#and they will in fact actively turn against us if we dare to be mean nasty trans people about it.
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vulpinesaint · 2 years ago
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the hogwarts legacy conversation really highlights something that i think usually stays hidden under the polite facade of liberalism. in the past days, weeks, months, it has become increasingly more apparent that there are SHOCKINGLY few trans allies in spaces which pride themselves on inclusivity and acceptance. as liberal people whose allyship so far has been limited to offering pronouns in their bio and maybe putting an infographic on their insta story once in a while are pressed to make choices to actively support trans people, it becomes increasingly clear that what they offered was never allyship at all. it becomes increasingly clear that their 'allyship' was contingent on all trans people being nice and unobtrusive and separate from other issues. people are dropping their illusions of supporting trans people shockingly quickly when confronted with the choice to actively harm people or not play a video game. as pat loller described it, they are presented with a trolley problem with trans people on one side and jk rowling/the (already paid) game devs on the other. one side will not be damaged. the train will take them on to their next destination, in fact, with very little fanfare. the train will crush the trans people. you have to actively pull the lever to crush the trans people. so-called allies are actively pulling the lever and then getting upset when trans people get upset about being DIRECTLY HARMED. how dare we speak up about the issues we face. how dare we be upset about the direct disregard and harm that people who claimed to support us are now foisting upon us. how dare we be messy about that. we are being actively legislated out of existence, and people who said they were our allies are abandoning us in droves for their much larger problem of... not being able to play a game. it's honestly fucking comedic. your allyship means nothing if it comes with conditions. your allyship means nothing if you are not willing to take action for the sake of your allies. your allyship means nothing if you are not willing to LITERALLY SIT STILL AND NOT DO A SINGLE ACTION for the sake of your allies. the trans community asks people NOT TO PLAY THE GAME. and people look us in the eyes and tell us that a few hours of antisemitic gameplay is worth more than our lives. fine. whatever. we see how it is. glad that they're finally being honest, at least. if you play hogwarts legacy or engage with harry potter i hope you die.
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spatialwave · 3 months ago
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𝐝𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞.
"𝐋-𝐈-𝐕-𝐈-𝐍'."
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pairing: angus tully x fem!reader word count: 5.1k summary: you made your choice. what will come of the consequences? surely, only good things, right? all you know is one thing you learned from a wise man: you just gotta keep livin'. l-i-v-i-n'. warnings/tags: MDNI. angst, hurt/comfort, underage drinking and drug use, jealousy, love triangle, name-calling, physical fighting/abuse, emetophobia/mention of v*miting. notes: this is long over due! i've been so happy seeing people still liking the series and i hope this ending does it justice. i'm already missing them, and thinking of ways i could do a little spin-off. suggestions are welcome, hehe.
<- chapter four.
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Fucking at the Moon Tower was an activity you could cross off your bucket list, a feat that was surprisingly easy to pull off for an area of land running rampant with drunken teens. It seemed as though luck was dealing your cards for the evening and things had all started to move forward smoothly.
The ordeal with Angus was a bittersweet feeling, of course. Being drunk didn’t mean that you completely lost all touch of your morals.
It just meant that the guilt wouldn’t bother you until it was all over, and you were laying in bed hungover, wondering why you couldn’t have mustered the strength to end things off with Benny before you settled on infidelity. Hell, even now you were the other woman, Angus’s promise of ending things with Elise didn’t make this any better.
The only fighting argument you had against your wrongdoings was the fact that neither you nor Benny had made things… ‘official’, but you sure acted like it. That had to account for something, and you knew very well that if he found out, he wouldn’t be happy.
Forcing the rising guilt back down into the pit of your stomach, you focused on the way the grass felt against the exposed skin on your back. Lifting a hand up to toy with your hair that was rather messy now and let your eyes focus up on the stars in the sky, which were mostly hidden by the light of the moon tower that lifted above the treeline. The sound of gentle breathing next to you kept you calm, shuffling in the grass while you saw Angus turning on his side out of your peripheral vision.
“So,” his voice was deep in his throat as he shifted up on his elbow, able to get a better angle of you, “are we going to do that again sometime?”
You had to fight the smile growing on your lips, twitching at the corners and daring to make you smile like a dork. Leave it to Angus Tully to be the one to keep you from getting lost in your head, and instead, in the here and now.
“No,” you were quick to react, lips spreading into that grin you’d been avoiding, “definitely a one time thing.”
“Ouch, you really are feisty,” he groaned, lifting a hand to his heart and clutching at his chest, his button-up no longer doing its job of keeping him covered, “you have a cold, cold heart.”
A laugh bubbled up from your throat, earning a returning smile from the curly-haired boy, “I don’t have a cold heart. I’ll have you know that I am actually a really good person.”
“Good people don’t have to say they’re good people,” Angus tilted his head, an absent hand reaching forward to tuck some hairs behind your ear.
“Looks like you’ve seen right through me,” you whisper, a shaky breath leaving your lips.
The act itself makes a fierce warmth grow on your cheeks, so warm it reaches the tips of your ears and over your chest. There’s nothing more you can say at this moment, only able to react to his touch and slightly nuzzle your cheek against his hand like a needy pet. 
You stared into those big, brown eyes of his and wondered how you got so lucky to meet a boy like him – even if it meant leaving your home. He was truly the only good thing about this town.
Maybe this was the start of something new. Something you both deserved.
Your lips opened to speak, but the sound of someone rushing near you both had startled you up and looking around. A younger boy, likely a freshman, darted past you both and towards a large bush, the sounds coming from him making your nose crinkle as he emptied his stomach. 
“Christ,” Angus grumbled, pulling away from you instead pulling you up to your feet, “who’s letting these kids drink their fucking brains out.”
Quickly, you both vacated the area until you were halfway between the puking boy and the party that had continued to go well into the night. Neither of you had noticed that your hands were held tight together until Angus had stepped ahead, and your feet remained planted in the taller grass. 
“We can’t tell anyone about what we just did,” the words fell from your lips quickly, eyes settled ahead on the crowds of people that you could see in the distance. All illuminated by headlights and the moon tower.
Benny was there somewhere. So was Elise.
Just like the boy hidden somewhere behind you both, you felt sick to your stomach as the regret coursed back through your veins without Angus able to fix it all for you with his touch. 
“Why would I tell anyone?” He retorted, dropping your hand and turning to face you, blocking your sight so you were forced to look up at him, “I’m not looking for problems… you’re not going to say anything are you?”
“...No.”
“That’s not very convincing.”
“God, Angus, what do you want me to say? You just cheated on your girlfriend,” you grumbled, the effects of alcohol and weed wearing thin, making this night feel a lot more real than you wanted it to.
This was supposed to be a night where you hoped you didn’t remember much of it, so drunk and high that you could completely let loose and kick off your last summer before senior year. You were more complicated than that, though, you came with nuances and emotions that you didn’t really understand just yet. You had so many wants and needs, and so many fears.
“I told you I was going to break up with her. You’re acting like I’m the only one who fucked up here, you know,” Angus’s voice was sharper, like it was at the moon tower when he chastised your relationship with Benny, “this was mutual.”
“That’s not what I meant–”
“Do you think me sleeping with you tonight was just for fun? Like I’m going to leave you in the dust and forget about what happened tomorrow morning?” He took a step forward as you took a step back, “I meant what I said. I really like you. Don’t make me overthink this.”
“It’s just,” you started, arms crossing over your chest, “fuck, we really should’ve waited, Angus. I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
A heavy sigh came from him, and you could tell he was fed up, but holding back.
“Yeah,” he eventually breathed, “you’re right, I get it. We… uh, really fucked up.”
You could see his mannerisms change, the sheepish look in his eyes when that very guilt you felt extended into him. But you were young and you were certain this wouldn’t be your last fuck up in your life. You’d get through it – eventually.
“I like you too,” you murmured, fingers twisting into the fabric of your halter top, “I guess we just gotta deal with everything if we want this to work.”
Angus nodded, a tiny smile on his lips that made you feel all sorts of funny, your cheeks warm and belly fluttering with waves of butterflies swirling in a vortex. It was making you feel sick all over again, but for good reasons this time.
“You should come with me in the morning,” he said, kicking a foot into the tall grass, “I’m going with Wooderson to buy Aerosmith tickets… It'll be a good time.”
You were complicated. Wanting to say no because you needed time to cut things off with Benny, and because your mother would freak out when your bed was still empty by morning, but instead you nodded your head without any hesitation.
You were just a teen girl, there were no rules on how you acted or felt.
“Yeah, okay,” you smiled, “maybe.”
“Maybe?” The boy matched your wicked grin, taking a few steps back from you and closer to the party, “I’ll see you later, then.”
You watched in awe as Angus spun on his heels and sauntered back to the party, leaving you in a state of uncertainty. There was much to think about, but his request reminded you of something important.
Life was short.
So, why the hell were you standing in the middle of the wooded forest listening to the sound of some poor boy getting sick when you could be back with your friends getting shitfaced and forgetting about everything that happened.
You pulled your feet forward and carried yourself back to the party, everyone now officially drunk or stoned out of their minds, your friends nowhere to be seen. The beer keg was your first stop, drinking one full cup in quick succession and pouring yourself another. 
The cool liquid poured down your throat and numbed your mind instantly, fingers tightening around the red solo cup as your empty stomach greeted the alcohol. You closed your eyes and guzzled down the remainder of the second beer, knowing that any more would likely put you in the same predicament after your argument with Angus.
Fingers crinkled the cup, and you tossed it to the ground, perking up and looking at your surroundings. There were an abundance of drunk teens, your eyes watching two girls take a tumble to the ground together and a boy sitting in the backseat of a convertible coughing his lungs out because of a particularly intense bong rip.
“Where the fuck is Kaye?” You sighed under your breath, eyes scanning the area and excusing yourself when two boys asked you to move away from the keg. With your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you begin walking away in hopes to scout around the party for a familiar face.
Just as your eyes nestled on your friend, who was sitting on the back of Tony’s car, you felt someone shove themselves against you roughly – with intention.
“Buzz off,” you groaned, catching your footing before nearly crashing into the ground. 
Perking up, your eyes darted over to the other and saw none other than Darla standing there with eyes narrowed and cheeks flush with anger. A few paces behind was Elise, looking just as angry.
“You slut,” Darla hissed, taking taunting steps toward you and her voice loud enough to grab the attention of the two boys taking beer from the keg, “you must like stealing boys, huh? Stealing Benny from me, then trying so hard to get Angus’s attention and acting like you’re nothing but a saint,” her face twisted with fury as she spoke, “stupid bitch.”
You gasped loudly as Darla flung beer at you, the lukewarm liquid splashing against your chest and soaking your halter top. 
“I had no idea you and Benny were a thing!” You blurted quickly, always wondering why these things had to happen after you finished downing multiple beers, “and nothing’s happening with Angus… he’s just a friend.”
Both of your hands had lifted in defense, breath shaky as you watched Darla and Elise’s combined anger unfold in front of you. You were hoping that tonight would treat you with more grace than it could have, but karma was doing its work.
