#anyways all this to say the tags aren’t part of the theory they’re just what I’d do to him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[silverhalla]

alright single digit days so it’s time for last-minute baseless + unfounded veilguard theories!!!!!!! I’ll go first: the reason spite can’t take over lucanis’ body is because that body is ALREADY being possessed by lucanis, who was in fact dead and buried in the wake and rebound to a new form in the ossuary

[sixhours]

Firsts - Colic

Rating: Everyone Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel and Ellie, Ellie Williams, Joel Miller x f!OFC, soft!Joel, no really super soft!Joel, Joel is a sap, mostly follows canon, fluff, fluffy baby stuff, no really this is sickeningly sweet, tooth-rotting, don't forget to brush your teeth Word count: 1.8k

Notes: I promise it's just fluff this time. Sickly sweet with a dash of humor, nary an angsty cloud in sight. Joel thinks of Sarah but it's not sad.

You can also read Firsts on AO3.

Six weeks.

Joel holds Anna on his right shoulder and walks her up and down the hall, patting and shushing and soothing, knowing it does absolutely no good. His socks are threadbare from all the pacing, and he could swear there’s a fresh trench in the wood floors where they take turns walking her back and forth, back and forth.

He’s never been more grateful to be almost deaf in one ear; at least the ringing dulls the constant wail.

No one sleeps. Even Ellie has taken to wearing earplugs to bed because she can hear the kid crying from her room in the garage.

The midwife–doubling as the town’s resident pediatrician–was as helpful as the goddamned pacifier that Anna refuses to take. The baby is gaining weight, eating well, outgrowing her newborn clothes. She’s alert and healthy and this awful phase is just that–a phase, and a perfectly normal part of her development.

So says the woman who doesn’t have to listen to her every night.

“Just don’t shake her,” the midwife says dismissively, handing the baby back to Joel after her third evaluation that week. “She’s fine.”

Joel thinks if he were going to shake anyone, it would definitely not be the baby.

During the day, Anna is a tiny joy, all gummy smiles and coos. Little fingers scratch at his beard and pull his hair and he nuzzles her round little belly with his big nose and his heart is so full it hurts.

But five o’clock rolls around and their sweet little angel morphs into an angry demon who sleeps in half-hour fits between feeding and screaming. She won’t take a bottle or the breast, she’s dry, she’s not gassy, and short of being pinched by invisible ghosts–a theory he and Charlie debated at length during a particularly exhausting night when they were both half delirious with sleep deprivation–there’s nothing to do but wait it out.

And so it’s pacing, and swaying, and rocking, and shushing, and they’re all shuffling around like infected during the daytime.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he sighs, deciding to take Anna downstairs for a change of scenery. Not that she’s seeing much, little eyes all scrunched up as she concentrates all her energy on exercising her lungs.

Joel hums and murmurs as he makes a fresh circuit around the living room, the kitchen, the dining table, then back. On the fourth pass, he pauses to look out the window over the kitchen sink and sees the glow of Ellie’s light from the shed. He and Anna aren’t the only ones up at this hour.

After one more lap, he decides what the hell, the baby can scream just as well in the fresh air as she can in the house. He grabs the infant snowsuit that’s still a size too big off the coat rack and starts to bundle her up. It dwarfs her tiny, scrunched-up body, but at least it’s warm.

“I know, baby girl, I know,” he murmurs, working her little arms and legs into the torture device as she screams louder, only quieting a fraction when he picks her back up and stuffs her down the front of his jacket, turning it into an improvised sling.

What he wouldn’t give for his old pickup right now. When Sarah was fussy he could strap her into her car seat, turn the radio on low, and drive around the neighborhood until the rumbling of the engine knocked her out. Better than Benadryl, his mother used to say.

But life in the apocalypse is a mostly manual affair, and strapping the kid to the back of a horse isn’t an option. Neither is Benadryl. Not that he’s considered either.

Not often, anyway.

He steps onto the porch and the early February air is a brief shock. Anna settles for a few precious seconds. It doesn’t last, but it’s long enough for Joel to take a deep breath, nuzzling the baby’s forehead, grounding him in her sweet, milky scent.

“Little bug,” he murmurs into the fur of her snowsuit. “You ready to sleep, hmm? Got it all out of your system?”

Her response is a resounding wail.

“Alright, I hear ya,” he mutters, and begins a meandering walk down the porch steps, to the curb, to the end of the street, and back. Five more laps until he trods back up the porch steps with a still-crying baby in his arms, no closer to sleep than he was twenty minutes ago.

The porch swing is lightly covered in snow, so he dusts it off and plops down, immediately taking up the back-and-forth motion, relieved to be off his feet even as Anna continues her symphony of sadness. He tips his head back and closes his eyes and sings aloud. He’d prefer to have a guitar in his lap, but no one will be able to hear his gravely voice over the sound of Anna’s crying, anyway.

But I've wandered much further today than I should,

And I can't seem to find my way back to the wood,

Help me if you can, I’ve got to get back to the house at Pooh Corner by one,

You'd be surprised, there's so much to be done.

Count all the bees in the hive,

Chase all the clouds from the sky,

Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh…

“That’s a weird fucking song.”

He pauses, cracks an eye to watch as Ellie plods up the porch steps, hands stuffed in the pockets of her sweatshirt, wincing at the racket.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “We wake you?”

“Nah, couldn’t sleep. Scootch.”

He does, moving over so she can join him on the swing. Ellie peers at the screaming bundle perched on Joel’s chest.

“She’s still at it, huh?”

“Yup,” he mutters. “She’ll wear herself out here pretty soon…I hope.”

“I forgot how loud they are,” she sighs, falling into the same rhythm on the swing as they rock together. “The babies at the orphanage used to keep me up at night.”

He tries to keep a neutral face. He imagines Ellie at Anna’s age, left to cry for hours with no one to pick her up and pace the floor, no one to answer. It tugs at something deep and raw inside him, something that makes him want to hold her too tight. She doesn’t talk about her life before they found each other, but he knows what it was like in the QZ; no birth control, too many kids and a lot of dead parents. The orphanages were packed.

