelings over Callisto interacting with the kid all soft and cute. He's way further down the mental adoption than he's let himself admit just yet.

Lmao you're so valid for the illness and typos though, honestly, that's such a mood. Also, I just want you to know, it seems like it would have taken months, but canonically speaking, the battle at the Storm Spire takes place literally 28 days after Harrow's assassination. Like, one full moon at the assassination, boom, the next full moon everyone's at war at the Storm Spire. And we missed a WHOLE WEEK of this at the Moon Nexus between seasons 1 and 2. Like WHAT. WHAT IS THIS TIMELINE.

You know what? That's a good point. Skor doesn't have a lot of faith in many people, should have been how I said that. He believes in Callisto, and Runaan, and Andromeda, and to some degree Ram and Rayla and Ethari.

Yeah, he's usually pretty soft with people when he's at home. That's part of why it stung Rayla so badly when he was the one to say they should kill her - but, her parents were his friends too, and he's just as fresh off that hurt as she and Runaan are, and then she betrays them and lies about it, condemning them all, which as Andromeda mentions comes across as throwing their lives away for nothing. He suggested the most culturally appropriate response for an assassin who doesn't run away, but actively harms their teammates, knowing full well Runaan's vote wouldn't count. Took him off-guard a little when Callisto spoke out for her instead of Andromeda, though.

Give him a little pat on the shoulder, he deserves it for everything he's gonna put up with from these fuckin elves in the next week and a half before they get separated.

Ram could certainly get creative. Skor would be efficient about it, but Ram . . . mmm.

Skor already knows what part of that dream looks like - any version of his life that has Callisto in it. Callisto is shying away from it a little more, at the end of the average assassin's lifespan and not yet past it, a little more hyperaware/wary of their own mortality and also how they've spent 20 years specifically cultivating a feeling of self that doesn't require anyone else, and they're not used to wanting it just yet. They're at the tipping point of accepting it, though, and something in the fic will end up tipping them over it. And yes, they'll get there.

Pretty much. Skor's been lowkey itching to give them a piece of his mind since like, the third major milestone of Rayla's childhood that they missed without giving Runaan and Ethari permission to take custody rather than temporary guardianship. Runaan grew up with them and loved them as siblings, so he was a little less volatile about it, and Ethari is less spiteful as a baseline, but after six years they probably should have had some long conversations about how they felt about the whole thing. It had just been six years, and neither of them quite felt sure enough to disrupt things when Rayla seemed happy with her four parental units as they were.

;) he will, don't worry. It'll make him absolutely weep every time, but he will.

Runaan is a genuinely good leader and I will die on that hill.

Corvus has put his foot in his mouth enough times that he definitely sHOULD know how to keep it shut. >.> thinking about what I said earlier has me suddenly doubting if he actually can though.

Runaan: ah, moon damn it, there's small children in my care again. the fact that they're human is irrelevant, the dad mode is on and I can do nothing about this. Andromeda: they're humans - oh, wait, they're babies. They're small children and they want help, oh honey baby yes I am Mom hello Callisto: I'm not good with kids, I scare people - oh this kid also isn't good with kids, and he's a cutie, I've had him for two days and if anything happened to him I'd kill everyone in the room and then myself Skor: They are humans. they can't be trusted. they are humans who can't be trusted they are humans don't trust them fuck Callisto's really sweet with kids huh they're hUMaNs but oh they are babies fuck oh no Ram: Literally what is wrong with all of you they are annoying younger siblings at bes- FUCK, SIBLINGS????

edit: turns out if you start the reblog with the cut, it just deletes the cut.

Different Path Taken Ch19 P1: Runaan and Skor's Discussion

I'm not as happy with this section as I have been with some of the other tough ones, and I haven't quite isolated what the problem is. It might end up going through some bigger edits? I don't know, I kinda wanna just be done with it, since while it feels clumsy, it did go over what I wanted it to do.

Skor wasn’t far away when Runaan found him.  He didn’t even need to track prints through the snow, as the other swordsman was sitting on an outcropping of rock within sight of the cave entrance, eyes fixed on the human village below.  Runaan made sure to crunch a bit of snow on his approach, and saw Skor glance at him, so he wasn’t startled when Runaan sat down on the rock beside him. 

“How stable are you?” Runaan asked softly, without looking directly at him, just looking out of the corner of his eye.

Skor sighed through his nose. “He’s coming with us, isn’t he.”

“I asked first.”

“That’s a yes.” Skor rubbed his forehead tiredly, and when Runaan looked a little closer, he winced internally at the exhausted lines around his eyes and the tight pupils.  He wasn’t panicked anymore, but this was taking a toll on him. 

Runaan sighed, not bothering to contradict him, and cast his own eyes down to the village.  He spared a moment to hope Rayla - and those he had sent with her - were doing well, and the humans had found some help for the egg. “It seems the most viable option going forward.”

“We can’t trust him.” Skor growled. “You know better than anyone, Runaan.  Humans can’t be trusted and that one works for her.”

Runaan tilted his head at him. “And what makes the princes so different?”

Skor pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “Nothin’.  Small children don’t have higher morals, they have needs and people who fill them, and human children grow up slower than ours in that way.  Right now, that’s us, so of course Ezran wants to help.  It might even work for a few years.  But once he goes home, is surrounded by adults that hate us the way they do for enough years?  I doubt it will last.  Callum is old enough t’ have his own values, but he won’t be the one on the throne that could actually harm us.”

Runaan frowned a bit and looked back down to the village, where he had sent them, entrusting the future of the world to the boys Skor now spoke of with such skepticism. “I don’t think either of them are young enough to be in that state of mind,” He said carefully. “While it’s true that human children mature . . . slower, Ezran should be around the same mindset as Rayla was when I took her in.  She was more than capable of this kind of planning and reason - as you well know.”

Skor shook his head. “Does it matter?  We’ll do this, and it’ll be a reprieve for a few years, if it works.  It’ll save our home from Zubeia, at least.  I don’t doubt their intentions now.  I just . . . don’t trust them to keep them.  Especially back in Katolis once it’s over, with her counsel.”

“Perhaps,” Runaan conceded, reluctantly, after a moment. “But while she is vicious to us, she is a general in a war.  We have never been given a reason to believe she would turn on her own people, and these are her own nephews.  I do not believe she would give Corvus orders that would lead to their harm.”

“Like your friends would never have abandoned their posts or their daughter?” Skor asked, and the words struck Runaan so close to the heart that he couldn’t even process the tone that they came with.  He flinched involuntarily.

He didn’t grit his teeth, but it was a near thing, and he groaned softly into his hands as he rubbed the stress lines from his own face. “That was different.”

“Yes, it was,” Skor growled. “We knew them better than we know her.  What makes ye think we can trust her more than we trusted them?”

Runaan growled right back at him. “I am not saying we should trust him, and certainly not her.  Even if she would turn on her nephews, the tracker may not be willing to harm them.  He knows he can’t fight us.  We keep him with us, keep him close, to keep an eye on him.  If he stays true to his word, he may be an asset.”

“And when he doesn’t?”

“We put him to sleep, and drop him as far off our trail as we can, and leave.” Runaan said, meeting his burning golden eyes again. “If he continues to chase after that, you and Ram may deal with him as viciously as you choose.”

Skor held his gaze for a long minute, searching, before finally giving a huff and looking back down at the village, his shoulders dropping in concession.

Runaan kept looking at his profile, and sighed again, softly.  He placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder, and Skor leaned away from it for a moment before settling, pushing back against the weight of it instead. “I know how difficult this is.” He said. “Believe me, I understand what I am asking of you.”

Skor shook his head. “It’s what’s best for the mission.” He replied, voice brittle. “What it does to us is secondary.” He looked over at Runaan through his hair and acknowledged, softer, “I lost my voice, but you lost four lives to her.  That’s far worse.”

Closing his eyes at the memory of the elves he had been forced to abandon inside the caves, Runaan took a deep, even breath, and shook his head. “I will not quantify suffering.” He said after a moment. “You lost a life, too, in a way.  The life you should have had.”

The thought hung in the air between them for a moment, both well aware that if things had turned out differently - if Skor had not lost his voice, and his pride had not been killed under Runaan’s command - he would likely have retired several years ago.  He would not be in Katolis at all.

“I’ve made my peace with that.” Skor said softly. “Have you?”

Runaan blinked at him. “Have I made my peace with what?”

Skor glanced at him through his hair. “Losin’ the life you should have had.”

“What are you . . .” the question died in Runaan’s throat as Skor tilted his head towards the village below, the implication from before pressing in like blades around his ears.  He laid them back a little defensively.

“You set all your plans aside for two elves who’ve gone on t’ betray you.” Skor pointed out softly. 