Darla’s lips curved into a sickening grin as she threw the red cup at you, as if pouring the beer wasn’t enough. “You think we’re stupid? Like we haven’t seen you flirting with him for the past few weeks? God…” she shook her head, an airy laugh of disbelief coming from her, “and you try to tell me that you had no idea Benny and I were a thing? I get that you’re new here, but you’d have to be really dumb to not know what’s going on around you.”
“Okay,” you said, trying to level with the girl that looked like she could pounce any moment, “maybe I didn’t do my research with others before spending time with Benny, but in my defense he didn’t tell me anything. I just… I figured he was single. You should be getting mad at him!”
“God, stop acting like you’re the victim here!” She laughed against and balled her fists together, and you knew then and there that there was nothing you could do to share your side of things. She was far too angry, and much too drunk, “You’re such a stuck up bitch, like every dumb prissy girl from the West Coast.”
Your eyes flickered over to Elise, who seemed to have some semblance of sobriety at the moment, but doing nothing to make this situation any better for you. When you settled your gaze back on the girl in front of you, you saw the anger boiling beneath the surface. She was starting to talk angry nonsense which you had no bite over.
You either needed to make one quick response to shut her down, or get the hell out of there.
“Darla–”
Before you could plead anymore in a last-ditch attempt to bury the hatchet and keep it from escalating, a flimsy hand met with your nose and pain shot through your head. Darla sucker-punched you, making a fool out of you. As you grabbed at your face, wincing loudly in pain and feeling blood drip down your nose, you heard the other girl yelping from the pain radiating in her hand. “What the fuck?” You roared, eyes wide and anger flowing through you. Not once had anyone ever disrespected you like this, and even though you wanted to lay down in a ball and cry the pain away, there was a rush of adrenaline keeping you afloat.
“Aw, look, she’s angry,” Darla laughed in your face, taking a step back, but you lunged. She wasn’t getting the satisfaction.
The two of you tumbled to the ground and hands began to tug at clothes and hair, shouts and yelps garnering the attention of anyone close. “Holy shit,” you heard Elise’s voice just barely because soon all you could hear were people yelling and cheering you on. Well, both of you. Two girls drunkenly fighting? It made for great party entertainment.
“You stupid bitch!” Darla squealed as you yanked on her hair, tugging her back to the ground after she tried standing up.
“You punched me first, asshole!” You yelled, unable to land any good hits on her and resorting to some lowly slaps and kicks. Finally, you managed to get on top of her, holding her down with her weight as you straddled her and she was doing her best to push you off, “Fuck you,” you spat at her, fist tightened as you punched.
But it never landed.
“Hey, break it up!” Kaye’s voice was loud, quieting down everyone who had been bystanders, watching and cheering. 
“Let me at her!” You growled, kicking your legs out as you were pulled back, watching as Elise and Shavonne pulled Darla away. Then, you saw Kaye to your left and realized it wasn’t her pulling you away from the fight; you glance over your shoulder and see Angus staring down at you, dragging you far from the scrap.
“Fuck you!” Darla snapped at you, stumbling on her feet and smoothing down her clothing that had gone askew from your wild hands that savagely attacked her, “You’re dead to us, Tully! Dead. Have that worn-in skank!”
“Easy now,” Shavonne’s voice could be heard.
“Are you okay?” Angus’s voice was loud in your ear and you could smell the beer on his lips he forced you to look his way, “Fuck. You’re going to be bruised tomorrow.”
“C’mon, let’s get her out of here,” Kaye jumped in, helping him pull you away.
Your eyes flickered around, seeing the crowd fizzling out and how Elise looked at you and Angus with a clenched jaw. She extended a middle finger out, and for some reason it sent a wave of relief through your body – was it over now? Would her and Darla finally give up on tormenting you? 
Angus and Kaye got you situated onto the back of his car, sitting atop the trunk, your legs dangling as the boy tended to your bloody nose and busted lip. The pain was rising now that the adrenaline was leaving your body, leaving you squirming under his touch as he used his sleeve to wipe the dried blood that coated your upper lip. Not only that, but your soaked halter top was making you terribly uncomfortable.
“I’m fine–”
“Not fine,” Angus cut you off, looking into your eyes.
“I’ll be fine,” you reiterated, looking rather sheepish, “she started it.”
“Yeah, I saw,” he smirked, tucking some of your hair behind your hair, “you gotta’ get better at fighting. That was bad.”
“Easier said than done. Are you going to teach me?” 
“Sure.”
The silence between you both is welcomed, and you hadn’t realized that Kaye left. Kegs were emptied dry, which meant everyone had begun to leave and go home or move onto an after party. You two stayed situated in your spot, though, unmoving as the cars around you filled with teens and roared into the night.
“I broke up with her,” Angus admitted, shrugging his shoulders, “I would have rather waited until tomorrow, but that’s not fair to either of you.”
You click your tongue knowingly, rolling your eyes playfully, “So, you’re the reason Darla came and unleashed her anger out on me, huh?”
“No, that’s because she bottles shit down until she’s hammered and she finally had the balls to confront you about it,” he smiled at you, lifting both hands to cup your cheeks, “you took it like a badass, though. I think you look hot.”
“Yeah, I feel so hot–”
You’re cut off by Angus’s lips pressing to yours, a gentle kiss that’s careful of your wounds. You wince in pain, pulling back and lifting a hand to the side of your lip that’s tender and a bit swollen.
“Shit, sorry,” he exhaled, pulling back from you.
“It’s okay,” you laughed, arms wrapping around his neck and instead pulling him into a tight hug, “thank you.”
“For what?” he asked, hands on your back and brushing his fingers along the exposed skin from your revealing halter top.
“For dealing with me,” you murmured, burying your face into his curly hair that clung around his ears, “I’ve been a mess tonight. Honest to god, I’m usually not this insane.”
A laugh bubbled up from his chest, the sound vibrating against your neck as he pressed a few soft kisses to your skin, “hm, it’s okay. I can deal with crazy.”
Both you and Angus found yourself unable to leave each other’s arms for a short while, as if making up for lost time between the two of you. Not even an hour later, and after a good makeout session in the back of his car and changing into one of his oversized band shirts, you found yourself in the middle of the football field, laying between Angus’s legs and your head pressed against his exposed stomach from the shirt that you’d unbuttoned earlier.
To your left was Jason and Shavonne, having made up for the night, and beside them was Slater, who was digging into a baggy of weed and rolling up a few fatties for the group to share.
Wooderson stood tall in front of everyone, reading from the pact that Angus still hadn’t signed.
“Not to indulge in any alcohol, drugs, sex after 12, or any other illegal activity,” he stepped toward everyone, who had started laughing. Angus groaned, sitting upright and reaching out for the paper with a grouchy look on his face, “found that in your glove compartment, man.”
“You know you’re the third person who’s given me this today? God,” he groaned, rolling it up and tucking it into his jean pocket.
“What’re you going to do?” You asked, looking up at him and bringing the cigarette to your lips that you two had been sharing.
“I don’t know,” Angus complained, wiping his face with his hands and looking between everyone, “I’ll probably just end up signing, I just don’t want to give in too easy, y’know?”
“Man,” Wooderson looked at him through half-lidded eyes, taking a hit of his joint and exhaling a large cloud of smoke, “that’s the same bullshit they tried to pull in my day. If it ain’t that piece of paper, some other choice they’re going to try and make for you. You gotta do what Angus Tully wants to do, man.”
You looked up at the curly-haired boy, admiring his features that illuminated from the large flood lights on the football field. You noticed the way he listened earnestly to Wooderson, who wasn’t known for great advice, but so far this was sound.
As he watched the older guy, his hand played absently with your hair, leaving you far-too relaxed and tired for someone who was planning on heading out to get tickets once the sun was fully risen above the horizon. There wasn’t much longer before it would be up.
“And let me tell you this. The older you do get, the more rules they’re gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin’ man. L-I-V-I-N’.” He beamed, earning a few giggles from everyone around as he collapsed onto the ground next to Slater.
“If you’re gonna sign that paper, man, you should throw a little grass right in the middle, man. Roll it up, and sign the joint, man. That’s gonna tell ‘em something.” Slater spoke, eyes practically shut as his reddened eyes looked around at everyone sharing laughs at his words.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you, Slate?” You piped up, grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah, man. The size you could get out of that paper would keep me high all day, man.”
“So what?” Jason broke into the conversation, head in Shavonne’s lap and eyes closed, “you gotta think about it. We’ve had a lot of really good times here, Tully.”
You sink a bit lower, able to tilt your head back and get a proper look at the boy you’d fallen in love with so deeply, smiling, “He’s not wrong. I mean, you’re, like, king of the school, you know? You get away with whatever you want, anyway.”
Angus let out a heavy exhale through his nostrils, leaning his head back as he slipped out from beneath you and rose to his feet. You pushed yourself up, eyes trailing him as you smoked the last of the cigarette and held the filter between your fingers.
“All I’m sayin’ is that if I ever start referring to these as the best years of my life, remind me to kill myself,” he grunted, car keys in one hand and ready to toss away that slip back into his glove compartment so he could forget about it.
Jason sighed, “Look, Tully, all I’m sayin’ is that I wanna look back and say, that I did it the best I could while I was stuck in this place, had as much fun as I could when I was stuck in this place,” he continued and you watched Angus, seeing how he paused in his steps and listened, back turned from everyone, “played as hard I could when I was stuck in this place, dogged as many chicks as I could when I was stuck in this place.”
Everyone laughed again, Shavonne mostly groaning as she shoved at Jason, “Yeah, right, Mr. Premature Ejaculation.”
As the couple to your left playfully fought each other, and Slater and Wooderson laughed at them, your eyes settled on Angus. He returned your gaze, staring at you with a small smile. A hand lifted and motioned for you to go to him, and you obediently listened, rising to your feet and sauntering his way.
“Do what you need to do, Tully,” you said to him, in a perfect buzzed state from the cigarette and joint you’d smoked. You lifted your hands, palms pressing against his chest and his hands wrapping around you loosely, “Don’t let anyone make that decision for you.”
Angus smiled down at you, needing to hear that. After a day of being told what to do by everyone, it was nice to know that you would have his back.
“Thanks,” he murmured, lowering his head to press a kiss to your lips. It was gentle, exactly what you needed. His hands lifted up to caress the sides of your neck, licking over your bottom lip and eager to make it heavier than it needed to be in front of your friends – you were already walking around with two visibly hickies on your neck from your rendezvous in the car before coming to the football field.
Just as you pulled from him, noses bumping together, bright, shining headlights startled everyone.
“Oh, shit, are those the cops?” Shavonne perked up.
“Hey, all of you! Get over here!” One of the cops called as he exited the car and slammed the door, waving you down, “Now!”
The group all listened, rather slowly of course. It wasn’t illegal to be on the football field, but it was illegal to be smoking weed. Slater sneakily tucked the bag into his pants, sulking behind everyone else who made their way to the fence.
It was embarrassing, the cops making you all line up like a bunch of criminals. Your back pressed against the chain link fence, wanting nothing more than to be at home in the comfort of your bed, preferably with Angus by your side. But no, the cops recognized Jason and Angus immediately and called the coach – and no one was to leave, even as the sun began to rise over the horizon.