“Want me to take her for a bit?” she offers.

“Sure, if you want,” he shrugs. “She’s windin’ down.”

Joel pulls the squalling baby out of his makeshift jacket carrier.

“Behave for your sister, bug,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the baby’s angry, sweaty temple before handing her over, biting his tongue on a reminder to support her head and neck as he watches Ellie do just that.

Ellie props Anna up on one shoulder, patting her back and rubbing in circles the way Joel showed her. After a few minutes, Anna’s cries dwindle to soft whines and whimpering hiccups.

“Look who’s got the magic touch,” she says, smug.

Joel tips his head back and closes his eyes, smiling, soaking in the sudden and blissful quiet. “You caught her at the right time. She was gonna settle down any minute.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorts, pretending to talk to the baby. “She just didn’t want to be stuck with her stinky old man all night, huh? I’d cry too if I had to walk around strapped to this asshole.”

“Smartass. S’normal for ‘em to cry at this age,” Joel says, more to reassure himself than her. “Sarah went through it, too, I think. Don’t ‘member much about it, just that I didn’t sleep then, either.”

“What about Sarah’s mom?”

“She, uh…she had a hard time after the baby came. Happens like that sometimes. Didn’t really…bond, I guess.”

Her eyes widen. “So what, she just…left?”

“Yeah.”

Ellie whistles softly, shifting Anna’s weight in his arms. “That’s fucking rough, dude. I’d be pissed.”

Joel considers this carefully. “Yeah, I was…for a while. But it was prob’ly for the best. Her loss an’ all.”

“Nobody’s gonna leave you, kid,” Ellie says softly, tilting her head back to see Anna’s little face, almost hidden in the fur of her snowsuit. “We’re gonna be around for a long, long time…me, your dad, and Charlie.”

He watches them out of the corner of his eye, his daughters. Anna, still wide awake, making gentle cooing sounds against her sister’s shoulder, whose body he cradled in his arms as she took her first breath. Ellie, the scrappy, scrawny QZ kid who greeted him with the broad swing of a knife, who saved him in ways he is only just beginning to understand.

Christ, I’m a fuckin’ sap , he thinks, swallowing hard, blaming the sudden tightness in his throat on exhaustion.

“So…still think you’re never havin’ kids?” he asks.

“You that eager to be a grandpa, old man?” she counters.

He smirks. “Didn’t say that.”

“I dunno,” she frowns at the baby. “She’s not exactly selling it. No sleep, diapers…and there’s that whole childbirth thing. Yuck.”

Anna gives an indignant squawk.

“Yeah, I know, she’s not bein’ very nice to you, huh?” Joel says in mock sympathy. “Pickin’ on a helpless li’l baby.”

“Just telling it like it is.”

Ellie looks over at him after a few minutes. “You know I like girls, right?”

“...do I know that?”

She rolls her eyes. “Dude, c’mon .”

“I’m just sayin’...we’ve never really, uh, talked about that…stuff.”

“Well…I like girls, Joel.”

“An’ I am one-hundred percent fine with that,” he says easily. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a family if you want.”

“Wow, you really don’t know how babies are made,” she says dryly. “And here I thought you were just ‘really fuckin’ drunk.’”

He arches an eyebrow. “We were, but that’s–wait, how did you–”

“Charlie told me.”

“Of course she did,” he mutters. “So uh, sure, that’s, uh…one way. But family doesn’t have to mean blood.”

He nudges her boot with his, gives her a meaningful look.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she softens. “But don’t think I’m gonna start calling you ‘Dad’ or something, asshole.”

“Call me whatever you want, kid…just don’t call me late for dinner,” Joel yawns.

“Ugh, that’s such a dad thing to say,” she groans, but she leans in, snuggling closer in a rare moment of affection. He puts his arm over the back of the swing and Ellie rests her head on his shoulder.

“Think she’s almost out,” he murmurs after a while, leaning back to peer into the hood of the snowsuit where Anna has gone quiet, blinking drowsily at him. “We can go in.”

“M’kay,” Ellie whispers, but she makes no move to get up, and he’s in no rush to interrupt this tenuous peace.

The porch swing creaks its familiar rhythm into the night. Joel places a kiss on Ellie’s temple, and Anna finally sleeps.

[quillyfied]

Alright, this is mostly a reaction post to Helluva Boss s2e8: Full Moon, but since I’ve watched the episode three times now and have been thinking about it for the better part of the day…more cerebral than a true reaction, I guess. And not chronological, either; this is divided into two sections, Plot and Feels. Please accept this wild spilling of my guts on this, my first episode since I found the show in February. (Obviously spoilers for Full Moon, but also for Hazbin Hotel.)

First things first: for anyone who hated the CHERUB/DHORKS plot this episode specifically because it distracted from the Stolitz trainwreck, you’re valid, but also, this is QUIET UNDERSTATED HUGE BACKGROUND PLOT CALLING, something that’s been building since s1e3: Spring Broken AT LEAST, and it’s MASSIVELY IMPORTANT, OKAY. I am losing my mind over all the foreshadowing and implications here, folks. And that little interaction between Collin and the rest of CHERUB, where they’re trying to justify their actions and he goes “I don’t think that’s how that works.” GET IT BC ACCORDING TO HAZBIN HOTEL NOBODY KNOWS HOW ANYONE GETS INTO HEAVEN. GET IT. GET IT.

ANYWAY.