Runaan rubbed the marks across his nose, closing his eyes against the darkness pressing in from his sides. “You know as well as I do the Dragonguard had no choice in leaving,” He said slowly. “What was I supposed to do?  I had been a part of Rayla’s life since she was born.  Was I to leave her with someone else?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Skor said, tilting his head to look at Runaan around the hair that fell over his face. “That was seven years ago, an’ she’s only fifteen.  They didn’t have a choice about leavin’?  They left t’ protect her?  They threw her life away along with the rest of us when they ran.  Saved their own skins instead.”

“Skor-”

“We’ve all a right t’ be angry with them for that,” Skor pressed. “But even before that, Rayla’s only fifteen.  She’ll remember more of her life with you than with them.  She’s practically grown, and they did what, sent letters?  That’s not parenting, and you know it.  They dropped that on you, an’ never let ye take the title ye deserve for the responsibility ye took, too selfish to let her have a family they weren’t a part of.”

Runaan flinched, hand dropping from Skor’s shoulder and covering his own face as he grimaced. “That doesn’t - Skor, I can’t deal with this right now,” He said desperately. “She is their daughter, she is the one who suffers the most from what they’ve done.  Her feelings on the matter come first.”

“That’s my point.” Skor shifted his weight onto his opposite hip to turn a little more towards Runaan, arching his brows pointedly. “You’re the only adult in her life that always puts her first, except Ethari, and honestly, my friend, I’m not as sure as you are that he’d choose her over you.”

He would.  Runaan was more than confident of that.  He grimaced at the very thought of making him choose, though, and shook his head.

“I’m not sayin’ ye should talk to Rayla about it.” Skor said. “It’s not her job tae take care of you.  But I knew them, too.  Ye do have other friends, not all of us willin’ to fuck you over for seven years and end it with a stab in the back.”

Runaan flinched again and snapped. “Alright, yes, I am angry!  I am confused, and frustrated.  I do not understand what changed, I trusted - I loved them as my brother and sister, and I can’t - I don’t understand why they would betray us like this.  But I cannot deal with this right now.  I must do what I can to minimize the damage from what they’ve done, to Rayla and to our people’s reputation in the eyes of the dragons.”

“You’ve been cleanin’ up after those two your whole life.” Skor observed softly.

Runaan grimaced. “That will no longer be an issue after this, will it?” He said bitterly, and then narrowed his eyes at Skor. “And you are deflecting.”

Skor wrinkled his nose at him and lifted his lip to show one chipped fang in halfhearted spite. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Runaan showed his own fangs right back, heart aching at the memory of when that fang had been chipped, but appeased when Skor’s mouth closed again under his show of dominance. “I will not force you,” He said anyway, a little wry after Skor had done exactly that to him. “But know that I am here if you need it.  I know, better than anyone, why this is difficult for you, and I share your concerns.”

“It’s what’s best for the mission.” Skor repeated reluctantly, and groaned softly as he leaned back on his hands, raising his face to the sun’s heat and closing his eyes against its light. “Runaan, if he says anythin’ else about that woman’s honor -”

“I will not restrict his right to speak,” Runaan said, but shrugged when Skor scowled. “But I will not restrict yours, either.  If he offends you, respond as you wish, just - verbally.  We don’t resort to violence until he does.”

Skor’s eyes remained shut but he nodded slowly. “Fine.”

He would not have returned to the field, and Runaan would not have allowed him to stay there, if he weren’t capable of stabilizing even under circumstances that brought up plagues from his past.  Runaan accepted this answer and looked back down to the village below.  He took note of a small group of people - four - one smaller than the other three - leaving the well-trodden path towards where he and Skor sat up on the slope. “The children are returning.”

“Then we should do the same.” Skor said, sounding far calmer than he had when Runaan first approached him, at least, and nodded with eyes open when Runaan looked at him again.  They both stood up and dusted the bits of snow off of themselves, and took a few breaths to clear their minds after the discussion they’d had.  Skor returned to the cave, ducking inside with only a glance at Runaan.  Runaan remained by the entrance, waiting for the children to return.

For all they weren’t all his children, he couldn’t help his growing concern for the human boys, and he had known Ram since he was quite young as well.  They were all his responsibility.

He shoved Skor’s words from earlier out of his mind.  Rayla’s needs came first.  He knew what he had to do about his friends’ betrayal, and processing his reaction to it could come later, when he had less on his plate and could justify devoting precious energy to doing so.

[wutheringwavess]

"aang is such a pussy for not killing ozai"

"aang is the creator's self-insert"

"kataang is rushed and forced"

"katara and aang feel more like siblings to me ://"

"aang is a misogynist"

"kataang is just male viewers self-insert fantasy"

"aang is selfish"

GUYS. GUYS. HES TWELVEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

[marshmellowtea]

in speaking of video essayists that lost me almost immediately i recently tried to watch verily bitchie's video on the feminism on barbie because i wanted an actually queer friendly dissection on why it falls so flat for me but after several minutes of meandering rambling with no real point in sight, a mention of the most annoying take on the beauty and the beast (that being the fucking stockholm syndrome discourse), and an uncritical mention of the riot girl movement as a paragon of countercultural feminism i just couldn't do it anymore lmao

[livefromtheloam]

The reason I don't dive too deeply into fandom is because the entire landscape is littered with people who intentionally misinterpret the message and then blame the media for not fitting nicely into their absolute stinker of a take.

[catboyrightsdefender]

that post about fan mail got me scrolling through my inbox and looking at all my 134 unanswered asks and im. feeling so sad now

[widevibratobitch]

@anon asking about the wax cylinder recordings ill get back to you when i have some more time to make a proper post i prommy i will <3

[red-dyed-sarumane]

having not played rhythm games for months and then picking up kamicity ensemble ive gotten SO bad at proseka. i was like its so over but im finally down to 5 greats it may possible to ap maximizer ex yet.

[matteglaze]

Thinking abt Todoroki Shouto, and how he isn't as dense as he comes across...

When reading fanfics Shouto is always oblivious and dense, and yes, I wholeheartedly agree with that—

But i feel like Shouto also does it on purpose, you know? Like, one day you're both talking, and he's just soo up close to your face. 'He probably doesn't realize' you rationalize inside your head, but no, he's definitely aware of the affect he has on you. Your reactions are cute, he thinks, cute in the way he can't seem to stop teasing you.

I think he'd pay extra close attention to people that are close to him, people he holds dear, so whenever you stutter, or your mind goes and blank and you think 'Oh, I hope he didn't notice that—' he does.

I think that's why I like the idea that he's actually a little menance, but the worst part is that he gets away with it !!

Whether it's saying something so humbling and out of depth— something that many would take offense to but think, 'well, he didn't really mean it that way— that's just how he is', NOPE!! he definitely meant it that way, but not clarifying anything saves him the trouble so why should he care yk...

Though, he mostly (all the time really) does it with you. Getting up in your personal space, saying things like "When we're on a mission together, I feel like I can handle anything as long as you're the one by my side"— and it flusters you sooo badly, but no, this is Shouto we're talking about, clearly he didn't mean it like that, right? Right? (And the entire time, he's trying to bite down a Cheshire grin)

So, yes, in the earlier years of being a hero he wasn't really great at communication and unaware of social cues— but now, he's practically evil with the way he acts around you.

Sometimes you think you see it; you're going to call him out on his behavior. There's no way he didn't know what he was doing when he held your face in his hands on a hot summer day, pulling you close and saying, "Is this cooling you down?" (No, actually, this was just heating you up)

But whenever you do call him out on it—

"You know, you're not that slick." You say one day, ice cream cone in hand as you walk next to him, bumping him with your hip. Your eyes slide over towards his mismatched ones, gauging his reaction closely. If you were anyone else you would have probably missed the slight quirk of his lip; the uplift of his brows. But you don't, and the grin on your face overtakes most of your features. Maybe today will be the day he finally admits it. Instead he doesn't speak, takes one lick of his mint chocolate ice cream and then he turns to you, a silent question appearing on his face. A taunt.

You let out a humourless breath, cone tight in your hand as you point it in his direction. Accusing him of something both of you know you won't be able to prove, but he knows you know, and you know he knows you know. But, it'd be really great if he could just admit it, because it's almost like a game.

A game between just the two of you.

"Don't try and act blonde now!" You chide, biting on your bottom lip to control the smile that tries to force it's way on your face.

Shouto smiles at your antics, leaning in close to you, and all of a sudden he completely invades your senses. The smell of mint on his lips is so close, and yet so far. He stares deeply into your eyes, and just as you thought you were getting closer to the truth— he brings his thumb up to wipe absent mindlessly at the corner of your mouth. He pulls back, looks you in the eyes, and takes a tentative lick at the frosty flavour on his thumb. With a cat-like tilt to his head, he says, "I'm not blonde?"