“Tully. Smith.” The coach grumbled from his spot in the driver’s seat, having pulled up in his Jeep and staring you all down like he actually had some semblance of authority. It was laughable, especially to Angus, “Get your scrawny butts over here!”
“Morning, Coach,” Jason smiled, hands in his pockets as Angus lagged behind.
You and Shavonne, on the other hand, stood back and shared quiet laughs at the situation. It’s not like you could help it, when your body was minutes away from crashing into the deepest sleep of your life, it was hard not to find every little thing at least kind of hilarious.
“What’s going on?” He berated the two football players like an angry father.
“False alarm, Coach.” Angus said nonchalantly and you could tell that he was over the conversation already. All he wanted was to get to the city to buy Aerosmith tickets.
“Come here, Tully.” The coach beckoned and you couldn’t quite hear over the conversation, but the angry look on Angus’s face told everything you needed to know about  what was happening.
“How can you talk that way, huh?” Angus’s voice was loud as he took a step back from the vehicle, looking over his shoulder and at you for a brief moment before turning back around, “You don’t know any of them, what do you know about bad fucking influences? You think I’m some perfect angel?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m willing to wipe the slate clean if you straighten up, stop hanging out with these hoodlums and sign the goddamn commitment.”
“Hoodlums?” You and Slater said together, both looking at Angus and the coach with half-lidded, red eyes.
Angus rubbed a hand over his mouth, letting out a breathy chuckle, “You know what coach,” he started, looking back at you again, a smile on his lips, “I gotta get going. Me and my loser friends, and girlfriend… Well, we’re gonna go get Aerosmith tickets. Can’t be fucking late. Top priority of the summer.”
It was a subtle mention, but the title of ‘girlfriend’ made your stomach swirl in all sorts of ways and you could see Shavonne’s devilish smirk in your peripheral vision.
Angus began making his way back over to you, but then he spun on his feet, looking back to Jason and coach, “Oh, coach,” he said, digging into his pocket and retracing his steps back to the Jeep, “I forgot,” he cleared his throat, crumpling the paper, “I might play ball, but I will never sign that.”
The taller boy tossed the paper right into his vehicle, jaw clenching and staring daggers at him before turning back around and heading your way, huffing as he let his anger dissipate and the coach sped away.
“Shit, man, that’s livin’!” Wooderson grinned, giving Angus’s hand a smack, “Now come on, I’m getting my third wind. Let’s get on the road.”
“You comin’ man?” Slater spoke up, looking at Angus, then to you, “You’re definitely coming.”
“Oh, I am?” You snorted, shoving Slater playfully as you walked next to Angus, your hand slipping into his almost perfectly, “What about you guys?” You shot a look over to Shavonne and Jason, the latter looking like he’s going to collapse any minute.
“No, I’m tired,” he mumbled, hardly able to open both eyes as Angus tossed his keys to Shavonne. The blond looked at Angus, smacking his lips a few times, “So, that’s that, huh?
Angus shrugged his shoulders, looking at his friend and giving him a couple pats on the shoulder, “I’ll see you later, man,” he told him, nodding and watching as Shavonne began dragging him over to Angus’s car.
You and Slater settled into the backseat of Wooderson’s car, passing a joint back and forth as wind rushed through the open windows and left your hair blowing wildly around. Angus would look back at you every so often, checking on you and shooting that charismatic smile of his as music blared loudly through the radio – Slow Ride by Foghat.
You know, things may not have gone the way you wanted them to go, but hell, it was better than a shitty night stuck at home. Your lip was busted, nose still throbbing, and you didn’t really have an answer to what was going on with you and Benny and it wracked you with guilt.
But you’re only seventeen, you’re meant to make fucking mistakes, lots of them – to learn from them. That’s the fun of life because if you hadn’t fucked up as much as you did, you wouldn’t have been with your favourite people, riding off to the city with the smell of weed and summer break tickling your nose.
Angus’s eyes met your own once again, those stupid, big brown eyes. You passed the joint over, grinning like a fool as he winked at you. 
There was nothing but the morning sun rising in the sky, great music and even better friends – and you knew summer was going to be full of everything you needed.
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sapphic-agent · 6 months ago
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Is Mitsuki Bakugou Abusive?
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I mean, you all already know my answer. I've spoken about this before. But some Bakugou stans feel the need to turn everyone who doesn't worship the ground Bakugou walks on into the devil, so let's talk about it.
(Yes, I just got into an argument with one of said stans. Yes, I'm salty about it)
The conclusions people draw from this scene are so interesting. Bakugou stans are of course always up in arms about it. But as we know, they have zero media literacy. So let's examine the facts:
1. Mitsuki is smiling the first time she "hits" Bakugou. Her demeanor is playful if anything, and it's clear her intention is not to hurt him. She isn't even angry at or scolding him.
2. Bakugou's immediate response is anger. He isn't afraid or in pain. He's not afraid to stand up to her. Now, I don't mean to generalize abuse victims, but I'm assuming a child who's "beaten regularly" (this particular stan's exact words, despite there being zero evidence for it) usually wouldn't boldly threaten to kill their abusive parent. In his mind, she isn't a legitimate threat to his safety, or else he wouldn't feel so comfortable speaking to her like that.
3. It's only when Bakugou literally threatens her with violence that Mitsuki gets harsh with him. And understandably so. My mother has never hurt me in my life and I wouldn't dare speak to her that way no matter how angry I was. There is a little more force put into this snack, but even then it's not meant to actually hurt him. It's also interesting that none of his stans feel it necessary to criticize Bakugou's threat and immediately harp on her response to it.
4. He continues arguing with her after the hit. So the smack didn't seem to deter him at all. Almost like he's completely unfazed by the thought of her hitting him again.
5. Aizawa and All Might don't speak up about it at all. If Aizawa is really such a protective teacher, you think he'd let so-called abuse go on in front of his face?
6. Masaru isn't afraid to speak up against her. People assume that he rolls over and lets Mitsuki abuse Bakugou, but clearly he doesn't if he's fine intervening when he feels either one of them is out of line. He's calm, but he clearly isn't as passive as the fandom makes him out to be.
7. Mitsuki actually shows concern for him and wants him to improve. She's actively supporting him and believing in him. It's so funny how this part of this scene is completely overlooked. Almost like Bakugou stans cherry pick whichever aspects of her fit their narrative.
Now, am I saying that there's zero chance a parent like Mitsuki is abusive? No, of course not. But Bakugou is fictional. What we're being shown is meant to be the entire picture. Anything past what we've been given is purely fanon. Mitsuki "regularly abusing and beating" Bakugou isn't canon and cannot be used to defend his character
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rius-cave · 6 months ago
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I just saw you mention Adam having PTSD from the exterminations and honestly it's so valid. He did enjoy doing them, he did have fun, yes, but I firmly believe he started it because of his unprocessed trauma that he wasn't even aware of. I mean, I see the way he's masking himself (literally and figuratively) as a way of protecting himself from people. Back when he was "born" he was literally rejected and betrayed by the very people he supposedly loved and who were supposed to love him, then he was practically abandoned and thrown out of Eden by the same people who mentally harmed him in the first place. This guy is badly damaged and no one can convince me otherwise. And he was damaged from the start so he couldn't possibly realize that something was very not okay because these were the very first people he knew. And we all know pushing down our feelings and ignoring them comes with concequences. In his case, the frustration manifested in violence, on top of that violence against his own descendants who chose the wrong path, who had tainted humanity with their acts. He also probably connects them with Lilith and Lucifer who caused it in the first place, bringing evil to the earth. I also love to consider the extermination as a form of personal revenge on Adam's side, since he isn't able to carry out a direct revenge it serves as one for him.
But he knows it's wrong. He knows either way that what he's doing is bad and cruel, and even if he actively avoids admitting that to himself, he subconsciously knows.
Then he gets to Hell. He most likely only used to visit Hell during exterminations, which means his brain most likely strongly connects the place with that. Hence, being in Hell is a constant reminder for him. On top of that, he actually sees what life is like in Hell. That all those "bad bad sinners who can't change and tainted humanity" aren't all bad actually. And perhaps he doesn't care about them, but I don't think he could just ignore that. He has to live among them, he sees the way they live and he's forced to realize that they're still human souls and not pure evil and rotten. It will add to the guilt which he probably also doesn't admit that he feels, because he didn't do anything wrong, right..? Everything was reasonable... But then why does it feel so bad?
Okay this turned our very very long but it just hit me and I could still go on about it lol, I'll spare you from that
First of all, thank you anon for putting into words this thing that I'm not smart enough to do myself.
I really wouldn't dare to say that "canon" Adam is this deep and has oh such big trauma and is only misunderstood by everyone and bla bla, because if I'm honest, the way he's written in the show doesn't lead me to believe that Vivzie really cares about fleshing him out to be a super complex character. And hey, fair enough, I'm taking him from her anyway lol.
But if if we stopped for a second to think about it, Adam definitely has the potential to be a much deeper and complex character that would be able to touch upon themes like this. I desperately need to know when did everything go wrong, was it really Eden? Was it during his time on Earth? Was it after he died???
I honestly think it's kind of a mix of all of them, but the biggest shift was after he died. He was the first human soul in Heaven, hey, it's not so bad in here!! Maybe his suffering on Earth was worth it after all if he was able to spend the rest of Eternity in a place like this! Now he just needs to wait for his family to get there as well so it can all be complete!
Except they don't, not all of them in fact. A couple of his sons, maybe or maybe not his wife, but it's definitely not ALL of them, where is everybody!? He's pretty sure his grandchildren would start aging by now too, where did everybody go!?
Of course, that asshole has them. It wasn't enough for him to steal his first wife and lie to them so they'd get kicked out of Eden, he also took a bunch of his children, his grandchildren, his great grandchildren and so on and so on.
Look at everything they do on Earth, it's disgusting, and it's all that fucker's fault. None of this would've happened if it wasn't for him, if it wasn't for the other sinners who kept repeating the same mistakes over and over again.
And he starts the exterminations after centuries of wallowing in that hatred. But of course, they're only the result of years of watching how everyone just eventually leaves him. And he doesn't realize when that violence starts becoming just a way to cope with his intense hurt.
I feel like I went a little off track there, forgive me I am a little scatterbrained right now. But in any case, I absolutely concur with you!
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swift-creates · 1 month ago
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category: Gen
fandom: Batfamily x One Piece
characters and relationships: Damian Wayne al Ghul x Roronoa Zakiko (OC) - romantic
warnings: mind control, restraints, electrocution, swearing, accidentally hurting a loved one, the Joker
Summary:
@ailesswhumptober Day 18: Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”
Day 20 Alt 6: shock collar
Day 30 Alt 8: kidnapping
Zakiko and Damian are captured by the Joker, and he seems to be intent on bending them to his wishes.
notes: a bit of my Damiko collab fic with the lovely @ablatheringblatherskite, to whom Zakiko belongs. Zaki’s POV - Aster | Damian’s POV - Me
SORRY IF DAMIAN IS OOC I HAVEN’T WRITTEN HIM MUCH BEFORE
Damian groaned and blinked open his eyes. His head was pounding, though from a knockout blow or knockout gas he couldn’t quite remember. The very fact he couldn’t was worrisome. 