My ongoing “IMP and Stolas are in deep legal shit” theory, which I need to condense into one post or tag or something to point at bc there’s too much evidence stacked up now to just summarize what I mean, gets not just more fodder in the form of DHORKS giving CHERUB mech suits that LOOK LIKE IMP, but Stolas outright saying Blitzo can now go about his business WITHOUT BREAKING DEMON LAW. We know that there’s a trial of sorts near the end of the season (or I’m guessing it’s at the end; I thought the fight sequence here was going to be during Mastermind so I’m already wrong on that count), we know Stolas appears to be in some real trouble, and now knowing that Blitzo and IMP are operating on Earth under Ozzie’s jurisdiction, there’s now more at stake for their shenanigans to drag Ozzie into some actual legal shit, not just general classist asshattery for dating an imp. From what we can tell from the trailer it seems like post-crystal IMP is at least trying to go more incognito, though all we have to go on is snapshots from Ghostfuckers, but IMP’s general indiscretion is going to backfire very badly on them, on Stolas, and now maybe even on Ozzie, and I am RABID FOR IT OKAY. CONSEQUENCES?? IN MY SILLY DARK MURDER COMEDY??? UNEXPECTED BUT PLEASE DO EXPLORE THEM.

Also, the sheer horror of DHORKS having a PRIEST ARMY?? The fact that they sent some kids through the portal, that they got EVISCERATED by EYED TENTACLES, and they AREN’T EVEN SURE HELL IS WHERE THEY WOUND UP?? JUST POUR THE FERTILIZER ON MY “ROO EXISTS ON A BOTTOM LEVEL OF REALITY SOMEWHERE AND IS GROWING MORE POWERFUL (PROBABLY THANKS TO THE EXTERMINATIONS)” THEORY, IT’S GROWING LIKE WEEDS. And beyond that, even if this scene doesn’t have more cosmic implications (it does look me in my eyes IT DOES), the basic surface-level plot issues that are going to come from a HUMAN ARMY looking to WIPE OUT HELL is bad enough. But this show isn’t Hazbin Hotel. The stakes aren’t going to wind up being that cosmic and fundamental to existence. If the priest army ever actually makes it to Hell, I’ll be very surprised. What will NOT surprise me is Blitzo facing consequences for his recklessness and everyone he dragged into it with him, because surprisingly real consequences for silly shenanigans has really started to become something I expect from this show as it grows, and I am being FED, alright. Also I’m going full Charlie Day with the corkboard now, I’m aware of that, but I need to get all of this out of the way so I can start to examine the blood spatter of my exploded heart thanks to Stolas and Blitzo.

Because Moxxie says that business is going well for them right now. IMP follows Blitzo to make sure he’s not going to fuck up their meal ticket. IMP is making a MESS of downtown Lust because CHERUBS ARE IN HELL. ANGELIC BEINGS ARE IN HELL. AND ALSO YEAH HOW IN HECK DOES CHERUB KNOW ABOUT EXORCISTS?? Thought they were supposed to be a secret in Heaven. So. Throws the timing of this into question, really. Unless Exorcists are a known category of angel, but their exact duties are unknown, which is likely tbh. But again ANGELS IN HELL AND NOT IN PRIDE GOING AFTER SINNERS, BUT IN LUST GOING AFTER HELLBORN. LIKE. THIS SEEMS LIKE A PRETTY BIG DIPLOMATIC INCIDENT ACTUALLY. Y’know. If it wasn’t just cherubs and imps and anybody actually cared outside of the massive property damage. The crystal is already registered to Blitzo at this point, even if he doesn’t have it yet…look I’m gonna be spinning my wheels about this for a while, let me have this.

(…why do they have Mothman in a demonic containment cell.)

(and something with a lot of tentacles)

(how many cryptids are in this place??? LET THEM OUT)

Now where in the several planes of reality did they get an extradimensional portal generator? Like, I know that of all things THIS is probably not gonna get explained and I’m okay with that, but I’m deeply curious about how they developed this technology. Still holding to my theory that Stolas’ summoning of himself might have had something to do with it, but for now it’s unclear.

Also the American-centrism of it all. The layers of fourth-wall sarcasm are STIFLING.

And Collin. I see your continued reluctance and horror. I hope you get your vindication. Though it is interesting that even though he’s clearly scared out of his mind, he does still manage to hurt Loona. He had a clear shot on Blitzo but hesitates. He is dragging his feet every inch he can muster in his Moxxie suit. He can’t even fly like the other two can. Collin is a sore thumb in about every way he can be during this episode. I want that payoff. I want it bad.

You know what else I want bad? An explanation of what Cherub Towne and Heaven in general is really like, if these dweebs don’t know what sex shops or a club is. Sex shop, I kinda get, given their and Vaggie’s reaction to BDMS gear, Heaven being prudish seems like a fair assumption to make. But. Heaven doesn’t have CLUBS? And Adam was OKAY WITH THAT?? Boggles the mind, I tell you. Boggles.

(…maybe it was just a budget issue but I do wonder at how none of the Cherubs had gold blood anywhere. Plenty of bruises, but Moxxie and Millie and Loona all got stabbed, shot, or bruised enough to show plenty of black blood. CHERUB got their asses kicked just as hard, but no gold blood? Could be time and budget issues. Could be…something else. I’ve got my eye on you, Helluva Boss.)

Because I think I’m more or less done now…and it’s time to get to the main event:

I have been purposely avoiding any footage or sound of the duet until this moment. And I am SO GLAD I DID, because When I See Him Tonight is a TREASURE, a MASTER CLASS in both recap and foreshadowing. Because it’s the summary of Everything Wrong Up Until This Point, and a blueprint for How It Will Go Wrong Shortly. Because, I want to point this out up front: nothing that happens in this episode between Blitzo and Stolas is a surprise. Nothing said, nothing done—none of this is a surprise. To us. The audience. The ones not just watching them both go through this, but chewing the plot down to the marrow for meaning, interpreting based on our understanding of the characters and world, extrapolating, iterating, writing so many of our own theories and fics about how this moment would go that the fact that it plays out pretty much true to the tone we were predicting makes it all the more satisfying. Or it does for me, anyway; let me not accidentally speak for more than just myself. Don’t get me wrong, it’s heartbreaking, but it’s such a RELIEF, honestly. It’s a necessary breaking down, burning away what wasn’t working and was actively hurting them both to start the hard work of rebuilding. THIS has been building since s1e1, THIS has been the emotional heart of the show, and watching it reach a breaking point is DELICIOUS.