But, the worst part is whenever he speaks about you to others, he speaks so fondly of you; like one would do about their partner— but you guys aren't together. Sometimes he does it right in front of your face whenever you guys are at a hero gala. Shouto sees you talking to a new and upcoming, young, pro-hero and he immediately comes to your side. With how close he is, and with the things he says to them, "I can never imagine myself without them by my side." It gives people the idea that you're both, you know, a thing.

Little do you know, he's been playing this 'game' ever since high school, and even though the two of you aren't exclusive— it doesn't mean he can't get in his fun.

Todoroki Shouto is not good for your health.

[mclqren]

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL ★ FC43

PAIRING ✦ franco colapinto x fem!sargeant!reader

SUMMARY ✦ with your brother's seat being taken by your admirer of the past year, you try your best to stay clear, but it's hard when franco is trying so goddamn hard to get your attention [ SMAU ]

WARNINGS ✦ cursing, very minor hate comments

REQUESTED ✦ here!

NOTES ✦ i am NOT fluent in italian or spanish so please correct me if i've messed up on either of them! i count this as the best of both worlds because i love having franco on the grid but i'm missing my goat logan. the faceclaim i've used is marissa long but feel free to picture whoever you want! my requests are open so feel free to leave a request :)

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yourusername logie, my bestest friend and the best older brother i could ever ask for. i am so so SO proud of you and the journey you have had during your formula one seasons. so many memories have been made, and i know that i will never ever forget the times we spent in the williams paddock, just having fun together (& bullying alex, obviously). the williams social media page won't be the same without me posting slips of you. trust me when i say this isn't the end, but simply the beginning. lots of love always and forever, y/n 💗

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logansargeant ❤️

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yourusername someone hit me up with an italian man please, i love this country

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user4 oh she's taking it

user5 mother as perrrr

user6 the sargeant genetics are LETHALLL

user7 please someone tell me why is she in italy if her brother doesn't drive for williams anymore?

user8 she's the williams social media manager!! she started in the same year as logan x

logansargeant baby sis ❤️

yourusername love you sm 💗

francolapinto did you know i'm actually half italian?

francolapinto sei molto bella🙏🙏 (you are very pretty)

user9 second year running and he's after y/n AGAIN IM CRYING

user10 after taking her brother's seat too PLEASEEE he has guts i have to give it to him

user11 FRANCO'S COMMENT I'M DYINGGGG

user12 and the way she's ignoring it too oh my days 😭 it's been a year and he's still on this

imessages ( y/n )

liked by logansargeant, francolapinto, and 92,801 others

yourusername week off 🍏

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user16 farm girl???

user17 where is she 😭😭

yourusername my best friend's farm 💗

user18 multi-talented girl fr

user19 she looks like she BELONGS fr

user20 she def doesn't want to go back to the old 9-5

yourusername oh def not

yourbsf my angel 🪽🤍

yourusername best time w you alwaysss 💗

francolapinto never wanted to be a goat so badly

user21 I AM PISSING MYSELF

user22 HE IS SO BLATANT AT THIS POINTTTT

user23 @/yourusername PLEASE WE NEED YOUR THOUGHTS ON FRANCO'S COMMENTS

user24 she def won't answer but it's still so fucking funny i can't

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yourusername most beautiful place 💗

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user28 beautyyyy

user29 please y/n we need to see your pinterest RIGHT NOW the vibes are everything

user30 okay but...you & franco??

user31 what about letting people have some privacy, hm?

user32 oh wowwww

francolapinto not as beautiful as you 😉❤️

yourusername 🤣🤣

user33 FRANCO YOU DID IT!!!

user34 watch as franco puts y/n noticed x1 in his bio now

user35 THE WAY HE ACTUALLY DID IT. GIRL...

user34 I AM CREASING I CANNOT

lilymhe baby girl 😍

yourusername my lilypad i love you to bits!!

logansargeant are you sure you and that lion aren't twins

yourusername i'm thinking we were separated at birth??

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tagged francolapinto

williamsracing and just like that, mr colapinto is a point scorer in formula one, in his second ever race!! congratulations franco, take a bow 👏💗

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user38 CONGRATULATIONS FRANCOOO!!

user39 big question is...which admin posted this?

user40 one MILLION percent y/n. no doubt about it.

user41 you can tell y/n posted this bc of her signature pink heart HAHA

user42 i just know somewhere franco is kicking his feet and giggling over y/n telling him to take a bow for his performance

user43 oh franco colapinto you have won me over

user44 seeing this and lowkey feeling so sad for logan

user45 no but imagine how y/n must feel?? her brother just leaving and having to post this, she must hate franco right about now

user46 honestly, judging by the post race interview, i think y/n is fine with franco scoring points, tbh!

yourusername 👏👏💗

francolapinto hearts ❤️

user47 I AM SOBBING THIS IS TOO CUTE??

imessages ( franco )

imessages ( y/n )

liked by logansargeant, francolapinto, and 101,989others

yourusername 🦢🦢

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user48 IS MISS Y/N OUT ON A DATE???

user49 facecard could kill.

user50 Y/N ON A DATE WHO CHEERED

user51 someone check up on franco like right now.

user52 either franco is the guy in the pictures and that's why he's not commenting, or he's entered a depressive state

user53 knowing his dramatic ass it could be either

alex_albon mystery man 👀🤑

yourusername shhhh albon

logansargeant i'll fight him if he hurts you 😁

yourusername love you too logie 🧸

imessages ( y/n )

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tagged francolapinto

yourusername city break 🇦🇷

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user54 FRANCO CAMEO FRANCO CAMEO THIS IS NOTTTT A DRILL

user55 I AM SCREAMING

user56 alexa play how you get the girl by taylor swift

user57 she's in his hometown...so this serious stuff now

user58 Y/N I LOVE YOU FOR THIS

francolapinto 😁❤️❤️

yourusername 💗💗

logansargeant willing to fly out to collect you if i have to 🫡

yourusername i promise you i'm fine 💗

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tagged yourusername

francolapinto 1 AÑO DESPUÉS… ¡¡TENGO A LA CHICA!! ¡¡VAMOS!! la persona más hermosa por dentro y por fuera, con el corazón más grande que jamás haya existido. estoy tan feliz en este momento que las palabras no pueden explicarlo. te amo te amo te amo ❤️ (1 YEAR LATER… I GOT THE GIRL!! COME ON!! the most beautiful person inside and out, with the biggest heart that ever lived. i am so happy right now that words cannot explain it. i love you i love you i love you ❤️)

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user59 original y/n franco fans RISE

user60 WE ARE THE REAL WINNERS!!

user61 oh he is in love for real

user62 need someone to love me how he loves y/n

user63 their love is so so special

user64 okay but how's logan feeling about all this...? must be so awkward...

user65 judging by his comment...i think he's doing absolutely fine 🤣

logansargeant hurt her and i'm at your doorstep. 😊

francolapinto will never be a problem 🫡

yourusername you're the cutest ever

yourusername FRANCO 🤣🤣

francolapinto let me share my love for you, no?

yourusername i wanna kiss you so bad rn

logansargeant keep it pg-13 please.

yourusername logan.

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TAGS ✦ @shepgurl ; @blushmimi ; @nyxx-knight ; @fall-bambi ; @suns3treading ; @wowzees ; @d3kstar ; @poppysrin ; @ailooosworld ; @joalslibrary ; @dejavuontrack ; @dripostsstuff ; @kaylassturniolo

[jinx-xxed]

Sweet Mornings

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I am so insanely down bad for this man rn so I decided to finally try writing something for him!! This is in honor of him getting let out of rerun jail after over a year, I hope you enjoy ^_^

Summary; Wriothesley has to get as much of you as he can before your trip…

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, pure fluff, you’re a mechanics/weapons researcher, very domestic, morning sex, fingering, soft Wriothesley, marking, multiple orgasms, aftercare, he doesn’t want you to leave </3

Wc; 5.1k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

Low, metallic ticks and hums fill your ears as you steadily wake from sleep. The ambience of the Fortress is a familiar symphony, always there in the quiet hours before a day starts or after it’s over. When you started working down here, you quickly became so used to the noise to the point it’s like it’s not even there most of the time. You stretch in your bed, black sheets pooling around your body, and that’s when your attention shifts.

There’s gentle kisses being placed along your neck, eliciting a soft hum from you as you finally crack your eyes open. You move your head slightly to look at the man beside you, his ice blue eyes meeting yours in the darkness. “Morning.” Wriothesley says with a small smirk on his lips, returning to his ministrations on your skin.

“Good morning… how long have you been up?” You ask teasingly, a brow raised. You’re no stranger to waking up to his care since he always seems to be awake before you, and he can never keep himself away from you.

He chuckles, the raspy sound making you shudder. He feigns innocence, “only a few minutes this time.” One of his hands moves beneath the sheets, getting under your shirt to splay a large, warm palm against the softness of your stomach. It snakes up further, his fingers skating lovingly along your skin before cupping a breast in his hand. He squeezes as you shift in his grip, arching your body against his experimentally. He’s definitely hard. He pulls you ever closer and buries his nose in the crook of your neck, groaning. “What am I gonna do without you…”

Ah, right. Your trip.