There was another groan to his side. Zakiko clenched her jaw in pain. Her head felt like it was ramming against the inside of her skull and she didn’t like it. What the hell…?
“Well, good morning, little ones. Have I got an exciting day planned for you,” a dreadfully familiar voice cackled, and Damian twisted in his restraints to see the Joker’s malicious grin directed towards him and Zakiko. 
Zakiko opened her eyes to see the clown leering at them, and she blinked several more times in slight confusion and annoyance. “A clown? Really?”
“Don’t underestimate him,” Damian told her under his breath, glaring at the villain. “He’s wreaked havoc on my family before.”
“Hmmph, is that so?” Zakiko narrowed her eyes at the clown, her wrists jerking against the restraints. She looked down at herself to see that she and Damian were trapped in strange chairs, their wrists restrained by metal clamps on the armrests. She jerked against them again, swearing as the metal dug into her skin. 
Damian narrowed his eyes at the Joker. “Just tell us what you intend and get it over with, clown.”
“Yeah,” Zakiko spat. She writhed a bit more against the clamps, straining against them and ignoring the way it dug into her wrists. “Or how about you let go of us instead?” 
She wasn’t going to waste time on this clown and immediately tried to use her Marionette-ism on him, willing his body to transform like countless people have before at the hands of her abilities. But nothing happened. Her eyes widened in confusion and horror and she tried again, but when nothing happened, she spun her head around to look at Damian in panic. “Damian—my powers. They aren’t working.”
“What?!” he hissed. “What do you mean, they aren’t working?? You’re not the kind to get some kind of maintenance error.”
“I know!” she hissed back, trying to activate her abilities again. But none of them were working. “And these aren’t made of Sea Stone…” She turned to glare at the Joker with wide, angry eyes. “What did you do!?”
He laughed at her, walking in a figure eight around his two captives. “No powers in Gotham! It wouldn’t be fair to those of us without, now, would it?” He waggled a finger at her reprimandingly.
She growled and tried to bite his finger, but he pulled it away and booped her on the nose before dancing out of reach.
“I come bearing gifts!” He reached into a box and took out two black collars, fastening one around Damian’s neck despite his struggles, then going over to Zakiko. “Now, now, no more of that, kiddo. Uncle Joker just wants to give you nice stuff!” 
“No, don’t you dare touch me! Leave him alone! You little—” The collar clicked around her neck, and he patted her on the head. 
“There we go. You two look so pretty in your matching trinkets. It must be twu wuv.” He cackled again, unlocking their restraints. 
The first thing Damian did was lunge for the neck. 
His fingers were almost brushing Joker’s skin when pain erupted across his body and he dropped to the ground, screaming. 
“Hey!” Zakiko tried to lunge at him as well, aiming a kick to the chest, only for her to collapse to the ground screaming and spasming as well.
Damian clawed his way towards her as the lightning faded, breathing hard. “Stay… away… from my girlfriend.”
The Joker gasped comically. “How chivalrous. But chivalry is dead. And if you don’t sit back down like good little blades, you know what else will be.” He danced around, waving the collars’ remote at them. 
Zakiko’s screams stopped as her spasming ceased. Her muscles, her skin, her bones—everything hurt. She looked towards Damian, scanning his body worriedly. “Are—are you okay?” 
“I’m… fine. He won’t be.” Damian glared up at the Joker, pushing himself to stand and return to his chair. 
Staggering to her feet, Zakiko glared at the Joker murderously. “What do you want with us, shithead?”
“Simply put, I want you two to break.” His eyes glinted sinisterly. “I’ve had my fun with two other Robins. This one will be a fun challenge.”
Damian scoffed. “Unlikely. My brothers’ training, while adequate, is nowhere close to mine.”
“And I’m not so easily broken either.” She smirked at him as she sat back down too, crossing her arms. “I’m a Roronoa. It’s gonna take a bit more than a few little zaps to make me crack.” Damian matched her smirk. Joker was going to get much more than he bargained for with Zakiko. 
“So maybe it'll be in your best interest to free us both before we both kill you horribly,” she finished with a grin.
“And slowly,” Damian added. “Very, very slowly.” The clown had brought enough dishonour to his family, and punishment was long overdue. 
The Joker smiled indulgently. “How sweet. Look at you two. United in murder. Awwww.”
Zakiko simply lifted her hand and made a very rude gesture. Damian had to resist the urge to let his own smile show on his face.
The Joker paced towards Zakiko, twirling the remote in his palm. “Don’t you wanna know what those pretty collars are for? Aside from decoration and those little zaps.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m guessing not fashion?”
“Clever girl. You see, I’m going to make you two my cute little puppets.” He grinned. “You simply won’t be able to escape each other, and both of you have such wonderful maiming ability!”
“Puppets?” Zakiko glanced at Damian, as if asking for help translating what he means. He shrugged back, but couldn’t help a cold feeling of dread at the words. Whatever Joker meant, it couldn’t be just dangling them from strings and waving them around.
She glanced at Joker again, raising an eyebrow. “Sorry, bud. The whole puppet schtick is already my thing, so…” She shrugged exaggeratedly with a mockingly apologetic expression.
His sinister smile deepened. “After today, it will be in more ways than one.” 
“Good luck with that.” Damian gave him a withering look. Puppeteering, turned against Zakiko? Unlikely.
She just crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. “What he said.”
“Why don’t we test that out?” Joker held up the remote. “Birdie, slap your girlfriend.”
Damian scowled, ready with a scathing retort, then everything went white. The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of Zakiko, a red mark visible on her cheek. 
What the fuck did I just do? He recoiled, a sick feeling roiling in his stomach. 
She was clutching her cheek, head turned to the side and eyes wide with confusion. “What the hell??” she cried, looking at him in alarm. 
“I- That wasn’t me. That wasn’t me!” But his hand was only just coming to rest, and he stumbled away from her. No. He isn’t like that anymore. He wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t. He didn’t. He did. 
The guilt and panic in his eyes was clear, and Zakiko felt her anger grow. She rounded on the Joker, eyes dark. “What did you do to him!?” Damian would never hurt her. He’d never lay a hand on her like that. Right?? No, of course he wouldn’t, the clown was trying to get into their heads. 
The Joker grinned wickedly. “I’m just showing him what he can do, sweetie. Didn’t birdie find that fun at all?” Damian swallowed and shook his head frantically. Zakiko clenched her fists.
“Leave him alone.”
“Hmmm.” He made a show of thinking about it. “No. Birdie, choke her.” 
Then Damian was on his feet, pinning her to the wall, one hand wrapped around her throat. 
Zakiko’s eyes widened in horror and panic, and she gasped for air that wasn’t there. She scrabbled at his hand desperately. “AGH—!”
Her feet kicked uselessly against him. He was stronger than her. She couldn’t deny that. They’d sparred enough, and more often than not she’d end up with her face flat against the mat. And without her powers, he had the clear upper hand. She clawed at his hands desperately, choking and gasping, and her eyes beginning to water. “DAMI—!” But he wouldn’t relent, his grip like iron around her neck. 
“Okay, that’s enough for now.” At the command, he let go of her. 
Damian blinked and Zakiko was bent over, gasping for breath. “Zi?” His voice had an uncharacteristic waver to it, and he backed away, his hands starting to shake too.
Her vision was slightly blurry as she clutched her neck, coughing and wheezing. She looked up at him wordlessly, trying to catch her breath as she blinked away the tears that had formed. She had never seen him so… afraid before, and it scared her.
Nononono- His back hit the opposite wall, and he stared at her. Joker can make me do anything. He can- He can make me kill her. The realisation felt like bile rising in the back of his throat. 
Zakiko quickly hurried after him, reaching for his hands. “No, Dami. It's not you. He's—he’s controlling you somehow! Don't let him get in your head!”
He pulled away quickly — too quickly. “Stop. Just- stay away. I don’t want to hurt you again.”
She stopped, eyes wide. No, no. She glared murderously at the Joker. “I’m gonna kill you.”
Then she grabbed Damian's hands forcefully, looking at him almost angrily. “Don't you dare pull away.” 
“Zi-” He stiffened. But she wouldn’t let go, and he found himself pulling her closer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 
She tightened her grip, almost glaring at him. “Damn it, Dami. Apology not accepted, you idiot.” 
“But-” He looked up at her with watery eyes.
“No,” she growled. “You're mine, okay? Whether you like it or not, you little shit.” She smirks a bit, though her voice wavers just slightly. “If you're gonna be anyone's puppet, you're gonna be mine. Not his.”
Hers. He liked that idea. Damian took a shaky breath. “It is… acceptable. But- how do you explain what I just did?”
“What else?” she turned to glare at the Joker as she said this, hands tightening around Damian’s protectively. 
“Yes, yes. I must take full credit for that wonderful display. Why not do it again?” Joker grinned. 
“Wait, no-” But it was too late. Everything went black again. 
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ca-suffit · 5 months ago
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The fact that nalyra tagged racism as a tw, swept any semblance of race related discussions under the rug, positioned themselves as a victim, and targeted other blogs as bullies for discussing race in any capacity, is VILE. I don't know if they are a person of color or white but it's what I've experienced personally in my life as a person of color MANY TIMES, as well as in fandom spaces. I am SHOCKED. The blatant disgust they have shown consistently in this fandom while hurling slurs, "subset" "loumanders" "bullies" is basic 101 racism and hate. I'm beginning to think most of this fandom are the same, and I wish viewers like nalyra wouldn't watch a show centered on race and then have the audacity and privilege to partake in active antiblack rhetoric with callout post for the fandom to blindly adhere to, and sell antiblack propoganda day by day.
What kind of fandom are we? Nalyra's actions remind me of the trial; anyone who tries to bring up topics of race are louis and claudia, nalyra and virginiaisforvampires and the side of the fandom that agrees with them are the advocat and the audience. It's the same situation, a stoning at us for daring to speak about complicated issues that nalyra deems beneath her. This fandom is a scary place. I'm thankful for your blog though, and for being courageous enough to keep it running.
(context post)
I'm beginning to think most of this fandom are the same
It is. I've seen this fandom since before the show and it was the same things. There's a lot bigger, better fandom now tho.....but not one that can exist in the tags still. The fact that this account is anon and most ppl who interact with it are also anon are proof of that. I put stuff in the tags to exist right alongside all this shit and keep ppl aware and let conversations be seen that would otherwise not be seen, but it's going up against a lot. It's not going to overturn fandom racism by any means, but it's at least providing a space where ppl can know they're not fucking crazy.
I have started to block some anons so that's been part of it but ppl have also gotten tired of trying to fight me after so many months. I came in prepared and knowing what they do and my inbox now has become more about letting ppl rly say things instead of threatening me. that's something I didn't think would happen bcuz....nobody's ever done this here before? but I'm happy it's been turning out this way. I wish this fandom were safe for ppl to interact with without being anon but...it's something for now. I'm glad ppl find some kind of comfort and voice in it.