The buildup is so perfect, too: Blitzo is having a good day. Blitzo NEVER has good days. Blitzo’s good days get dunked straight into the toilet, either because of his own actions or because the universe (or his subconscious) can’t let him have nice things. Juxtapose that with Stolas’ nerves, the knowing that he’s going to do something that will change the nature of their relationship, and while we know it’s necessary, Blitzo making the active choice to ignore the storm he can feel coming in favor of fixing it with sex (GREAT sex, mind, sex that he has every intention of making good for both of them; I want to stress very much that while Stolas and Blitzo are ill-equipped to talk to each other in emotionally vulnerable ways, their sexual compatibility appears to be solid as ever, so good for them)…it just makes Stolas’ anxiety (AND APPARENTLY NOT BEING ON HIS MEDS SOMEONE HELP THIS BIRD MAN) that much more sharp in comparison. It is a perfect teeing up of a golf shot that’s going straight through someone’s windows and causing thousands of dollars in property damage.

…and dear sweet Loona, who isn’t exactly wrong but isn’t exactly right either, pouring gasoline on this situation and activating Blitzo’s already-awakened anxiety about his and Stolas’ relationship is just. Mwah. Perfect. Cherry on top of this shit sundae. The last perfect condition to make this a supercell feels tornado. LET’S DO THIS.

(Side note but exactly how much money did Blitzo spend on his bag of tricks because YOWZA, does he go throwing around a sack about as big as the one he tossed down to his dad full of stolen stuff back in s2e1.)

HEY BLITZO AND FIZZ FRIENDSHIP HANG ON LET ME BASK. Especially at how effortlessly flirty and touchy they are with each other, that’s just a really nice touch for both of them (pun not intended). Also the fact that Blitzo is VERY CONFIDENT that Stolas is into the Dragon Driller 5000 raises some…questions. I will file them along with the questions I have about Stolas’ lack of reaction to getting his leg snapped and then stabbed in Western Energy.

(CLOACA MENTION)

Right off the bat the tension in this scene is unbearable. There’s the real-world tension of having waited for this moment for literal months. There’s the in-universe tension of Stolas being nervous about what he’s about to do. There’s the in-universe tension of Blitzo hoping things just go back to normal and being excited about that. There’s the dramatic irony of the audience knowing this is about to fall to shit and neither of these chuckleheads being fully aware of what exactly the other guy is about to do, compounding with the underlying cracks that they are BOTH feeling in their relationship and are BOTH very insecure about. But there’s a special sort of pain in seeing Blitzo so excited and trying so hard to get Stolas excited too and it just not working, because it’s the exact opposite of their usual dynamic. The script has flipped, for some reason.

For SOME reason. Ha. As if the miscommunication horse wasn’t galloping as fast as she could FROM THE START OF THE EPISODE.

I want to stress here that this mess of a situation that Blitzo and Stolas are in doesn’t have fault or blame in it. Or, rather, it’s a mutually-created tar pit of both of their mistakes and assumptions and hurts. They’re BOTH at fault, they are BOTH to blame, and in a way, neither of them are, either. This is the ugly truth of damage scraping damage: more often than not…it causes MORE damage. Blitzo and Stolas could be really good for each other, but they have to clear away the blockages first, and that can be really painful, especially when Blitzo’s self-hatred and Stolas’ self-hatred causes them both to misinterpret each other in the worst possible ways that reinforces those self-hatreds. The ways that this show hammers home how destructive self-hatred can be is COMING FOR MY ASS, OKAY. I FEEL SO STRONGLY ABOUT IT THAT I’M NOT SURE I CAN REALLY TALK ABOUT IT COHERENTLY.

Look, so many people are going to say it so much better, are going to analyze the ways that Stolas and Blitzo are talking past each other, but saying what they individually need to in order to start that necessary brush fire is what we all knew was coming. Stolitz isn’t going to get together this season, not with how much work they both need to put into themselves first. Blitzo has to want to be better for HIMSELF, not just for Stolas, not just for Loona, not just for all the friends he has and once had. Stolas has to learn who HE is, not as a parent or a husband or a lover, but as a person. The nuanced truth to “you can’t love someone until you love yourself” is “you accept the love you think you deserve,” and right now neither one of these poor bitches is in a place to accept the love they want to give each other. Blitzo isn’t even in a place to acknowledge that what HE feels is love, let alone that what STOLAS feels is love. He’s still in a world where his love spells disaster for everyone close to him. Reconciling with Fizz has started the hard work of dismantling that view of himself, but Blitzo isn’t ready yet, and he needs time to think and process. Stolas is so ready to begin his life at last that it doesn’t occur to him that Blitzo hasn’t been really hearing him or understanding his overtures and teasing (or that his overtures and teasing have often been classist AF, reinforcing Blitzo’s belief in Stolas’ view of him as a toy and not a person). I think given time, maybe what they’ve each been saying to each other in this scene will hit. But in the moment, oh my WORD it's a trash fire, the prophecy of the duet come to pass in glorious HD.

Side note to talk about how it looks like everything in Stolas’ house is covered, as if Stolas is leaving: HEY WTF??? Like on the one hand oh my LORD ABOVE, the parallels of Stolas covering himself up in portraits but leaving Via uncovered to Blitzo scribbling himself out of pictures. On the other hand, WHERE IS HE GOING?? Like. Drop cloths are used to keep the dust off of things when going on a trip, or leaving for a long time, or just not using that wing of the house anymore, but they’re walking through what is directly outside of Stolas’ room (and coming to stop at the very chandelier where they played as children, KILL ME). Why does it feel like Stolas was already leaving even before this rupture? Why is this teaming up with Loona’s observation that Stolas must be getting bored of Blitzo to punch me repeatedly in the gut? And does this have anything to do with the upcoming trial and what very much appears to be Andrealphus about to attack Blitzo and Stolas outside of his house? (I’m now doubting if it was Andrealphus’ house, or if he just froze over Stolas’ palace to take as his own, because the cobblestone pattern looks similar to what’s outside of Stolas’ place and Andrealphus’ Let It Go castle doesn’t appear to have the same in the brief shot we get of it I AM GOING INSANE.)