The time has come again for your annual journey to Sumeru for the convention that’s held for inventors just like yourself. It’s an event to share ideas and new creations and research, full of so many brilliant minds that it’s something you always look forward to. The organizers even offered for you to be a speaker this year, saying how impressed the Akademiya was with your progress on the study of robotics and weaponry. You’d gladly accepted and have been preparing your speech ever since with Wriothesley as your test audience.

You wish he could come with you. You know he’d enjoy all the new sights and seeing the inventions people have come up with just like you do, but his position just doesn’t grant him the possibility. So that means you have to leave him and the Fortress for a week. You already know how badly you’ll miss him, having gotten so accustomed to his presence these past ten months. Getting to know what’s beneath the gruff exterior of the Duke has been a joy and you think yourself lucky to be considered his lover and to be able to share his bed.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by his fingers sneaking under the waistband of your underwear, your breath hitching. They go further, immediately finding your clit and drawing slow circles. Pleasure sparks at the bottom of your spine, a little whine leaving you as Wriothesley’s nose nudges your jaw, his messy black and silver hair tickling your cheek. He leaves kisses wherever he can reach with you both on your sides, his other arm secured diagonally across your middle to keep you against him—right where he wants you.

His fingers drag up through your drenched folds, collecting the slick there and using it as he rubs your clit. “So wet already.” He murmurs against your ear, his words breathy and hot. You can feel the way his erection rubs against your ass through his boxers, his own arousal painfully evident. Despite that, he’ll take his time with you like he always does, only ever caring about your own pleasure before his.

There’s a knot steadily building in your gut, a familiar feeling that you know the end result of. It makes your blood sing, your face becoming flushed as Wriothesley works you with expertise. You writhe against the hard planes of his bare chest when his fingers move downwards, briefly teasing your entrance before sinking two digits into the plush heat. You both moan in tandem, his fingers filling your aching pussy in the way you’d been craving, more arousal dripping along the back of his hand.

He begins a slow pace, drawing in and out and applying pressure in just the right spots. He angles himself so that the heel of his palm presses against your clit at the same time, making sure to leave nothing unattended. You bite your lip and groan, your chest heaving and your head falling back against the pillows. Your shirt has been pushed all the way up, exposing your breasts to the frigid air of Wriothesley’s bedroom and making your nipples perk. He takes full advantage, pinching each one in turn between his index and thumb, the feeling of his callouses making you whimper.

He quickens the thrusting of his fingers into your cunt, recognizing the way you begin to tense and flutter around him. He’s eager, his breath coming in pants and his hips rutting against your ass, desperate to get some kind of friction on his clothed cock. That knot from before grows larger, ready to come undone while pleasure burns like a fire beneath your skin. He manages to get a third finger into your tight pussy, stretching you wide and going as deep as he can while still abusing your clit.

“Oh fuck- Wrio-!“ You whine his name in a way that’s music to his ears, fueling his movements even more. He loves every sound you make, but he especially loves the ones in the morning when everything is quieter and breathless, like the world is only you two in that moment.

You finally break with one final thrust, your orgasm washing over you like a wave, a choked moan the only sound you can manage. You lay there for a moment, your body going limp and basking in the pleasure, before you’re craning your neck and reaching back a hand to pull Wriothesley in. You get to kiss him at last, his mouth plush and pliant against yours as your fingers card through his surprisingly silky hair. You always enjoy him a little more like this, free of his arm wrappings and cold metal. When the Duke is left behind and you have just Wriothesley—your lover. When his edges are softened, his tension laid to rest, and he can simply be himself.

Wriothesley holds you to him as your tongue presses against his own, basking in the warmth of your body. He doesn’t break your kiss even as he works down below, pulling the covers back and tugging on your soaked underwear. He throws it across the room to be picked up later once it’s finally off. He then frees his cock at last, precum beading on the tip, an appreciative groan sounding in his chest. You separate from him with a gasp when you feel his shaft rubbing between your folds, gathering your slick as his tip prods your clit with each shift of his hips.

He hums, kissing the corner of your mouth and moving down to your jaw and neck. “You’re so sensitive in the mornings.” He says like he’s making a note of it, his hand running up and down your thigh.

You groan, the temptation of him getting to be too much. “Wrio, please..”

He can’t help but smirk, those blue eyes gleaming. He leans in, his voice quiet and rumbly. “Please what, sweetheart?”

“Please… I need you.” You whisper, your hands latching onto his arm, taking comfort in the strong muscle and warm, scarred skin. His face instantly softens, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he kisses you again. Oh, he can never deny you. It’s that moment that Wriothesley finally presses his cock into your hot cunt, both of you moaning in relief. He slides in slowly, your pussy stretching to accommodate him inch by inch. He fills you in a way nothing else ever could and just when you think you may burst from it, he bottoms out.

Wriothesley groans at the way you take him fully, the way you seem to suck him in so he never wants to leave. The feeling manages to stun him every time, no matter how much he takes you to bed. “That’s my girl,” he says through clenched teeth, his breath coming out in little hisses. There’s a brief pause that you use to get over the initial shock before the desire to pump you full starts to gnaw at him and you eagerly wriggle in his hold.

The first thrust is bliss, Wriothesley slowly drawing out all the way to the tip and then slamming back in. He loves the way your body reacts—the little twitches of your muscles, the way your walls flutter and clench around him. He quickly finds his pace, something steady and easy and satisfying for you both. He could never be rough with you this early in the morning, not when your body is still soft from sleep, the blue light of the ocean illuminating your form just right and your little noises a quiet song for only him to hear.

He hooks a hand under your thigh, lifting it with ease and holding it there, giving him better access to your cunt so he can hit that spot he knows drives you insane. He can tell he’s doing just that with the way your moans grow in pitch and the way you latch on to him so desperately, needing him even closer. It makes his heart swell, feeling your touch on him and seeing how you crave him so badly. He used to think it impossible for someone to want him beyond a one night stand and yet here you are, proving him wrong day after day. Fuck, he loves you so much.

Wriothesley kisses you passionately while you take him as deep as possible so willingly, like you were made for him. You’re his sanctuary within the Fortress, his slice of heaven that he wants to keep all to himself. His lips trail down your jaw to your neck and this time he kisses with more purpose. He sucks at your skin, eager to leave his mark on you with his tongue and little nips of his teeth, his sharp canines threatening to break skin if he applies just a bit more pressure. You hum approvingly, moving your head to the side to give him more access. He then goes beyond your neck, also leaving marks across your collarbones until he’s satisfied.

His thrusts begin to grow erratic, the threat of release tingling in his muscles. Wriothesley knows you’re close too with the way you tense up, your nails biting into his skin. He reaches his free hand between your legs, finding your clit once more and rubbing quick circles, determined to have you cum at the same time. It’s an easy feat, given how responsive you are to him and how little resistance you put up. It only takes a few more thrusts before you’re clenching and coming on his cock with a moan. The feeling is otherworldly and has him tumbling over the edge after you with a curse, his hot spend painting your walls white.

You go weak against him as you both lay there sharing breath with heaving chests, your limbs feeling like jelly and buzzing with ecstasy from the double orgasm. He sets your leg down gently, both of his arms now wrapping around you to meld you to him. You don’t hesitate to snuggle into his warmth, very much enjoying the feeling of his large body encompassing yours. He relishes in this moment of intimacy, taking all he can get now before you leave him. He needs to make sure to burn the memory of this morning into his brain so he can look back on it during the week to come.

“I love you.” He murmurs, kissing your temple.

You smile, twisting around in his grip so that you’re now facing each other. You nuzzle against his jaw where there’s just a hint of stubble and you breathe him in, his familiar scent immediately soothing. “I love you too.”

He buries his face into the crook of your neck again, his breath tickling your skin. “I should handcuff you to this bed so you can’t leave…” He mutters lowly, like he’s not entirely joking.

You laugh, your hand coming up to run through his hair. “It’s only a week, I’ll be back before you know it.” He grumbles indistinctly and you smile, rubbing circles on his scarred back. It’s endearing that such a big, intimidating man like Wriothesley is going to miss you so much. It’s a massive contrast to your past partners who always had something negative to say about your work. You were gone too much, you were too distracted, or they just thought it was pointless to begin with. They never understood how important your work is to you, but Wriothesley does.

You came to Fontaine and subsequently the Fortress about two years ago after leaving the Akademiya in Sumeru, having decided that Fontaine would be much better suited for your line of work with machinery. It took a while to find somewhere that seemed right for you before hearing about the Fortress of Meropide and the gardemek production factory located on the lower levels. It seemed perfect. You pursued a position within the Fortress, having to meet with both Neuvillette and Wriothesley before you were accepted. You’d promised to be completely transparent with any and all research you conducted, any new projects or inventions, and you’d swore to not interfere with any Fortress occupants.