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swan2swan · 10 months ago
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You are every bit as bad as the Comicsgaters who hate Moon Girl (and the rest of Marvel's stuff) because of """forced diversity.""" If you hate nearly all Jews, hate the symbols and, yes, colors associated with our community for millennia, that is not caused by Israel, it is caused by your moral defectiveness and bigotry.
Well, this is an interesting comment to wake up to.
Tell me something:
How often do you see the Prussian Cross in media?
We're not even jumping into the heavy-hitters right now. We're sticking with the particular variant of the Prussian Cross. Black cross. White outline.
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Outside of historical stuff and bikers...how often do you see this?
If the answer is "Barely anywhere at all, especially in Children's Media", you'd be correct. Because after the early 1900s, it kind of took on a MAJOR negative meaning.
Obviously, there's plenty of other cross variations to use, so this wasn't exactly a DEATH KNELL for Christian Imagery. Just because people don't want to be associated with the Kaiser's Germany or their biggest crowd that was super-popular in Europe during the 30s and 40s doesn't mean they can't use a DIFFERENT design of cross. But obviously, using that particular brand became something of a cultural taboo
And, again...this isn't even the heavy-hitters.
But now consider: if a bunch of constituents go to John Fetterman's house to protest his support for Israel's genocide, and his only response is to wave a huge Israeli flag...blue and white with the Star of David...what is the message he's sending there? What is the association going to become?
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Now, begin to multiply that. Not by hundreds of times directly, but by little moments. People with the Israeli flag on Twitter, putting up arguments about how all Palestinians are terrorists, and how DARE you not sympathize with Israel after the events of October 7th!
Actually, here, you know what? Let's just DEMONSTRATE.
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...oh, I was looking for less-silly examples, but sometimes, you get the PERFECT ONE that is making EXACTLY your point:
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Here it is. Right here. I dunno how serious the OP is, but yeah, people are actively turning the Star of David into an "I Stand With Israel" symbol, while Israel is committing ALL OF THE CRIMES, and digging a hole deeper and deeper. The longer this goes, the worse it gets, the more entangled they become...do you see why I'm upset now? Do you understand yet?
Especially because...you know who's really having a great time with this? The antisemites. They get to watch a military force do a genocide against those brown Arabs all the way over in a desert while everyone gets MAD, and all they have to do is keep encouraging the fight! Make that Star of David an EVIL symbol! In a few years, guess what you get to do? You get to start SHAMING people for wearing the Star! Heck, you can do that right now! But you don't have to, because plenty of other people are doing that for you.
So we return to my original point:
The fact that while watching a children's cartoon, for s *split second*, I saw something that I immediately associated as a red flag, because it was on my computer screen. And where do I generally see blue and white stars on my computer screen these days? News stories. Propaganda. The guys in your mentions who jump in to accuse you of antisemitism because you say something like "Genocide is bad".
Let's leave with this:
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sakurasfallingstar · 1 year ago
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ShiSaku Week: Day 7
Shisui is an idiot.
The biggest idiot I ever met.
Ever since Danzo had raged war against my shishō with root, nothing had been the same. My once peaceful home became a battle field. Children were constantly being left orphaned left and right from families crossfire, and parents would often be loosing their own children as well.
Bodies and kunai were often scattered left and right. Most of us had to stoop low and steal supplies from fallen comrades and enemies. We just had to survive.
My team are stationed I'm the front lines along with the majority of Konoha 11. We used to be 12, but we lost Neji a while back.
Turns out he'd do anything to ensure Hinata's survival.
Anyways, with so many people with kekkei genkai dying, Danzo would have his ninjas prioritize on steeling them. Be it from their their DNA to their eyes. The Uchiha's where especially targeted.
There was one time, Shisui held a dying 12 year old clan member in his arms. You could tell that the kid, was in pain from not just the fatal spinal wound, but from the fact that their eye sockets were empty. Shisui did his best to comfort and get information from the preteen.
'Who did this to you," he asked, gently.
" Danzo. Ambush. My team... dead," the child said.
That would be the last thing they ever said.
Shisui was never the same after that. He's always had a soft spot for kids, alway trying to lead fights away from civilian shelters or districts. When he worked with genius he'd often have them doing something away from the battle, like evacuation.
Now that a family member, who still had so much in life to experience, died in his arms: I could see that he activated his Mangekyō Sharingan.
I tried to reach out to him calm him down before he did something that would endanger not just himself but those who care for him. He ran off before I could do anything.
Now I'm here, running through the trees as fast as I could. I may not be the best sensor, but I am moderately good enough. It helps that I've worked closely with him, that I've grown familiar with his chakra.
It was easy to pinpoint at this point.
But by the time I had reached his location, his left eye had been bleeding, and was shut. Meanwhile, across the battle field was Danzo. Let's just say what lies under his bandages is no longer a secret.
Just as Danzo ran to deliver the finishing blow, likely wanting to get his hands on Shisui's right eye, I shunshined toward him. With my arms wrapping around his shoulders, I once more flicking away as far as I could. Once we were safe, I began the healing process of his eye.
"You do know what you just did was stupid, right," I informed him.
He said nothing in reply. I get he's probably feeling like shit right now, but he need to understand what his actions caused. What his actions cause me to feel in that time span.
"Shisui-,"
"I get it Sakura! I messed. I shouldn't have gone alone, but you don't get it. That was a family member, and tou saw what Danzo did with those eyes," he yelled, and honestly as much a I am sympathizing him, I am also slightly infuriated.
How dare he assume I don't know what it was like to loose someone I cared for deeply. Especially, since he knows what happened to my mother in the beginning of the war. Know how many patients I couldn't same after getting close to the.
My silence must of been enough for him to realize what he implied. I finished up healing the eye tissue, and covered it up as quickly as I could. I did not want to explode and say something that could ruin what ever our relationship is called.
"Sakura, I- I'm sorry I didn't mean for it to come out that way. I just," he said tailing off at the end, my was already to him at this point.
"Please, say something Sakura."
"You can be such a hero, you know that. You not only put yourself in danger, but you disregarded how it'd affect those around you.
How'd it affect me.
You could have died. You could have broken your promise you made me after my mom died. Do you know what that would have done to me," I informed him, finally turning back to look at him.
To hell with the fact that my eyes are tearing up. He needed to see what he caused me to feel.
Suddenly his arms where around me, in a tight hug. Wrapping my arms around his wait,I buried my face in the the crook of his neck.
"I am so sorry, Sakura. I promised I'd never leave you, and your right. I did almost break it, but it was thanks to you that I'm here. That danzo does not have my other eye,' he said, as he pulled away.
Hie gave me a smile, and placed two fingers against my forehead.
Maybe. Maybe I could not be angry with him right now. Perhaps, I should be happy that I can still hold him in my arms.
No matter how stupid he is, or how big of a jerk he is; he'll also be my stupid jerk that I love.
Plus, he'll be the one filling in Tsunade shishō on today's events. Not me.
@shisakuweek
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combatfaerie · 6 months ago
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Ficlet: Ring of Sadness
Story: Ring of Sadness Word count: 1,015 Relationship(s): Becky/Seth Warnings: Based off an excerpt from Becky's book. Most (but not necessarily all) dialogue is from the book; no copyright infringement is intended. Also available at: AO3 and Wattpad and dreamwidth Summary: Becky's unhappiness in her engagement is getting worse, so Seth tries to be a good friend.
"Look at it." Becky tried to shove her left hand in his face, but she was drunk enough that it wobbled. "Look. It's a teardrop. Who gets a teardrop for an engagement ring? It's not a ring of joy! It's... it's a ring of sadness."
Seth fought not to roll his eyes. WrestleMania after-parties were always hit or miss, because wrestlers who had been training hard for the biggest show on the calendar often decided to let loose a little too hard. Becky had only been in a battle royal, but it wasn't her poor showing that was bringing her to tears. "So why don't you stop wearing it?" he suggested simply. "You have an active job. You're working out all the time. It would make sense not to wear it. Just... put it on a necklace or something if he asks."
"But it's a ring of sadness," Becky insisted, leaning against his arm. "It's... like a punishment. Penance. It's the cone of shame for staying in a shitty relationship."
"It's also pear-shaped," Seth pointed out. It was something he had thought of when Becky first showed him the ring. Some of his subsequent thoughts were even less charitable: that the ring he had picked out for Leighla, ill-fated though it was, was much nicer; that if she didn't like the ring, she probably didn't like the giver much either; that the fact she was crying on his shoulder spoke volumes. "Isn't that slang for something going wrong?"
Becky glared at him and waved a warning finger that would have been significantly more threatening if she weren't swaying on her feet. "British slang. Though I guess we use it a little bit." Her pointing finger tried to meet her thumb in an approximation of a pinch, but she just missed. "And he wouldn't know that."
"No, he wouldn't." Seth bit his lip so he couldn't comment further. Like him or not—and Seth most definitely did not—Becky's fiance was a mixed martial artist, so he was no one to mess with.
"Maybe... maybe if I turn it the other way...." Leaning against Seth, Becky tugged off her engagement ring and put it on the other way, so the point of jewel was facing her and the wider bottom was at the top. "Now it's like a happy balloon, right? Fly, balloon!" She shook her hand a bit and seemed genuinely upset when the ring didn't take to the air.
"It's not a balloon," Seth said gently, easing the ring off her hand and putting it back on the proper way. Becky was as still as stone when he did it and he almost dared to hope that her drunkenness was starting to wane. "And it's not a teardrop or a pear. It's a stone, Becks. Just a stone. It means whatever you want it to mean."
"No, it doesn't." Becky's gaze darkened and she twisted the band until the stone was on the back of her finger. Now it was a sleek, simple band, nothing more. "It should mean that someone loves me and wants to spend the rest of their life with me and raise a family with me and it doesn't." She gave her empty glass to a passing server but mercifully didn't reach for a full one to replace it. "It just means he thinks he has to do something because we've been together long enough and—"
"Hey. Hey. No more of that." Seth glanced around. Maybe one more drink wouldn't be a bad idea. He wrapped an arm around Becky's shoulders and brought her close to his chest. "If that's how you feel, then you need to call it off. The sooner, the better. You deserve to be happy. You need to be happy. You're never going to get to where you want in the company if you're miserable outside of it," he pointed out. "Trust me. Once you've got a fresh mindset, it'll change everything."
Becky tilted her head back to look up at him. "I don't know...."
"Trust me," Seth repeated. "I mean, maybe he'll get better. For your sake, I hope so, but I doubt it. So that means you have to be better. You have to make the choice to leave and make things better, okay?"
Becky gave a small nod. "The next time we have a fight...."
Seth sighed. That could take weeks, months; fighting didn't seem to be Becky's main problem with her fiance. "Becks, sooner rather than later, okay? For yourself. You deserve it. You deserve better than feeling like this. Look at you. As a kid, you dreamed of WrestleMania, right? And look how many of your favourites are here," he continued, gesturing around at the star-studded crowd of wrestlers past and present. "And you haven't enjoyed a single second. You can't miss out on shit like this because you're feeling miserable. You deserve to be enjoying what you worked for."
"Yeah, I guess...."