…I do love, though, how even though Blitzo is aggressive about it, he DOES want to keep talking it out, he just needs time to process. Stolas needs space to grieve, to be hurt without being seen. They’re both seeing it as the other guy just not taking them seriously, not wanting them around, how the FUCK can these two morons want the same thing but be so wrong about each other at the same time (I know, I know why, I watch the show, I’m just in despair right now). I don’t think Apology Tour is going to fix everything, not by a long shot, but if it can get these two to at least understand each other enough to realize that neither of them was actually being rejected…it’s a tall order, Viv, but I believe in your team. And this certainly explains why Stolas would have Bitch Supreme expressions at Blitzo approaching him after this, assuming Short Robe Stolas is in Apology Tour (I am on my hands and knees begging PLEASE); his feelings were mocked, the depths of his misconceptions were revealed, and his boundaries were pushed when he tried to escape. Though why Blitzo is coming for Stolas after this…can’t quite say, but it might have something to do with why IMP is on the run (unless that’s in early Ghostfuckers, which it could be, but hOW LONG IS THAT EPISODE GONNA BE, SAKES ALIVE). Because Blitzo was sexually rebuffed, given a consolation prize after being discarded, and subjected to way too much honesty without any time to prepare or process (or any immediate violence to keep his adrenaline up so he has no choice but to process, or whatever magic happened with Fizz), then dumped after spilling his vitriolic guts in an attempt to talk it out.

THEY. ARE. A. GOD. DAMNED. MESS.

And I am SO looking forward to the cleanup :P

[deeplyridiculouslyinlove]

Okay, my thoughts at the end of book 4! I’m mostly saving these for my own posterity and there isn’t much interesting here in terms of theory or meta or whatever, so sorry to anyone who finds it in the tags.

- I *really* liked parts of this book. Rand’s experience in Ruihdean was very well done, as were most of the parts of the book in the Waste more generally IMO. Exploring Tel’aran’rhiod was very cool. And I liked learning about the cultural norms surrounding women in the other cultures who can channel. I also liked getting POV chapters for some of the antagonists. Basically, anything that was focused more on world building and less on specific characters had me so engaged I couldn’t stop listening. Not an original thought, but the world building in these books is so good.

- It really took me some time to adjust to the versions of the characters in this book, because it feels like some of them take a sharp turn from who they were books 1-3. Rand especially. I think I had been expecting a little more buildup of character growth where he grows into someone new informed by who he used to be and retaining those values, but instead he’s sort of just a different person this book. It didn’t help that I switched audiobook narrators I’m sure, but there is definitely a different tone to this book - for example, suddenly in this book there are “bosoms” everywhere and it’s weird bc like, where did that come from? Anyway, I’m learning quickly that character development isn’t the strong part of these books even though they’re all POV chapters. By the end of the book I was used to the new versions of each character, but I’m a bit sad we didn’t see more of emotional toll the characters are going through so their changes would be less abrupt. Moiraine also had a different vibe to me this book - I’m biased obviously, but I feel like we need a Moiraine POV chapter soon to understand her current arc. Not that I should ask for these books to be *longer* lol.

- I knew the coup was coming and that Siuan would be stilled but I’m still so DISTRESSED by it. In fact I was so distressed that I had to ask my partner if she eventually gets her power back like Moiraine did in the show 😂 I’m so curious if they’re essentially going to do the same storyline twice, or switch up Siuan’s somehow to avoid the stilling plot altogether? And also, I think I get why they used 2x07 to set up Moiraine and Siuan not being on the best of terms if in the books Siuan doesn’t know what’s going on with Rand when the coup occurs.

- Sadly I feel like everything I heard about the poor writing of women that had been the reason I hesitated to read the books in the first place really crop up in this book. Why is every single POV female character (and even some who aren’t POV, like Faile) in love with a male character? And don’t get me started on the weird way that the girls have their clothes change on them to expose them without consent when they think about men in Tel’aran’rhiod - that would NEVER be written to happen to a male character to show his interest in a woman. And yet at the same time they’re supposed to be all in love and weirdly horny now, they’re also somehow all soo childish - what in the world is with Elayne pulling in Thom’s mustaches?? At one point they literally say Aviendha is having a “tantrum.” It’s not just that the book is so straight, it’s also like, weird straight…

- Maybe tied to the above, but it seems like we’re not supposed to like the Aes Sedai (or maybe more accurately, the White Tower and those trained formally there) but I continue to think they’re one of the most interesting parts of these books. Even with the coup! I want so much more from their perspectives. And it seems like Jordan may be trying to make the point that “even if you have only women in power it will also be corrupt and bad because the problem is power not gender” (like reverse patriarchy!), and to the extent he is it isn’t really hitting for me - it just sort of lands for me as “women can’t be trusted with power,” which is one of the oldest tropes out there. Maybe this will improve! I’m enjoying Siuan as a key POV character, although I guess now she’s no longer Aes Sedai?

[eternally--mortal]

So I’ve seen a couple comments lately specifically associated with the ever-growing comment chains of @buggachat’s bakery enemies au where some fellow readers are claiming that a lot of us are hating on Marinette.

It’s not a lot of comments, but it’s enough that I wanted to say something. You don’t have to listen. That’s ok. You can scroll if you want to, but the thoughts are here if you wanted or needed them.

Here’s the thing:

When you write a realistic character, or adapt a character realistically from a tv show, there are going to be moments of pain and frustration on all sides. Yes, Marinette is allowed to feel her own pain and frustration, but We as an audience are Also allowed to have second-hand frustration based on her actions.