Wriothesley was definitely suspicious of you at first, thinking you were just another sparkly eyed researcher who didn’t know what she was doing, but he was quickly proven wrong. You showed him all of your notes on the gardemeks, how their functionality could be improved and how to avoid any deviants, and all the weapons and tools you’d created. One of the weapons was your own, a sharpshooter rifle that you’ve been able to infuse with the power of your vision. The thing doesn’t even look like its base model anymore after all the modifications you gave it.

You steadily made a home in the Fortress, working day in and day out in your office, happy to fully immerse yourself. You didn’t see Wriothesley much at first of course, the man always busy running the Fortress itself, but after a couple months, he invited you to have tea with him. You accepted, and though you worried it was actually a meeting to kick you out of the Fortress, it turned out to be quite pleasant. He asked you questions about your work and backstory and listened to every long response you gave. The way he’d give you his full attention would make a flush creep up the back of your neck.

You had more and more of these meet ups with him, where you both just sat in his office drinking tea and talking. Then it turned into you bringing some of your work in there and you’d sit on the couch tinkering with metal parts while he sat at his desk filing papers. It was comfortable and easy and you appreciated his company like he did yours. Your feelings for him definitely grew the more you were around him. His witty remarks and rough exterior captivated you and you wanted to know more about him. You wanted to see him every day, to see those softer sides of him that sometimes came out during your tea breaks.

Then, ten months ago, he surprised you by asking you to go out with him. You agreed, of course. You hadn’t known he shared your same feelings but you’d been overjoyed to find someone with a similar mindset as you, someone who didn’t care about the way you worked because he worked the same way.

So now here you are, fucked out first thing in the morning with Wriothesley’s arms securely around you. He seems like he might fall back asleep with the way his eyes are closed and his breathing is slowing down, but there’s a question you still need to ask, one that’s been gnawing at you. Too many old memories of past partners has left you anxious—something you admittedly still need to improve on.

“Hey, Wrio?”

“Hm?”

You hesitate for a second, thinking maybe it’s a dumb question after all, but you push past it. “You’ll see me off, won’t you?”

His eyes open at that, those icy blue depths piercing you. He props himself up on an elbow to look at you, his brows creasing ever so slightly. “Of course I will.” He says it so simply that you realize how silly it was for you to worry. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “I cleared my schedule for you.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. You know how packed his itinerary is on any given day so you can’t even believe what he just said. “Really?”

He chuckles. “Yes really, sweetheart. I put in some more hours these last few days so I wouldn’t have so much to worry about today.” He says. “Now come on, we should start getting ready. Those boats leave early.”

He detaches himself from you, his heat sorely missed, and slips out of bed. He heads towards the bathroom and turns on the shower, letting it run while he comes back for you so it can get warm. Before your feet even have the chance to hit the floor, he gets a hand under your knees and scoops you up, making you yelp. He grins while you cling to him, his strong arms cradling you against his chest.

He sets you down in the bathroom, kissing the top of your head before checking the water temperature. Standing there, watching him, you realize your heart hasn’t felt this full in a long time.

» ☆ «

Wriothesley’s office is in disarray. It’s entirely your doing, with the contents of your carrying case strewn about as you finally pack in all of your inventions. You’d been working on them until the very last minute, trying to make sure everything is perfect. You’re double checking the rest of your bags while you’re at it, attempting to make sure you have all your items and to relax the anxiety you feel. What if, in some awful scenario, you forget one of your showcase pieces? Or your notes? Or your Akademiya robes?

Wriothesley simply watches you from his spot leaning against his desk, tea cup in hand. He knows he can’t help you, you have a method to your madness and if he interferes then it’ll mess you all up. So he stands back, waiting for you to finish so you can eat your breakfast. He’d gotten it brought to his office after your shower together, a simple meal of a breakfast croissant sandwich and tea, but yours still remains untouched, the steam on your drink having long since died down. He looks up when you loudly groan in frustration.

“Where’d that other damn capacitor go?” You mutter, rifling through your things on the floor to no avail.

“Over there, sweetheart.” He says, motioning to where the metal piece had rolled under the couch. He noticed it a few minutes ago but decided not to disturb you, knowing you’d realize sooner or later.

“Ah, thanks.” You say, quickly snatching it and sticking it with some other spare parts in the case. You work efficiently to get everything packed in and wrapped in cushioning so nothing gets damaged. To Wriothesley, it’s like watching someone play an expert puzzle game with the way you manage to fit so much into such tiny spaces with room to spare.

You sit back on your heels after another twenty minutes, a satisfied huff leaving you. “There. That should be everything.” You say, looking over the two-page long checklist you have. All the boxes are ticked off, some even being ticked off twice.

He chuckles, putting his finished tea down to cross his arms. “Good. Now will you please eat?”

You playfully sigh. “Fine, fine.”

You scarf down the sandwich, your hunger suddenly coming out in full force and taking what it can get. You use the tea to wash it down, noticing it’s one of Wriothesley’s fruitier blends. His tea choice changes each day, unless he gets fixated on a singular flavor. You make a game of it sometimes where he’ll test you to see if you can guess which brew he used; your results have been very 50/50.

When there’s nothing but crumbs left on your plate, you look towards the clock on the wall. It’s definitely time for you to get going. You gather your bags with Wriothesley’s help, then looking to him before descending the stairs of his office. “Ready?”

“Mhm. Are you? You sure you got everything?” He says teasingly, one eyebrow raised.

You scoff with a smirk, eyes rolling, and begin walking down the stairs as he laughs. “Don’t you even start.” You refuse to let him get to you, knowing your trusty checklist would never lie to you.

You walk through the main floor of the Fortress together, which is mostly empty except for the guards at this hour. A few of them wish you safe travels as you go, surprising you. Just as you’re about to get into the elevator, Sigewinne catches you to give you a goodbye hug and tell you to be careful since she won’t be around to fix you up. You have to use the elevator ride to compose yourself before you reach the entrance to the Fortress. It was all unexpected—you didn’t think so many people would notice your absence. It makes you smile to yourself.

You both get onto the first boat of the day, the one that’ll take you to the Fortress registration office that sits deep below the Opera Epiclese. The ride is smooth, the operator being extra polite and maybe a little fearful too because of Wriothesley joining you. You find it amusing to see everyone be so intimidated by the man who’d been snuggling you in bed only a few hours ago.

When the boat comes to a stop, you both clamber out and then into another elevator. As soon as it breaches the surface, you have to squint your eyes from the early morning sunlight. You bask in its warm rays as they hit your face, immediately washing away the chill of beneath the sea. You can see Wriothesley doing the same, his broad chest expanding as he takes a deep breath of the fresh air. Neither of you have been out of the Fortress for a while it seems.

You walk along the paths to Marcotte Station, enjoying the sounds of the birds chirping and leaves rustling as you go. It’s from there that you take an aquabus into the Court of Fontaine which is already bustling with people doing their morning shopping or taking a stroll. Not too many civilians recognize you, none of them concerned with memorizing the faces of the elusive Duke and his “sniper”, as you’ve sometimes been referred. The ones who do recognize you, though, stay out of your way or give you side glances. Fair enough.

On your journey to the next station, you grab a few pastries after your stomach started growling at you again. With all the walking, you’d burned through your morning sandwich quickly, and you’ll always take the opportunity to try some of the new foods the city has to offer. Anything is better than most of the food they have in the cafeteria down in the Fortress.

The Court of Fontaine Station is more crowded than you expected, full of people coming and going. You head to the second floor for the Clementine Line, the aquabus having just arrived. You have to refrain from laughing at the way Wriothesley has to squeeze between the crowds with his hulking form, the man looking painfully out of place. You think it’s adorable. You both get situated on the upper level of the aquabus, glad to be able to set down your bags for a while.

There’s less than an inch of space between you and Wriothesley, the warmth of his body against yours a comfort. You’d told him he didn’t have to come all this way with you, since you felt bad about dragging him across the region, but he’d insisted. Going with you would soothe his nerves, he said. It makes you feel funny, like butterflies in your stomach, and extremely fortunate. You still remember old partners that would brush you off, scoffing at you and half heartedly wishing you luck on your “silly trips” while saying they don’t want to waste all that time just to see you get on a boat.

The melusine at the head of the aquabus, Aeval, begins to speak, breaking you out of your thoughts as she gives her typical spiel. The aquabus comes to life, the engine releasing a healthy purr while it starts to churn the water beneath it. You look to your left, to Wriothesley. He’s reading one of the informational pamphlets they provide during the rides, one leg crossed over the other. You can’t help yourself from reaching forward and tapping the back of his wrapped hand, a simple way for you to communicate without speaking. He immediately flips his hand over for you so that you can place yours in it, your fingers intertwining.