Seth kept trying to convince her, but he wasn't sure she was paying attention. Eventually he gently herded her to her hotel room and helped her get in bed, but he hoped at least some of his advice would sink in. When she seemed to be at least half-asleep, he gently pulled off her ring and kissed her forehead. "One day," he whispered, "you and I will be happy."
Becky's eyes fluttered, but she only managed to open one to look up at him. "Together?"
Seth cleared his throat. That wasn't what he had meant at all, but he knew this wasn't the time to argue the point. "Well, I mean... at the same time...."
Her second wind seemed to fade away almost as quickly as it had flared to life. "You're the sweetest...," she murmured.
He held his breath and stayed quiet until he was sure Becky was truly sleeping. Then Seth set her ring on the dresser before sneaking out of her room. She would be sure to see it, but at least it wouldn't be the first thing she saw when she woke up.
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silver-horse · 1 year ago
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Wee,people are already making comparisons between Anders & Gale...which will probably lead to a butt load of Anders want from haters. Love that for us.🙄
Never been more glad for the block button as it's gonna be gettin' a workout as people are already saying "please don't let him be another Anders". Petty as it sounds, if he ends up worse then I might feel a little vindictive satisfaction if it's well executed.
I find the comparisons so funny because Gale and Anders are actually not at all similar characters. Other than magic + cats + bisexual. That's it. They are very surface level traits that could apply to many people from a fantasy setting. They are completely different in every other aspect, their background, their situation, their goals and so on.
Because of this, from what I've noticed, Anders fans don't overlap with Gale fans. (at least if we mean fan as "this is no.1 or no.2 fave from this game) So lots of Gale fans are certainly making the comparison in a derogatory way. "please don't be like Anders" because they hate Anders.
Anyway... Gale IS worse. He has been from the start. (I say this as someone who enjoys his story and character and I think he is only becoming more interesting.) But recently some Gale fans had surprising reactions... so many Gale romancers say larian is "changing the character". Mates, what game have you been playing? Gale has been a mysterious and dark character from the start. He makes a deal with the devil during early access etc. Insert this meme. lol
Anders is fighting for human rights. It's fine to dislike him, you don't like his methods or the ending or his romance path or his personality. Regardless, he is an extremely selfless character, a healer and also part of an oppressed group. He got really screwed up by life. He had little choice in everything that happened to him before. He was born into a bad situation. That is a fact, even if you think he is a cunt or made terrible decisions when he finally had a choice.
Gale is a wizard prodigy who mingled with the highest elite in a world where his magic is only a positive. His goals have been self-serving (regardless of which backstory we believe). His own choices led to his own bad situation. However he is now, in the present, a nice guy who wants to atone and wants to help people. I suspect that because of this, Gale will always be viewed in a better light and this is why his fans are surprised by the bad things he might have done. You know the rule "show! don't tell!" people's impressions are always more affected by what's happening on screen. Rather than whatever they tell you and what the story alludes to in banter or camp convos.
Also I suspect that in BG3 we will get multiple endings for each companion. And not just "side with him or against him". I think whatever the nicer ending is, that will determine how Gale is viewed. Because it could turn out shit for any of the characters. It's the same in Dragon Age, nobody judges characters based on events that only happen when their approval is low or we actively pushed them towards that ending.
Plus BG3 is a much less political story compared to Dragon Age. I think (hopefully) the drama and arguments shouldn't get that bad. Or at least the drama will be around the usual stupid 10 year olds arguing "how dare you ship them with x when I ship them with y?" That is already happening...
So lol... the extreme hate against Anders is not going anywhere. They probably won't have some sort of realisation that they also like a complicated wizard.
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twinkuraba · 1 year ago
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Thinking about the 'friends' I had in primary school; who complimented how lucky I was to have "early beauty" because I started puberty before a majority of our year.
Who peer pressured me using the fact we were 'friends' and 'everyone here is girls so it's okay and not a big deal' to strip for them so they could see the changes, despite me being clearly uncomfortable with the idea and actively saying I didn't want to.
Who, as soon as it became clear that I had no interest in performing the femininity expected of me, had no interest in womanhood or sisterhood and was in fact uncomfortable with it, immediately turned that against me and used it as a base to try and dare me to do feminine things to make me uncomfortable and embarrass myself for their amusement.
And when that didn't work, the 'sisterhood' left me behind to flounder on my own for as long as I refused to appropriately 'appreciate' my "womanliness".
(Now I don't think they were being consciously or even deliberately malicious, it's just societal that any 'woman' who steps out of bounds must be pushed back into place through whatever means)
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reginrokkr · 2 months ago
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✧ @guhamun asked: “If I can be by your side, I will endure any hardship.” ( percival )
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Flirting with the source of death cannot bring anything good. Long has it been since Dáinsleif had come with this realization: all the way back since the renowned alchemist Gold created rifthounds and they were used by the beastmasters to fight against the dangers of the Abyss to more recent times when the energy utilized from within the Ley Lines was switched for that of the void. This caused that the first line of defense of Khaenri'ah against the dark forces, the field tillers, went haywire when the abyssal presence grew stronger for reasons yet to be investigated and, rather than fighting the monsters of the abyss that dared to trespass the borders, they allowed them pass and began to attack Black Serpent Knights.
A kingdom like Khaenri'ah that borders the limits of the abyss and human activity should be prepared for any inconvenience that these lairs may pose for their survival, this fact stands true even now. Nevertheless, the unpredictable nature of the Abyss begets situations of emergency that require drastic decisions. With two foes of different natures but of equal lethality if ill-prepared, this urgency is higher than any others, for no one anticipated that it would take an extra protection for the Black Serpent Knights in order to defend the kingdom. But now... they're driven against the wall. Going back to retrieve the necessary protection against any abyssal effects that all of them may have if infected with it through battle wounds is a luxury they cannot afford. One wrong move suffices to let all these automatons and fiends of the Abyss to enter the cities and wreck havoc everything they have built for the past millennia. That's why...
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◜Everyone.◞ All the Black Serpent Knights straighten themselves with an intoned yes, sir to make known that they have heard him as he turns on his heels to face them. ◜These circumstances are of exceptional gravity and we lack the proper means to defend our people as we usually would. For that reason...◞ Sapphire irises narrow, a sense of guilt pangs in his chest. But there is no other choice, no matter if he knows they won't like this. Thus does Dáinsleif steel himself back to his stoic self before waving his arm to retreat. ◜All of you, fall back! Now!◞ Shock is evident in everyone's startles voices at the order, causing some of them to look among themselves in confusion. One of them steps forward to voice the doubt that many of them have: ◜But sir! If we do that—◞ ◜It's an order.◞ Though turning his back to them would suppose the end of the conversation, Dáinsleif doesn't have the heart to send them off to retreat without some last words. ◜Who else will protect our people if you exhaust your lives in the face of unprecedented danger?◞ His sword materializes in his right hand, thus he waves it once more to insist, his voice much sterner and firmer. ◜Retreat, now! Defend the citizens from the automatons, I will take care of the rest.◞ And even softer still, almost like a prayer for reunion once everything is over. ◜May glory be with us.◞
When Twilight Sword is ready for battle, any army that may come his way would only be marching to their doom.
His men know this more than anyone, and so they retreat slowly one by one, throwing concerned gazes to their captain, some of them performing the Black Serpent Knight salute as a form of prayer of their own to see him again before doing as they were ordered. The reason why no one dares to question that he'd be as endangered as the rest should he be infected with the abyssal might by battle wounds is because it's common knowledge among them that Dáinsleif's manner of holiness, much like the other side of the coin to his brother's, is against the Abyss. Sensing that they have left, the lunarescent knight closes his eyes once more and breathes deeply a quivering exhale to steel his own nerves.
◜If I can be by your side, I will endure any hardship.◞ Dáinsleif's azure eyes snap open in shock, the magnitude of his surprise sufficiently big to permeate on his features as he turns to see Percival standing by his side. ◜This insubordination will cost you more than disciplinary punishment. You know that, right?◞ But he already knows the answer. Time and time again, Twilight Sword never tired of reminding his men the dangers of the Abyss. If any of them is severely wounded or spend a prolonged amount of time within it, it could be mortal to them and potentially dangerous to their loved ones if not treated in time which— is difficult to do. He will endure any hardship. Those words reverberate within Dáinsleif's mind, a certainty that he's here on his own volition and taking responsibility of what may happen to him regardless of the warnings. Bough Keeper's features soften minutely as his gaze turns away from Percival, silent. ◜Very well, then. So be it.◞ Until his free hand extends towards him to imbue him in protective, sapphire flames. They may not be as effective as they are innately on himself, but hopefully they will be sufficient to keep him alive, should anything happen.
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Steps rushing towards them drum against the earth, causing Dáinsleif to turn on his heels, celestial eyes widened in shock as plenty of his men come to a halt and salute him. ◜We won't abandon you, sir!◞ ◜We joined your ranks knowing what could happen to us. So please... captain!◞ Star-shaped pupils quiver within their sapphire orbits, moved by his men's resolve to stay despite knowing fully well what being ill-prepared against the Abyss like this can lead them to. And, to Percival's credit despite the act of insubordination, Dáinsleif cannot ignore that this same deed must've served as an inspiration to the rest. Even if, in essence, it became a collective insubordination and disregard for their safety.
When Twilight Sword is ready for battle, any army that may come his way would only be marching to their doom.
But one individual can go as far on its own. The greater the number, the greater the lengths they can reach.
Gloved fingers tense to create a bigger flame on Percival, eyes of the same color fall upon him. ◜Stay back with them.◞ It is no longer an order, but a plea, a favor asked from one man to another. This would cause the flame coating Percival to shrink in size as it's distributed to the rest of the soldiers that stayed, a protective layer to at least preserve their lives and not receive any critical damage or symptoms related to the abyss. Thus spectral, sapphire swords materialize around Dáinsleif as both fiends and automatons come their way and ultimately turns to face them. His head turns to the rest one last time to give them a nod of approval, causing an uproar of excited cheers for managing to stay despite his initial orders. And then, sapphire eyes meet Percival's one last time before looking forward to ready himself for battle.
Thank you.
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jodilinbio · 2 months ago
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What I hated most about Valleyhead was its overly structured and hectic routine and the fact that you had no space or privacy. It was worse than camp! They ran us ragged from 7:00 AM till 10:00 PM with school, group discussions, and outdoor activities. I didn’t mind going on walks, but the sports were a total bore. I only liked gymnastics and skating, and believe me, they didn’t have that at Valleyhead! We did do a little cross-country skiing, though, and this was kind of fun.
Everything was very controlled and formal. We couldn’t just go into the dining room, eat our meals, and then get up and go when we were done. Instead, we had to wait outside the dining room—often for up to fifteen minutes at a time—before we could sit down. Then we’d have to wait for a while for the food to be served. Then, after eating, we’d have to sit there some more for what felt like an eternity before we could be excused.
Besides Donna, her sister Margaret and a staffer named Barbara were definitely the worst when it came to meanness and playing favorites.
During my time at Valleyhead, I went from bone-thin to rather overweight due to the meds they were giving me. These drugs also caused me to stop having periods for a few years. Donovan would often fat-shame me (even though I was barely 20 pounds overweight), saying I had “enough fat to keep me warm throughout the winters.” Of course, if I’d dared to remind her that she wasn’t exactly a supermodel herself, I’d have gotten written up for it. Before I gained the weight, it was Mosca who did the picking on me.