I’m allowed to like Marinette and acknowledge and validate her frustration while still Also Being Frustrated at her. That being said, I understand that We can see the whole story and She can’t. Even apart from that knowledge, I am allowed to have compassion for her and Still Disagree with the way that she handles things. That is not me being a Marinette salter or me hating on Marinette. That is me recognizing that this very human response of Marinette’s is placing Adrien — and herself — into unhealthy situations.

People aren’t good and bad all the time. You don’t have to love them all the time. And even if you Do still love them, you don’t have to agree with them.

I’m not trying to start a fight, but I wanted to put all of this out there because . . . I’ve read through the comments. And I haven’t really seen a great deal of people genuinely trashing Marinette. They’re just responding to the direct situation with their very-normal emotional reactions. Which is sort of part of the point, isn’t it?

And I’m sorry @buggachat . I know I tagged you. It’s mostly to give context to this post. I’m not trying to pull you into the discussion or force you to comment on it or pick a side. Please continue on with your beautiful life and enjoy torturing us every 24 hours. You’re doing great, sweetie. This post isn’t really for you unless you want it to be. I don’t know. You might not even agree with me. And that is your right as a human being.

To everyone who feels this Does apply to them, I just wanted to say, here are some general facts of life that the world continues to beat into us, whether we like it or not:

Good people can do terrible things. In fact, some of the worst things are Genuinely Awful to that degree because they were done by good people. Just look at Adrien’s situation. He’s seen how Marinette has So many friends who love her. He’s seen that she’s capable of being an absolutely wonderful person. To him it looks like she’s choosing to be a terrible person to him specifically. Real people go through this in the real world, too. When a good person does something horrible, it doesn’t change the fact that they’re still a good person to Someone out there — maybe to multiple someone’s. They’ve just chosen not to be a good person to You. Or chosen to be a Bad person to you. And that Hurts. And it’s Worth acknowledging and talking about. (This is the real tragedy of evil, in my opinion. It’s why children of abusive and negligent parents often struggle so deeply with the question of why they still feel a need to earn love from their parents and whether they should leave them behind.)

People are constantly experiencing growth and change. There’s something great called the Theory of Positive Disintegration that describes the process. It’s super cool. Look it up. It’s healthy to acknowledge that we all make varied choices as our worldviews change and as we experience new things. People we see as ‘bad’ don’t have to stay that way and likely aren’t what we expect. People we see as ‘good’ are not always strictly good. (Besides this, How many people do we call “Good” because of whom they decided to be evil to? Who gets to decide who the enemy is anyway?)

Literature is designed with complexity in mind. Stories are often made with fleshed out human beings. Sometimes stories are written Specifically to show us questionable behavior so we can see the world through a new lens and decide for ourselves whether we agree with that person. Just take a look at Restoration Drama if you have any doubts. Old white men debated for ages about whether or not their audiences were smart enough to notice questionable behavior in cases of, for instance, rape or cheating or manipulation. Did they ever ask the audience? Not really. But the point is that we Do sometimes get suckered into blindly supporting characters without really watching what they’re Doing. It doesn’t mean we’re not smart enough to notice or talk about it. The danger comes when we try to shut that conversation down by Never showing evil or Never acknowledging it when it’s there. —No one is perfect. So we have flaws. So what? That’s normal. It’s human. It’s normal to empathize with a character. It’s ok to openly express second-hand embarrassment or frustration for their actions. If you don’t want strangers on the internet to point out Marinette’s flaws, then maybe You shouldn’t be pointing out the flaws of strangers on the internet.

I’m not trying to attack anyone in particular. Or anyone at all. I just wanted to put some of this into perspective. Some of you making these comments might be joking! I can’t really read emotional subtext on the internet. Some of us are bad at reading it in real life, too. This is just me putting some thoughts out there to remind you that we all have complex emotional lives, and that discussing a person’s flaws isn’t the same thing as hating them or rejecting them or making them out to be the enemy. If no one ever talked about the bad parts of good people, we wouldn’t have compelling stories.

[wallsshouldtalk]

STRANGER THINGS 4 VOL. 2 SPOILERS

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OKAY so i’ll start off by saying i cry at literally nothing ever and i dehydrated myself from crying harder than i’ve cried in 10 years at eddie’s death scene. i’m a tough cookie but not when it comes to silly, goofy, lovable, rock-star nerd eddie munson. am i going through genuine grief? yes! so is my denial misplaced? most likely!! but i have a theory anyway

SO!!!! we know the duffers are not above a fake death/ misleading death (see hopper), so maybe they’re trying that again with eddie. as far as we know, dustin didn’t bring back his body- meaning we don’t have proof that eddie fully died/ remained dead. now yes, he was pretty torn up and overall doing not his best, but was it so much damage that survival would be completely impossible? i feel like maybe not. pain and shock can do some pretty weird shit to the body and passing out is not a crazy reaction to have after being mauled by monster demon bats.

aside from the “medical” reasoning, eddie’s role (although new) is not really as a side character, and to get rid of someone with as much potential as our metal DM would have to have some stronger reasoning than a “redemption” arc with a pointless sacrifice. barb, bob, and alexei were insanely lovable characters and played their parts wonderfully, but mostly their roles were about how they affected other people. barb was there to lead nancy into this upside down business, bob was there to give advice and comfort to will and be that sacrifice of “bob newby the superhero”, and alexei needed to be there to help our adult crew. eddie’s story line was more independent and had a leg to stand on even if the rest of our hawkins crew wasn’t there. he wasn’t tagging along, he became a part of the main crew (minus jonathan, will, el, and mike). eddie dying serves no purpose, except to make dustin sad, and doesn’t really fit in with the previous thing of introducing a character only to kill them at the end. so, maybe, eddie wakes up in season 5, gravely injured and alone, and is trying to find a way out and back to the gang. maybe that serves the purpose of giving us eyes on the inside or maybe it’ll give eddie the chance he deserved to clear his name (SINCE NO ONE ELSE SEEMS TO BE WILLING TO STEP UP AND SAY ANYTHING FOR THE PERSON WHO LITERALLY THREW HIMSELF INTO A HOARD OF DEMOBATS YO SAVE A BUNCH OF PEOPLE THAT HATE HIM) or maybe it’s so he can walk the stage and get the diploma he rightfully deserves. at this point i don’t care what the reason is i’ll be honest. also the writing has been quite strategic in the past, so i feel like maybe they wouldn’t have eddie’s last lines be “this is my year” when it clearly is not. i guess we’ll see.