“Breeze is nice, isn’t it?” He asks, tilting his head up and briefly shutting his eyes. His messy hair gently blows across his face, those silver strands more prominent in the sunlight.

You nod along absently. “Mhm.”

Wriothesley’s gaze finds yours as he looks you over. “You okay?” He says. It seems he noticed the small anxious twitches you thought you were hiding. He’s always been able to tell when your mind is running a bit too fast, your anxiety getting the better of you despite your best efforts. You constantly forget how perceptive he is until the moment he calls you out on your worrying.

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just…” you pause, debating what to say by rolling your lip between your teeth. You finally take a deep breath, bumping your shoulder against his. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

His expression softens, a gentle smile tilting his lips. “Of course, sweetheart. That’s not anything you need to thank me for, though. I wanted to see you off.” He says, squeezing your hand comfortingly.

“I know but…” you shrug, giving him a smile of your own, “I appreciate it regardless.”

It’s not much longer before the aquabus reaches Romaritime Harbor, Aeval giving her final notes on Fontaine scenery and wishing everyone a good day. You two follow the other passengers into the station, heading to the ground level where there’s already a crowd waiting. You recognize a few people, fellow researchers heading to the convention in Sumeru. It seems that makes up a majority, actually. Everyone has their multitude of bags that seem packed with fancy gadgets and inventions that they plan to show off just like you.

You hang back with Wriothesley, knowing you’ll have plenty of time to mingle on the long boat ride anyway. You listen to the rush of the massive waterfalls behind you, the mist brushing your skin. “I haven’t been out this far in a long time.” Wriothesley mutters, squinting into the distance as if he could see beyond the desert and into the heart of Sumeru.

“Last time I was here was for last year’s convention.” You say. You make a hmph sound. “We don’t get out much, do we?”

He laughs. “No, we don’t. The Fortress never really calls for it.”

“True.”

The aquabus at last rounds the corner of the desert, quickly approaching the harbor. This one is bigger than any of the aquabusses in the Fontaine stations, with three levels instead of two. People shuffle about, grabbing their bags and talking excitedly with one another. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself and facing Wriothesley. It’s finally time for you to say goodbye, no matter how much it pains you to see that subtle sadness in his eyes.

You know he’s not one for public displays of affection but you can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, breathing him in one more time. He obliges you, his strong arms coming around you in turn. “I’ll miss you so much.” He says into your neck.

“Me too.” You say, rubbing your hands up and down his back. “I’ll be back in no time at all.” When you’re pulling away, you sneak a kiss to his cheek, making the both of you smile dumbly.

“Be safe, okay? Don’t be afraid to punch anybody.” Wriothesley tells you.

You chuckle. “You know I won’t.” He’s seen you in the ring enough times to know that.

He looks at you fondly, a soft sigh leaving him. He brushes some of your hair back, then leaning down to kiss your forehead. “You’ll do great. Tell me all about it when you come back.”

You nod, grinning. “I will, I promise.”

By now the aquabus has docked in the harbor, people steadily climbing off while others wait to board. You gather all of your things. “Alright. I’ll see you in a week.” You say with as much determination as you can muster.

Wriothesley dips his head. “See you in a week. I love you.”

“Love you too, Wrio.” You respond, your heart feeling like it might burst out of your chest.

You finally make yourself follow the rest of the crowd onto the aquabus, managing to get a spot up top so you can catch all the pretty sights. You say hello to a few other inventors while you wait to depart, some of them recognizing you as one of the speakers for this year. It’s refreshing to see so many other eager young minds just like yours, the passion for their craft obvious.

When the aquabus finally begins to move away from the harbor, you find yourself at the railing. You’d expected him to have disappeared, to have begun his long trek back to the Fortress, to have been satisfied with seeing you to the aquabus—but Wriothesley is still standing there. You smile wide and wave goodbye to him, his hand lifting to do the same.

He doesn’t turn away until you’re nothing but a speck in the distance.

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

I miss main story Sylus so much (;_;)

Don't get me wrong I adore memory Sylus. Soft!Sylus is everything to me. But I have to admit that I really want to see more of the other equally valid and real side of him as well. That being the rough, morally grey crimelord we see during Long Awaited Revelry and in his Anecdote. Apart from Sylus on the job being hot as hell, there is so much about him and his motivations that we don't know yet and that I'm dying to find out.

I will also freely admit that a huge part of the reason for why I fell for Sylus and why he still has me in a chokehold is his complexity, his duality. I like that he is neither devil nor saint. Neither black nor white. Neither red flag nor forest full of green. He is so much more multifaceted and layered. He has real tangible flaws, and is certainly not a harmless cinnamon roll. He is a loverboy, yes, but equally a dangerous criminal whose hands have and will continue to kill others. And this duality is what makes him a great character in my eyes.

Hell, as much as it hurts me to witness, I like that he monumentally fucked up his initial meeting with present MC. And the narrative is very clear on this — his actions towards MC were wrong. He was forceful. He was cruel. Let's not sugarcoat this. Sure, us players know why he went about doing it the way he did and we feel bad for him as a consequence, but that doesn't make what he did in any way right or justifiable. MC was right to feel fear and disgust, and she would've been fully justified in never forgiving him imo. And honestly, I think Sylus would agree. He realizes just how badly he screwed things up, even if it took the harsh but true wake-up call from the shopkeeper to bring him to this realization. And it's a hugely important moment, both for him as a character and for his relationship with MC. Afterwards, he puts in the conscious effort to do better. To be better for her. To make things right. To me, this decision and commitment of his wouldn't have hit nearly as hard or been as meaningful if his prior actions hadn't been what they were. They proved that he is capable of real self reflection and growth. It's a massively important moment in their relationship.

The rocky start to their relationship also makes cards like Razor's Dance so impactful. Same with Goodcat Code and some phone calls and interactions where Sylus' fears and insecurities regarding MC's feelings toward him shine through. With the context of his behavior in LAR, it's completely understandable for him to have these fears. He knows he fucked up. Had he been a cinnamon roll made up of purely green flags, neither his feelings nor MC's would have made sense. Nor would MC's eventual forgiveness, and ability to once more see in him what others cannot, be near as powerful.

I don't know, am I making any sense with this or am I just rambling lol 😅

My point is that I love and appreciate all sides of Sylus. Both good and bad. It's what makes him him. And I would no more want to trade or give up main story Sylus than I would memory Sylus. I want big bad ruthless boss of Onychinus just as much as I want soft loverboy Sylus. They are equally important to Sylus' character. He wouldn't be himself without either. It's a package deal.

Perfect/flawless characters bore me. If Sylus were simply soft and green through and through, I would've lost interest. Honestly, I most likely wouldn't have downloaded the game to begin with. It was the danger mixed in with the comfort that drew me in.

It's like a friend and I have discussed many times — the fact that the hands that have wrought violence and death upon countless people are the very same ones that touch his beloved with such reverence and tenderness, is incredibly hot. Duality ftw.

So needless to say I am waiting with baited breath for the day when we will finally see main story Sylus again. Or for that matter, just a memory of Sylus in boss of Onychinus mode.

🐉❤️ 🐦‍⬛

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The true, tactical significance of Project 2025

TODAY (July 14), I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! NEXT SATURDAY (July 20), I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

Like you, I have heard a lot about Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation's roadmap for the actions that Trump should take if he wins the presidency. Given the Heritage Foundation's centrality to the American authoritarian project, it's about as awful and frightening as you might expect:

https://www.project2025.org/

But (nearly) all the reporting and commentary on Project 2025 badly misses the point. I've only read a single writer who immediately grasped the true significance of Project 2025: The American Prospect's Rick Perlstein, which is unsurprising, given Perlstein's stature as one of the left's most important historians of right wing movements:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-07-10-project-2025-republican-presidencies-tradition/

As Perlstein points out, Project 2025 isn't new. The Heritage Foundation and its allies have prepared documents like this, with many identical policy prescriptions, in the run-up to many presidential elections. Perlstein argues that Warren G Harding's 1921 inaugural address captures much of its spirit, as did the Nixon campaign's 1973 vow to "move the country so far to the right 'you won’t even recognize it.'"

The threats to democracy and its institutions aren't new. The right has been bent on their destruction for more than a century. As Perlstein says, the point of taking note of this isn't to minimize the danger, rather, it's to contextualize it. The American right has, since the founding of the Republic, been bent on creating a system of hereditary aristocrats, who govern without "interference" from democratic institutions, so that their power to extract wealth from First Nations, working people, and the land itself is checked only by rivalries with other aristocrats. The project of the right is grounded in a belief in Providence: that God's favor shines on His best creations and elevates them to wealth and power. Elite status is proof of merit, and merit is "that which leads to elite status."