Donna wasn’t a problem for me until April of 1983 when I jumped out the window of the room I was in at the time down in “the wing,” as it was called. At that point, I had just one other roommate but she wasn’t in the room at the time.
I had been on restriction, though I can only guess why—maybe for mouthing off to someone or for having something I wasn’t supposed to have.
There was a deaf girl named Brenda who snitched on me after my mother smuggled in all kinds of goodies for me one day (my mother was always generous when it came to material things). I think it was mostly money this time around—something like $10. That was a lot in those days. On weekends, if you weren’t on restriction, you could walk up to the local convenience store for candy and cigarettes. I was walking back with Brenda one day, and she noticed I had a lot of stuff. She promised not to tell, but soon after, Donna raided my room and confiscated my precious goodies.
This might have been why I was on restriction at the time. I was only on it once or twice. But this time, I wasn’t just on restriction—I was also on suicide watch. When you’re on suicide watch, you’re not supposed to be allowed to go anywhere alone. I guess Debbie, my therapist, let it slip her mind because she let me walk back to my room alone one day after our session. Given that it was the staff against the students, I doubt she was reprimanded in any way for this oversight.
I walked back to my room in a sort of trance after leaving Debbie and another one of our deep and dark discussions. Once there, I walked up to the window and looked down below. Students were passing by on their way to lunch. A sense of panic suddenly overwhelmed me. I felt so trapped and alone, so utterly depressed and helpless. I sat down and began to listen to music, but it didn’t soothe my nerves. I turned the music off, knowing I was about to do something stupid, though it felt as if I were powerless to stop myself. It didn’t matter, though—there was no one to cry out to for help who would care and not punish me for reaching out. I was just another face in a sea of unwanted outcasts.
I hopped up onto the dresser in front of the window, threw the window open, and yanked the screen out. The girls were now inside the dining room as I sat crouched on the windowsill at the empty ground below. All I saw was an overhang about six feet below me and the dirt ground with a little bit of gravel about ten feet below that.
I tumbled forward, bounced off the overhang, and hit the ground with a tremendous thud. Although the fall lasted only seconds, it felt like I was in the air for minutes. I had just enough time to realize that what was done was done—there was no turning back. It was too late. Maybe I’d be dead, maybe paralyzed, or maybe I’d just break a leg. I wasn’t really thinking about the possible consequences—I just wanted out!
When I hit the ground, it felt like I had slammed into it at 80 MPH. The wind was knocked out of me for several seconds, and I was unable to breathe. I knew right away that my upper right arm was broken. One look at the thing, coupled with the pain, told me that much. I had landed on my side, causing my arm to buckle under the weight of my body. My beaded necklace fell off and landed a few feet in front of me. One of my brown loafers fell off, too.
Reflexively, I screamed as soon as I could breathe again. Up above, the pale yellow curtain hung outside the window, slowly blowing in the breeze.
Donovan came running around the corner, then quickly backtracked into the building to fetch the nurse when she saw me. She must’ve been incredibly shocked to see me lying there because, a few months earlier, she had caught me about to jump out of a different window.
“If you really wanted to go, you’d have gone,” she had told me.
Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t go from that other window, which was a straight drop to the ground. It was probably bouncing off the overhang that saved me from worse injury by breaking my fall and slowing it down a bit. This was room number thirteen, by the way, that I jumped out of.
When the nurse came running out, she ordered me to stay still and asked me what my name was, who the president was, and things like that. When the paramedics arrived, they strapped me to a board in a way that prevented me from moving my head. My broken arm was draped over my stomach, which I had to hold with my other hand to keep it from sliding off.
As soon as I got to the hospital, X-rays were taken. I had broken my humerus right in half.
I was put in a room with one other person, but I don’t remember how many days I stayed there—only a few, I think.
The day after I was admitted, they operated on my arm by scrunching the bones back together using a fluoroscope. Then they put a cast on and secured it to my body so I couldn’t move it from the shoulder, and believe me, I couldn’t move it if I wanted to! All I could move were my wrist, hand, and fingers.
My parents came to visit me, but they only made me feel worse. My father was okay, actually. The problem was my mother, as usual, saying things meant to be sarcastic like, “Do it again. Maybe next time you’ll succeed.”
Definitely not the right thing to say! I didn’t expect a pat on the back for what I’d done, but that was a rather cold and insensitive comment. I tried to explain to her that I didn’t do it to kill myself or with any set outcome in mind.
“No, you just wanted attention,” she accused.
“Pretty risky way to get attention, don’t you think?” I asked her, especially since the jagged ends of the broken bones could’ve easily punctured my aorta.
The truth was that I did it because I suddenly felt overwhelmed with feelings of being trapped with nothing but a bunch of control freaks who couldn’t care less about me. I panicked, not thinking about the consequences. I simply did what I did. Period.
But no one was willing to hear what they didn’t want to hear or believe. It wasn’t just stupidity I was dealing with from my mother and most of Valleyhead’s staff—it was sheer ignorance and stubbornness. Most of the staff and students handled the situation very poorly. Some of them smothered me when I returned while others turned against me as if it was somehow personal or I’d harmed others. They wouldn’t even let any of the other students visit me in the hospital during a time when my need for support was so great because I had “done it to myself.” Instead of helping to build up my will to live, they only tore it down further, making me rather sorry I didn’t succeed. But I wasn’t about to take my mother’s lovely advice and try again, risking an even worse outcome.
So there I was, returning to Valleyhead more depressed than I could ever imagine, shunned by those who were supposed to care about me and placed under very strict and supervised restriction. I couldn’t even sleep upstairs in my room or be alone for a second. I had to sleep downstairs and be accompanied by a staff member wherever I went. Donna took it upon herself to extend my restriction because of a lighter she found on me—one my mom had slipped in with my belongings at the hospital, unbeknownst to me. It felt like a kick when I was already down.
It hurt me deeply that my mother would even think of sending me back to a place that made me feel so miserable after what I’d done.
I could only bathe my lower body. My hair had to be washed in the sink, and of course, someone had to do it for me.
I was required to do my schoolwork with my left hand.
I could tell when the bones in my arm had fused together because I could then wiggle my arm by the shoulder inside the cast. The first time the doctor changed the cast, it was still broken. He rested my elbow on my knee, and after I commented that I couldn’t move it, he wiggled the bones, showing me that it was still broken.
The second time, he was surprised that it was finally healing. He had thought he might have to go inside and pin the bones together. When the cast came off some two or three months later, my arm was weak but quickly grew stronger. At first, I couldn’t even raise my hand to eye level.
Once my arm healed, I realized I had no choice but to be their little puppet and do what they wanted if I was to make my time there more bearable and leave with some sanity left. Besides, I was nearing adulthood and thought I would have the freedom to do what I wanted with my life once out of there.
I worked my way up to the highest level, and during my last summer there, I had a vocational training job with about a dozen other students at a local High School, earning about $55 a week. That money was kept in our accounts and not given to us directly. It was only given for buying things like clothes, and I’m sure the owners pocketed whatever was left over. The courses included computers, horticulture, landscaping, and similar subjects. Except for the computer classes, it was pretty boring.
Before the vocational training program, I was set up to teach a small sign language class in the main house of the school.
During my last summer, around the time I worked at the high school, I was moved from the main house to the small house next to it. I liked it better there because there were fewer people. On my side of the house, there were only a few rooms. I could smoke anytime I wanted and often had a room to myself.
Besides the three rooms, there was a kitchen and a deck in back.
I’m not sure if it was before or after I left the main house, but a young woman named Mary who I later learned was a lesbian started working there. She was with another woman who worked there and became the first person I developed a major crush on.
With Debbie married and gone, Lisa, another lesbian (there seemed to be several there), became my new therapist.
Lisa and the math teacher, Michelle, were the only two people in the whole place who seemed to care about me. Mary was nice during the time I was there, but I was led on by her afterward. I’ll get to that part later.
Lisa cried a bit when I left. After I left, I traveled by bus to visit Michelle a few times. She took in Denise after graduation, and I later learned that she would have taken me in as well had I needed a place to go. Michelle quit to work at another school not long after I left because she was fed up with the way the kids at Valleyhead were treated.
I also visited Denise after she moved into a rooming house and tried to persuade her to come to Springfield with me and be my roommate, but she wasn’t interested.
Although I graduated in June, I didn’t leave Valleyhead until August. I’m not sure why this was—perhaps because of the vocational training program that summer.
I regret how I handled my so-called graduation award. After performing a song I wrote with my guitar for accompaniment, I received a music book as a graduation present from the owners. While that was sweet, the “best behavior improvement” award felt degrading. I almost regretted not tearing it up right there at the podium.
I felt completely cheated by my graduation experience. Like most kids, I had envisioned a traditional ceremony with a cap and gown, but I didn’t get to have that. Not attending a real prom wasn’t a loss to me, though. We were occasionally taken to all-boys schools for dances, which were boring as hell. It seemed like such a waste of time, especially since, even if I had wanted a boyfriend, I wouldn’t have been able to get very far with anyone.
Towards the end of my time at Valleyhead, my mother dealt me yet another nasty blow by suddenly informing me that I wasn’t welcome back in her house. This was when I first started to really show signs of having a sixth sense.
One night, as I lay in bed, I was overwhelmed with a sudden feeling that I wouldn’t be going home in August as planned. Unable to sleep, I went downstairs and found Mary trying to get the troublemakers to bed. Once she did, I expressed my concerns to her.
“It’s the first I’ve heard about it,” she told me. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. It’s kind of like having a plane ticket in your hand but not being able to get on the plane just yet. It’s just normal anxieties you have, that’s all.”
But it wasn’t, as it turned out. My mother simply didn’t want me back. So, I was resigned to living at Valleyhead for an indefinite period because I didn’t yet know that Michelle would have taken me in. However, just before my graduation, during a visit home, my mother woke me up at 2:00 in the morning to tell me she had had a change of heart and I was free to come home.
How kind of her, right? And I didn’t even receive a single apology for all the stress and depression she put me through before deciding I was worthy of returning to her house. Instead, I was handed a list of dos and don’ts.
A few years later, my mother admitted that sending me to Brattleboro was a mistake, but she never acknowledged that Valleyhead was an even bigger mistake. I honestly don’t think they were aware that I was brought to Northampton State Hospital and were likely horrified when they learned of it.
So, home I went, though things would be different this time around.
Two years later, a student set Valleyhead on fire. The students, who were housed in a church until the school could be rebuilt, were no longer accepted if they had previously played with fire or attempted suicide.
In the early 2000s, the FBI shut down Valleyhead for good.
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kksingh11 · 2 years ago
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Can Russia save the world from N Disaster?
Pentagon is encouraging all out acts against Moscow to teach the latter a lesson, as to how dare it stopped its Eastern movement, which includes Ukraine, Moldova, Georgia, and many other ex-USSR nations. The aim is strategic defeat of Russian Federation (RF) and here the RF is fighting US imperialism, its military wing NATO (Yes, NATO is subservient to Pentagon), EU and other allies, which are 50!