joseph quinn did also make that comment about wanting to do scenes with charlie in s5. now, granted, that may have been just to fuck with all of us, but i’ll take hope where i can get it.

my theory has no real evidence or proof of any kind to support it, but denial is the first stage of grief and this is how i’m choosing to view it until someone explicitly tells me no. even then, i’ll probably ignore them and keep living in blissful ignorance until 2024 when s5 comes out and throws my heart into a wood-chipper. the duffers aren’t perfect writers by any stretch, but i am choosing to have a little faith that their choices are more calculated than this. thanks for listening to my delusions

edit: joseph quinn just did an interview where he talked about how he would’ve liked to come back for another season, but that he was satisfied with the end of eddie’s character arc. sounds like this death was a real one folks (unless this is all some super extra silly prank)!!! i’m gonna leave this theory up here though in case some crazy, wacky miracle occurs and we are all allowed to have hope again.

link to article:

edit/ update pt.2: NEW interview (yes somehow already) reveals that joe really may not know how the future of eddie will play out. he says that he’s been talking with joe keery about ways eddie could make an appearance! so hope is not lost! hopefully the duffer brothers realize that they just made the literal largest mistake ever getting rid of quinn as an actor and eddie as a character and they’ll just do an uno reverse moment <3 essentially: FUCK THIS SHOW FOR PLAYING HOT POTATO WITH MY FEELINGS

link to pt2 article:

[insertdisc5]

Hi!! I wanted to ask, in celebration of Deltarune CH. 2, do you have any updated thoughts and head canons about the game?? Like, y'know, similar to a previous ask about Kris in your Deltarune tag? Thanks!

thoughts on kris part 2 i guess???? (part 1 from ch1 here lol)

spoilers for deltarune like woah. this wont be kris focused just random thoughts on everything. thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk

not that many thoughts for this chapter tbh! EDIT LOL: this was a lie i have a lot of thoughts

-just in general i feel like the player isn't the only one controlling kris... like yes the player forced kris to do what happened in the snowgrave route but AT THE SAME TIME idk it feels like there's someone else too. just because of the terrifying voice i suppose. and also the jerky movement kris does every time they get their soul out? unless there's another reason for it... maybe getting your soul out means you walk weird lol

-BUT ALSO i feel like kris is 100% in control when they create fountains. idk it just makes sense kris would create them. to create another world, a better world, A WORLD WHERE THEIR BROTHER IS HERE PERHAPS? i do wonder why they get their soul out then though. i'm all for it sweetie! do whatever! i support you!

-(i am and will be playing deltarune with only kris' best interests in mind. i will not hurt anyone unless kris wants me to. dont worry my little meow meow im on your side! talk to me! no? okay ill stay under the sink its fine)

-speaking of asriel. SUMMER VACATION COLLEGE WHEN? SUMMER VACATION COLLEGE WHEN? SUMMER (starts crying) V-VACATION COLLEGE WHEN

-kris misses their brother so much it's so sad. if you make kris steal 5$ from asriel they take it "reluctantly"? talking to asriel online so often even alphys knows?? the google search?? GOING INTO ASRIEL'S GOOGLE SEARCH ROOM WITH THEIR EYES CLOSED BECAUSE THEY'RE CONVINCED THEY ALREADY KNOW WHATS IN THERE? THAT ONE IS LESS OF A MISSING THING BUT IM LIKE OH MY GOD

-the city walk with susie at the end makes it clear to me that kris really values susie's friendship... kris even sits with her if you spend long enough near the lake like aaaaah ;_;

-and even in snowgrave you spend your last acts with the final boss calling for your friends like YES there's a way bigger creepy aspect to this (kris as more of a Leader who Commands and commands their subjects to come) but still :'0 (and then noelle answers oh my god noelle im so sorry for the trauma)

-berdly. listen. listen. listen. liste

-berdly sucks but [berdly hurts his arm in the battle against queen if you don't save him because he doesnt want to hurt you] [berdly realizing smg's wrong in snowgrave and immediately taking steps to save noelle] berdly is my little crumb nugget. i will protect him.

-noelle. noelle. girlboss!

-like ooooh listen. hearing about the genocide path for undertale. made me go "that is SO COOL. i HAVE to experience it myself this is great. hehehe killing time" and like no regrets. i was fully enjoying the experience knowing i was an awful person. SNOWGRAVE THOUGH. i will never try this myself its too fucked up. casually grooming your childhood friend to murder people <3 and also acting like a weird stalker towards her <3 stockholm syndrome speedrun i will get all the info i can about this but i will never do this myself

-people remarking the kris/player>noelle relationship is similar to the relationship between player>chara in genocide path is like yes. chefs kiss. don't worry we just are making you stronger and everything will be fine "you made me kill my friend? and for what?" this is fine sweetie don't worry about it!!!!!!

-like the amount of details added to snowgrave, like if you equip noelle's watch she notices later? and her battle animations change as time goes on, she gets an ice shield and stops sighing in relief after battle? oh my god? oh my god.

-(berdly is not awake.) JUST KILL ME RIGHT HERE I HAVEN'T STOPPED THINKING ABOUT BERDLY NOT BEING AWAKE!!!!!