When a wealthy person founds an intergenerational dynasty of wealth and power, this is merely a hereditary meritocracy: a bloodline infused with God's favor. Sometimes, this belief is dressed up in caliper-wielding pseudoscience, with the "good bloodline" reflecting superior genetics and not the favor of the Almighty. Of course, a true American aristocrat gussies up his "race realism" with mystical nonsense: "God favored me with superior genes." The corollary, of course, is that you are poor because God doesn't favor you, or because your genes are bad, or because God punished you with bad genes.

So we should be alarmed by the right's agenda. We should be alarmed at how much ground it has gained, and how the right has stolen elections and Supreme Court seats to enshrine antimajoritarianism as a seemingly permanent fact of life, giving extremist minorities the power to impose their will on the rest of us, dooming us to a roasting planet, forced births, racist immiseration, and most expensive, worst-performing health industry in the world.

But for all that the right has bombed so many of the roads to a prosperous, humane future, it's a huge mistake to think of the right as a stable, unified force, marching to victory after inevitable victory. The American right is a brittle coalition led by a handful of plutocrats who have convinced a large number of turkeys to vote for Christmas.

The right wing coalition needs to pander to forced-birth extremists, racist extremist, Christian Dominionist extremists (of several types), frothing anti-Communist cranks, vicious homophobes and transphobes, etc, etc. Pandering to all these groups isn't easy: for one thing, they often want opposite things – the post-Roe forced birth policies that followed the Dobbs decision are wildly unpopular among conservatives, with the exception of a clutch of totally unhinged maniacs that the party relies on as part of a much larger coalition. Even more unpopular are policies banning birth control, like the ones laid out in Project 2025. Less popular still: the proposed ban on no-fault divorce. Each of these policies have different constituencies to whom they are very popular, but when you put them together, you get Dan Savage's "Husbands you can't leave, pregnancies you can't prevent or terminate, politicians you can't vote out of office":

https://twitter.com/fakedansavage/status/1805680183065854083

The constituency for "husbands you can't leave, pregnancies you can't prevent or terminate, politicians you can't vote out of office" is very small. Almost no one in the GOP coalition is voting for all of this, they're voting for one or two of these things and holding their noses when it comes to the rest.

Take the "libertarian" wing of the GOP: its members do favor personal liberty…it's just that they favor low taxes for them more than personal liberty for you. The kind of lunatic who'd vote for a dead gopher if it would knock a quarter off his tax bill will happily allow his coalition partners to rape pregnant women with unnecessary transvaginal ultrasounds and force them to carry unwanted fetuses to term if that's the price he has to pay to save a nickel in taxes:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#tolerable-racism

And, of course, the religious maniacs who profess a total commitment to Biblical virtue but worship Trump, Gaetz, Limbaugh, Gingrich, Reagan, and the whole panoply of cheating, lying, kid-fiddling, dope-addled refugees from a Jack Chick tract know that these men never gave a shit about Jesus, the Apostles or the Ten Commandments – but they'll vote for 'em because it will get them school prayer, total abortion bans, and unregulated "home schooling" so they can brainwash a generation of Biblical literalists who think the Earth is 5,000 years old and that Jesus was white and super into rich people.

Time and again, the leaders of the conservative movement prove themselves capable of acts of breathtaking cruelty, and undoubtedly many of them are depraved sadists who genuinely enjoy the suffering of their enemies (think of Trump lickspittle Steven Miller's undisguised glee at the thought of parents who would never be reunited with children after being separated at the border). But it's a mistake to think that "the cruelty is the point." The point of the cruelty is to assemble and maintain the coalition. Cruelty is the tactic. Power is the point:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/09/turkeys-voting-for-christmas/#culture-wars

The right has assembled a lot of power. They did so by maintaining unity among people who have irreconcilable ethics and goals. Think of the pro-genocide coalition that includes far-right Jewish ethno-nationalists, antisemitic apocalyptic Christians who believe they are hastening the end-times, and Islamophobes of every description, from War On Terror relics to Hindu nationalists.

This is quite an improbable coalition, and while I deplore its goals, I can't help but be impressed by its cohesion. Can you imagine the kind of behind-the-scenes work it takes to get antisemites who think Jews secretly control the world to lobby with Zionists? Or to get Zionists to work alongside of Holocaust-denying pencilneck Hitler wannabes whose biggest regret is not bringing their armbands to Charlottesville?

Which brings me back to Project 2025 and its true significance. As Perlstein writes, Project 2025 is a mess. Clocking in an 900 pages, large sections of Project 2025 flatly contradict each other, while other sections contain subtle contradictions that you wouldn't notice unless you were schooled in the specialized argot of the far right's jargon and history.

For example, Project 2025 calls for defunding government agencies and repurposing the same agencies to carry out various spectacular atrocities. Both actions are deplorable, but they're also mutually exclusive. Project 2025 demands four different, completely irreconcilable versions of US trade policy. But at least that's better than Project 2025's chapter on monetary policy, which simply lays out every right wing theory of money and then throws up its hands and recommends none of them.

Perlstein says that these conflicts, blank spots and contradictions are the most important parts of Project 2025. They are the fracture lines in the coalition: the conflicting ideas that have enough support that neither side can triumph over the other. These are the conflicts that are so central to the priorities of blocs that are so important to the coalition that they must be included, even though that inclusion constitutes a blinking "LOOK AT ME" sign telling us where the right is ready to split apart.

The right is really good at this. Perlstein points to Nixon's expansion of affirmative action, undertaken to sow division between Black and white workers. We need to get better at it.

So far, we've lavished attention on the clearest and most emphatic proposals in Project 2025 – for understandable reasons. These are the things they say they want to do. It would be reckless to ignore them. But they've been saying things like this for a century. These demands constitute a compelling argument for fighting them as a matter of urgency, with the intention of winning. And to win, we need to split apart their coalition.

Perlstein calls on us to dissect Project 2025, to cleave it at its joints. To do so, he says we need to understand its antecedents, like Nixon's "Malek Manual," a roadmap for destroying the lives of civil servants who failed to show sufficient loyalty to Nixon. For example, the Malek Manual lays out a "Traveling Salesman Technique" whereby a government employee would be given duties "criss-crossing him across the country to towns (hopefully with the worst accommodations possible) of a population of 20,000 or under. Until his wife threatens him with divorce unless he quits, you have him out of town and out of the way":

https://www.google.com/books/edition/Final_Report_on_Violations_and_Abuses_of/0dRLO9vzQF0C?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=%22organization+of+a+political+personnel+office+and+program%22&pg=PA161&printsec=frontcover

It's no coincidence that leftist historians of the right are getting a lot of attention. Trumpism didn't come out of nowhere – Trump is way too stupid and undisciplined to be a cause – he's an effect. In his excellent, bestselling new history of the right in the early 1990s, When the Clock Broke, Josh Ganz shows us the swamp that bred Trump, with such main characters as the fascist eugenicist Sam Francis:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374605445/whentheclockbroke

Ganz joins the likes of the Know Your Enemy podcast, an indispensable history of reactionary movements that does excellent work in tracing the fracture lines in the right coalition:

https://www.patreon.com/posts/when-clock-broke-106803105

Progressives are also an uneasy coalition that is easily splintered. As Naomi Klein argues in her essential Doppelganger, the liberal-left coalition is inherently unstable and contains the seeds of its own destruction:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

Liberals have been the senior partner in that coalition, and their commitment to preserving institutions for their own sake (rather than because of what they can do to advance human thriving) has produced generations of weak and ineffectual responses to the crises of terminal-stage capitalism, like the idea that student-debt cancellation should be means-tested:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/03/utopia-of-rules/#in-triplicate

The last bid for an American aristocracy was repelled by rejecting institutions, not preserving them. When the Supreme Court thwarted the New Deal, FDR announced his intention to pack the court, and then began the process of doing so (which included no-holds-barred attacks on foot-draggers in his own party). Not for nothing, this is more-or-less what Lincoln did when SCOTUS blocked Reconstruction:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/20/judicial-equilibria/#pack-the-court

But the liberals who lead the progressive movement dismiss packing the court as unserious and impractical – notwithstanding the fact that they have no plan for rescuing America from the bribe-taking extremists, the credibly accused rapist, and the three who stole their robes. Ultimately, liberals defend SCOTUS because it is the Supreme Court. I defended SCOTUS, too – while it was still a vestigial organ of the rights revolution, which improved the lives of millions of Americans. Human rights are worth defending, SCOTUS isn't. If SCOTUS gets in the way of human rights, then screw SCOTUS. Sideline it. Pack it. Make it a joke.

Fuck it.