Incidentally, RF possess maximum Nuclear War Heads of ex-USSR and is sufficient to annihilate US, EU, NATO and other allies. It is not that the RF will remain intact after the N war starts, but will be equally destroyed. No one wins this war.
The terrorist acts by the Ukraine regime inside RF, US plus NATO military activities close to RF borders & inside Ukraine are increasing. The supply of middle to long range weapons to AFU (Armed Forces of Ukraine) is increasing. They include artilleries, UAVs (Unmanned Aerial Vehicles) or drones, fighter aircraft and ships (soon will be supplies in bulk), AD systems, Electronic measures and counter measures (ECMs), real time information (Through satellites of US and allies), guidance, etc. In fact, the war against Russia is not being fought by Ukraine but by Pentagon, which has learnt to minimize its own casualties in many past wars, where it was directly involved, latest being Afghanistan. Ukraine is no more a sovereign country or state.
By the way, US had "invested" 3 Trillions of USD in Ukraine in 2014 to destabilize an elected government (Known as Maidan or Color revolution) and install its own puppet government. Since then, almost 8 years, it used Ukrainian land to establish chemical, biological and virus laboratories, uranium enrichment factories and many other such industries which gave it high returns on its initial investments. The rich land for wheat and other agricultural and industrial products were no longer for Ukraine but the "suppliers" of weapons to one of the most corrupt regime, in Kiev, in the world.
The border with Russia, along East, NE and SE were converted into highly fortified war zones, and supply of weapons knew no bounds. Who were paying for this? The working people of Ukraine, which turned into either poor wage slaves, paupers, neo-Nazis and a big percentage of women turned towards prostitutes not only in Ukraine but were supplied globally.
Escalation of war is on. One need not forecast. Nuclear was is still not inevitable, but we are inching towards its, after more than a year of devastating war. The hunger for more and more world market, profit, plunder and hegemony is leading globe to not merely to climate emergency, human disaster (in form of mass hunger and disease and refugees) but to nuclear holocaust. Russia, itself a capitalist country, must think hard & take proactive action, including the worst, to save its own as well as globe's disaster! The final safety of the world is only socialism, replacement of private property (means of production and subsistence) with social wealth.
Do read this article: "Russia reacts to German stance on Putin arrest warrant"; https://www.rt.com/russia/573232-russia-germany-putin-arrest-warrant/ to have an insight into the hypocrisy of the capitalist imperialist world.
This above act is an illegal and highly provocative one by ICC (International Criminal Court) of which neither Russia not China, India, US are members and not liable to even respond to its notice. If you wonder that how ICC dared to issue such a warrant, which does not even have any means or wherewithal to ensure its implementation, be sure you are a child as far as geopolitics or imperialism is concerned! Need to learn more, as such political knowledge is essential in your own country.
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pridepages · 2 years ago
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Why We Tell the Story: Last Call
I just finished Last Call: A True Story of Love, Lust, and Murder in Queer New York by Elon Green. I have thoughts...
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Here there be spoilers!
There’s something about a true crime story that raises a sickening fascination in us. Ever since divisive queer icon Truman Capote turned a home invasion into a lurid carnival with his ‘non-fiction novel’ In Cold Blood, thirsty audiences have shaped a controversial genre. When I say ‘true crime,’ you probably have some knee-jerk expectations: sympathetic victims, a lurid (likely gory) act, a high-stakes manhunt fraught with tension, twists, and turns, and at the heart is a criminal who is somehow both larger than life and chillingly unremarkable.
That last element is particularly volatile. As film after book after special is released about these mediocre (usually white) men whose greatest...yikes, dare I say ‘achievement’ (?) in life is stealing other people’s, I’m inclined to agree with the increased outcry from the victims’ families: ENOUGH! Why should a killer’s name be made immortal when the whole point should be to honor, comfort, and bring justice to the victims?
From this standpoint, it may be seen as vindication that the so-called Last Call Killer has faded from memory. Most people are unaware that, in the early 1990s, a serial killer targeting queer men picked up and killed at least four men in New York City, most from the upscale gay piano bars known as The Townhouse and The Five Oaks. The case did end up being solved a decade later. The perpetrator has been convicted and will assuredly die in prison. All this was laid to rest over a decade ago. So why should it be disturbed now?
Enter journalist Elon Green: “I found the story in the October 1994 issue of The Advocate. The case had been cold for a year and the story was asking, Why hasn’t it been solved? And my question was, What is this case, and why haven’t I heard about it? And that’s what sent me down the path--wanting to know more about the victims.”
So began a journey that led Green to craft a narrative around a time and place rather than an atrocity. As Green delved deeper into the events surrounding the case, he “wondered if, in fact, this was my story to tell. Could I do right by the queer community and its history? That’s not for me to say. What I tried to do in this book was let my sources tell me the story.”
Readers coming in expecting a lurid deep-dive into the mind and journey of a killer will leave underwhelmed and disappointed. This is not that story. Last Call is a story about a people, a place, and a period. The people: queer men, their families and friends, law enforcement, activists, and bar regulars. The place: the queer subculture spaces in New York and the surrounding areas. The time: the late ‘70s to early ‘90s, in the height of the AIDS crisis. This portrait is designed to capture not what but WHY. 
So why don’t people know the Last Call Killer among other infamous monikers? Here’s some of Green’s suggestions as to why:
1. To be gay was to be criminal. ‘Morality’ laws meant it was ok to prosecute consensual homosexual activity. Entrapment (cops posing to solicit gay sex) was common. Any subsequent arrest or conviction was an outing, worse--it could end a future (ask anyone whose been convicted of a crime what it means for your future prospects).
2. The AIDS epidemic increased both hate crimes against gay people and a mistrust of law enforcement. Naturally, panic increases backlash on the scapegoats. But what needs to be understood is that at the time it was accepted that “gay men and lesbians have been killed for a long time, and it is just a low priority with the police.”
3. “A commonplace and, quite frankly, sensible fear of being outed made such cases difficult to prosecute and the defenses difficult to pierce.” I can tell you from experience how frustrating it was as a prosecutor to see a key victim witness back out because going forward could cost them too much, but knowing as a legal expert that meant I didn’t have enough evidence to convict a perpetrator. Sometimes, the bad guy gets away because seeking systemic justice just hurts the victim more.
4. The Gay Panic Defense. This is a piece of history makes me want to scream every time I see the meme. Not to be the old jerk yelling at the kids to get off my lawn, but it’s sickening that people have forgotten the real meaning. Gay Panic does not mean being gay and awkward because you have a crush. Gay Panic Defense is a real legal strategy that is being used in courts “against charges of murder and assault that enable perpetrators of anti-queer murders to receive diminished sentences or even avoid punishment entirely by, in effect, blaming the victim.” Here’s how it works: someone can kill you if they know you’re gay by saying that either you ‘came on’ to them which causes them to believe they are in danger, or JUST KNOWING YOU ARE GAY caused them to suffer some kind of mental breakdown. For some perspective: the Gay Panic Defense is legal on the books in several American states in 2023.
Swirl these reasons together, and you get the cocktail for why the Last Call Killer happened: homophobia. Maybe it was internalized, although it’s aggravating to speculate that queer people are to blame for their own distortions. It flirts too closely to homosexuality’s old classifications as mental illness or disorder for comfort. But, most importantly, it was the homophobia of larger society that treated these victims as less important that caused this case to fall away. After all, when bad things happened to gay people, as the dirty, undesirable secret subcommunity, the “response tended to be, What did you do to deserve this?”
Seeing all of this, Green did not set out to document the killings. Unlike so many True Crime stories, there is no imagined ‘reconstruction’ of the events of each slaying. Instead, Green chose to capture “the lives of the victims. I became obsessed with the lives they wanted but couldn’t have.” Capturing the secrecy, the suspicion, the self-medication, and the susceptibility surrounding the victims, Green honors “a generation of men, more or less, for whom it was difficult to be visibly gay. To be visibly whole.”
In the end, the star of the book is not the Last Call Killer. The focus is placed where it belongs: on Peter Anderson, Thomas Mulcahy, Anthony Edward Marrero, Michael Sakara, and all the community around them. As one loved one eulogized: “it is ironic that someone filled with so much love was taken from us in a crime by someone filled with so much hate.”
That’s why we tell the story. Not because we want to glorify the wicked, but because we want to whisper to the innocent, no matter where they are now: we see you. You are not forgotten. You are whole, and worthy of love, exactly as you are.
For the curious, the Townhouse bar remains open to this day: “a bar birthed during one pandemic might just survive another.” It has seen the fall of secrecy, and now proudly advertises itself as an ‘elegant gay men’s club.’ I hope someday to make a pilgrimage to New York and to include it on my itinerary of landmark sites. Not for a lurid thrill, but rather for a sense of pride: to honor the people who lived, loved, and drank here.
From one queer to others, across the distance of space and time, I raise my glass in your honor and in your memory.
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desireandduty · 2 years ago
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Her eyes narrowed, and the corners of her mouth turned down as her jaw set in rigid, angry lines. She could feel the anger building inside of her. All the frustration, fear and grief of the last twenty three years was bubbling up inside her like magma in a cinder cone. Was he actually insinuating that she had done something wrong, when for the last half of his life, he'd been making one terrible choice after another?
When he stood up, she did as well. There was no way she was going to let him tower over her and snap at her. The fact that he had to lean against the counter gave her some small, mean measure of satisfaction. "Don't you dare put any of the blame on me! I had to make the best of the bad choices in front of me to keep all three of us safe from Palpatine. Surely you remember why I had nothing but terrible choices in front of me, Anakin? I begged you. I begged you to turn back, to come with me, and you chose that wretch over me. Over our family. We could have been together all these years."
She was absolutely fuming now, as everything she'd wanted to yell at him for decades was finally allowed to come tumbling out. "I cried so many tears over you. So many sleepless nights. And yet while I've been fighting for the last 23 years to make a world safe for our children to exist in, safe from your Inquisitors, it turns out that you've been actively working against me this whole time." She shrugged off the question about Obi-Wan. "He told me that Darth Vader killed you. Perhaps he thought the lie was kinder than the truth." Honestly, at this point, she was undecided on which would have been worse: to have spent all this time mourning Anakin or to have known the whole time what he'd become.
His eyes locked on hers, and he may not have the best eyesight, even with these stupid glasses, that made him look old, so he took them off. Okay, now he couldn't see much at all, so he had to put them back on. His irritation was getting the best of him, at the moment, but still. How? It wasn't that he had ever gotten over her, but how had she been alive and he never felt it?
The one thing he had known was she was not dead, when she dropped to the ground. "Don't call him that! He's not your Master. He was never your Master. So, let me get this straight. You had a part in deciding to split them up, to send Leia to Alderaan and send Luke to Tatooine a place, that you knew was horrible and is a horrible way to grow up?"
He stood up again and he was winded, so he had to lean against the counter, but he'd be as annoyed as he wanted to. He was going to talk to Obi-Wan about this one. "Obi-Wan said what, exactly? I'll have a talk with Obi-Wan, if he was a moron."
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