This isn't to argue for left seccession from the progressive coalition. As we just saw in France, splitting at this moment is an invitation to literal fascist takeover:

https://jacobin.com/2024/07/melenchon-macron-france-left-winner

But if there's one thing that the rise of Trumpism has proven, it's that parties are not immune to being wrestled away from their establishment leaderships by radical groups:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos

What's more, there's a much stronger natural coalition that the left can mobilize: workers. Being a worker – that is, paying your bills from wages, instead of profits – isn't an ideology you can change, it's a fact. A Christian nationalist can change their beliefs and then they will no longer be a Christian nationalist. But no matter what a worker believes, they are still a worker – they still have a irreconcilable conflict with people whose money comes from profits, speculation, or rents. There is no objectively fair way to divide the profits a worker's labor generates – your boss will always pay you as little of that surplus as he can. The more wages you take home, the less profit there is for your boss, the fewer dividends there are for his shareholders, and the less there is to pay to rentiers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

Reviving the role of workers in their unions, and of unions in the Democratic party, is the key to building the in-party power we need to drag the party to real solutions – strong antimonopoly action, urgent climate action, protections for gender, racial and sexual minorities, and decent housing, education and health care.

The alternative to a worker-led Democratic Party is a Democratic Party run by its elites, whose dictates and policies are inescapably illegitimate. As Hamilton Nolan writes, the completely reasonable (and extremely urgent) discussion about Biden's capacity to defeat Trump has been derailed by the Democrats' undemocratic structure. Ultimately, the decision to have an open convention or to double down on a candidate whose campaign has been marred by significant deficits is down to a clutch of party officials who operate without any formal limits or authority:

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/the-hole-at-the-heart-of-the-democratic

Jettisoning Biden because George Clooney (or Nancy Pelosi) told us to is never going to feel legitimate to his supporters in the party. But if the movement for an open convention came from grassroots-dominated unions who themselves dominated the party – as was the case, until the Reagan revolution – then there'd be a sense that the party had constituents, and it was acting on its behalf.

Reviving the labor movement after 40 years of Reaganomic war on workers may sound like a tall order, but we are living through a labor renaissance, and the long-banked embers of labor radicalism are reigniting. What's more, repelling fascism is what workers' movements do. The business community will always sell you out to the Nazis in exchange for low taxes, cheap labor and loose regulation.

But workers, organized around their class interests, stand strong. Last week, we lost one of labor's brightest flames. Jane McAlevey, a virtuoso labor organizer and trainer of labor organizers, died of cancer at 57:

https://jacobin.com/2024/07/jane-mcalevey-strategy-organizing-obituary

McAlevey fought to win. She was skeptical of platitudes like "speaking truth to power," always demanding an explanation for how the speech would become action. In her classic book A Collective Bargain, she describes how she built worker power:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

McAlevey helped organize a string of successful strikes, including the 2019 LA teachers' strike. Her method was straightforward: all you have to do to win a strike or a union drive is figure out how to convince every single worker in the shop to back the union. That's all.

Of course, it's harder than it sounds. All the problems that plague every coalition – especially the progressive liberal/left coalition – are present on the shop floor. Some workers don't like each other. Some don't see their interests aligned with others. Some are ornery. Some are convinced that victory is impossible.

McAlevey laid out a program for organizing that involved figuring out how to reach every single worker, to converse with them, listen to them, understand them, and win them over. I've never read or heard anyone speak more clearly, practically and inspirationally about coalition building.

Biden was never my candidate. I supported three other candidates ahead of him in 2020. When he got into office and started doing a small number of things I really liked, it didn't make me like him. I knew who he was: the Senator from MBNA, whose long political career was full of bills, votes and speeches that proved that while we might have some common goals, we didn't want the same America or the same world.

My interest in Biden over the past four years has had two areas of focus: how can I get him to do more of the things that will make us all better off, and do less of the things that make the world worse. When I think about the next four years, I'm thinking about the same things. A Trump presidency will contain far more bad things and far fewer good ones.

Many people I like and trust have pointed out that they don't like Biden and think he will be a bad president, but they think Trump will be much worse. To limit Biden's harms, leftists have to take over the Democratic Party and the progressive movement, so that he's hemmed in by his power base. To limit Trump's harms, leftists have to identify the fracture lines in the right coalition and drive deep wedges into them, shattering his power base.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/14/fracture-lines/#disassembly-manual

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

The "what if a cishet romantic man wanted to come to queer meetings" thing was one of the things that helped me (a trans man) see how marginalised men's masculinity is weaponised against us. Because the hypothetical cishet aro man isn't being constructed as dangerous because he's feminine or related to womanhood in any way; he's constructed because his deviance means he's "missing" something that's "supposed to keep the bad parts of men in check". This isn't to say that aro women don't get shit, they absolutely do, it was just a real turning point in my personal understanding of marginalised masculinities

yeah specifically re: the deviance factor, I remember a lot of the strawman arguments around the hypothetical cisgender heterosexual allosexual aromantic man being "allowed" in queer spaces hinged on the assumption that this man would also be a pseudo sexual predator bent on hooking up with as many women as possible and then using his aromantic status as an excuse to ghost or otherwise treat them badly. frequently this came with speculation that cishet men would falsely claim aromantic identity, so as to have a built-in excuse for such behavior and shut down any potential objections.

which is like. I mean, it's bullshit for a lot of reasons.

one of the most egregious issues to me is the audacity of people acting like hanging out in a queer space with the intent of having sex is some kind of evil invasive force, as if many queer spaces, historically, have no been organized around the principal of trying to fuck and be fucked, and as if plenty of those hookups haven't led to ghostings or breakups exactly as careless and hurtful as the proposed scenario involving our cis allo aro man would be, but it's supposedly worse because he's? a yucky man? the increasing distrust of sexual attraction in many young, allegedly left-leaning spaces is its own alarming beast and I don't want to get into the whole thing here, but jesus christ.

I just. I cannot take seriously the idea that I'm supposed to be threatened by a man who MIGHT exist and MIGHT want to have sex with someone, and make any serious decisions based on the specter of this guy possibly being out there somewhere. get a grip.

[etherealrin]

⋆.˚ call it what you want

in which proplayer!sae could care less about what the media was calling you two, if it means being with you again

warnings: none // wc: 647

note: fem reader! badly proofread

the star midfielder of re al, itoshi sae, has a spotless reputation. there wasn't a single stain on his image, not one rumor or dating scandal. it was a matter of heated debate online; there were multiple twitter threads regarding sae's love life. was he truly single? perhaps not into women at all? did he have a secret relationship with another celebrity? if he did, he was remarkably good at never being caught.

so when a photograph of sae leading a girl to a secluded room, shot at an angle where one could only see a flash of glimmering hair, goes viral, the entire internet was wholly appalled.

sae scoffs as you read another article from your phone's news feed to him. "hey, look at this!" your tone is joking as you point towards the device's screen. "they're questioning if i'm some top hollywood celeb. is it because i dyed my hair recently?"

"love, that's stupid. you know dispatch reports more lies than truths." he replies, nose wrinkling at the thought. sure, you were beautiful, more so than any actress, but he really didn't enjoy all of the media speculation he received. was it so wrong of him to want something normal, to have a private relationship?

you'd known sae since before he went to spain, when you were just two simple kids trying to go through life the right way. when he had left, it'd caused a huge buzz in your town, japan finally receiving international attention for football. and you'd long since been regarded as sae's closest friend, so everyone was clamoring to ask you: would he ever come back? the drama queens threw their fits (sae had no shortage of admirers even then), many people called you a liar when you said that you didn't know, the pressure caused you to isolate yourself—done with how nosy the world was being. and of course, you missed sae more than anything. you'd mindlessly twist your fingers through the silver necklace he gifted you right before his flight, the 冴 character shining in the pale moonlight. no one else knew the words he'd suddenly whispered into your ears before he boarded without sparing a glance back; "i love you, i'll swear i'll see you again."

you'd kept that necklace for years, until itoshi sae appeared in japan once more, to play for a mysterious soccer match; and a front row ticket was mysteriously sent to your email. which you had never changed from before he left. nervous anticipation floods you, you were about to see your best friend who you hadn't heard from in years. when you finally spot him on the field, he looked nothing less than a daydream, dark pink locks impossibly perfect even against the wind and sweat. as he's being introduced, sae's gaze somehow found you amongst the crowd—you might have died. though he knew you would show up, he couldn't help but look for extra assurance. and you couldn't have predicted the whirl of events that happened after. his manager pulling you aside, saying that "itoshi sae needs to meet you," sae walking towards you with his head down, evidently trying to avoid the paparazzi, grabbing your hands and guiding you into an empty interviewing room; teal eyes glimmering with unsaid words.

your lips inevitably crashed into each other, you both had heard the cameras click and seen the flash of brilliant white, but none of you cared. "at least i did one thing right," is what sae had murmured after a few minutes, deft fingers tracing across your cheeks. his eyes flickered over the chain he gave you, one you'd never taken off. the media could call it what they wanted, because in that moment it was only you and sae. though perhaps it had always been that way—all it took was for one of you to see it.

a/n: dude i'm so obsessed w this song rn. also i finally stopped slandering sae who would've thought this day would come so soon!

masterlist.