-also why didnt he turn into dust. so many possible reasons. is magic a thing in the normal world and perhaps no magic means no dust (theres graves). maybe he isnt dead. maybe hes braindead. maybe he'll come back. either way that boy is now in the closet big enough to put someone in

-also dess' name probably being december AND THATS WHY NOELLE LOST THE SPELLING BEE?!?!??! FUCK ME UP!!!!! JUST FUCK ME UP!!!!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!

-also so many good pixel art this chapter. too many? i didnt need pixel art of cardboard noelle falling on the statue. like thank you but please. please it hurts my game artist brain.

-the expressions in this chapter were also top notch. all the unsettling noelle expressions like (i fall over face first)

-i threw away the ball of junk (which i already tried in ch1) and this time the game was like "ARE YOU SURE BC THIS IS A BAD IDEA" and kris felt bitter :'( (it deletes all your items in the dark world)

-i uh fucked up and skipped the susie+noelle scene bc listen last time ralsei mentionned seeing what susie is doing we missed some PRIMO LORE. turns out it just makes you skip the scene and you dont get anything new. welp

-speaking of ralsei well you know. he exists. but im stuck on him going "i just wonder what being ralsei-like even is...?" ralsei my dude there's so much i could say about this. do you feel like you can't be ralsei-like because you feel like you have to be asriel-like

-but also that makes no sense bc susie hasnt even mentioned ralsei looks like asriel. and i cant imagine asriel being so meek. so WHAT GIVES

-ralsei as kris’ “i wish i was a monster just like my bro and family and i’d look like asriel but with red horns [THE HALLOWEEN COSTUME] and my name would be something cool like ralsei instead of a boring human name like kris and im sweet and cute because thats how i act with asriel because ASRIEL MADE ME” theory because that would be cute.

-ASRIEL GOING TO THE CHURCH TO CONFESS HIS "SINS" WHEN "SINS" AREN'T A THING IN THE ANGEL BELIEF LIKE I KNOW THIS INTERACTION WAS TREATED AS A JOKE BUT WHAT THE FUCK ASRIEL?

-kris definitely has a connection with the big red door in the city, judging by what the kids say they probably went there... i feel like this place's dark world will be the Final Dungeon you KNOW some shit happened there. also the sounds you hear when you go there is the phone dark world call's sound slowed down? AND AFTER SNOWGRAVE APPARENTLY YOU CANT HEAR IT ANYMORE? HUWAH?

-speaking of songs the songs were all so good, My Castle Town rules, the berdly snowgrave music is stuck in my head, flashback is uwah wuahah, Until Next Time is so good, AND ALSO A FRIEND NOTICED THE DARK WORLD CITY THEME IS JUST tHE SONG 74 (MOST NOTICEABLE WITH THE SNOWGRAVE VERSION)?????? WHAT DOES IT MEAN????? it might be just "hey its just reuse" BUT MR FOX YOU KNOW WE'RE GONNA READ INTO THIS IS NOELLE THE ONE SINGING IDK BRO!!!!!!!!!!

-asgore dreemurr fired from the force what happun!!!!! game theory is that asgore is related to dess' death/disappearance but eh who knows

-you start the chapter at lvl2 and get to lvl3 after the final boss, a friend mentioned this is probably because we destroyed a world and im :0

-to go back to kris it's still so interesting to figure out who they are based on how they act/people mention them. like kris shaking the ferris wheel car? yeah makes sense i can imagine a pranking kid do this. kris' dance? yeah thats a little silly but i can buy it. doing cool anime poses? well i dunno this doesnt line up PERFECTLY but sure. BUT EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS IN SNOWGRAVE... especially >proceed like that is such a weird thing that i can't imagine them doing, but i can't completely see the "player" doing either (compare with going to sans -which kris doesnt know- and going "SANS!" because of course the player would know sans), like THATS one of the reasons i feel like there's someone else in there. the weird robotic merciless actions. if im going super meta it feels like there'd be someone else like writing the choices into existence for us to pick you know? gaster probably? god i need to read more gaster theories i completely sidestepped the gaster shit bc i wasnt interested. anyway just spitballing

-(looks at big shot guy) please dont make him the next tumblr guy i beg you

-obligatory "queen was great" mention if only because this part made me laugh a little bit too hard

that was a lot. thank you for letting me talk

[nevermindirah]

Do you have any thoughts on the use of AAVE for Nile (or lack thereof) in TOG fanfiction? I've been reading some Book of Nile fic and some writers seem to write her as a Millennial™ (using words like "fave" and "woke") but never acknowledge her Blackness in her patterns of speech. I know we don't see her use as much AAVE in the films, but I would argue she's in situations where code-switching would be valued (first in a "professional" environment in the army, then around a group of non-Black strangers).

Hi anon! I have many thoughts on this and I'm honored you asked me! But I should start by saying I'm white and any thoughts Black fans and especially Black American fans have on this that they want to share would be beyond lovely. (I'm not gonna tag anybody bc that feels rude but please add onto this post if any of y'all see this and want to!)

The main reason I personally avoid AAVE for Nile in my own fics is because I'm not Black. But Nile-centric fics by Black writers tend to avoid using much of it too, at least from what I've noticed/understood, and my guess is it's largely for the reason you mention, that she's in situations that encourage code-switching.

In movie canon Nile is highly competent at tailoring her language to each situation she finds herself in. This fantastic linguistics analysis meta shows how skillfully Nile chooses her vocabulary and grammar to meet her goals with different conversation partners in different contexts. In comics canon Nile had a bunch of different civilian jobs before joining the Marines, so she would've had experience code-switching in the ways that made sense for all those different contexts as well as the Marines and her family and high school and wherever else she spent her time before we met her. And now she's spending her time with a handful of immortals none of whom are native English speakers and a fellow Black American but one with a Queen's English UK accent whose professional experience is in the CIA where high-status code-switching is often an absolute must for success or even survival.

Fics featuring Nile are charged with extrapolating from that to how it might show up in her use of language that she's coping with a traumatic separation from her family and her career and pretty much everything she's ever known and now she needs to be able to make herself understood to people who seem to care about her and each other but are super duper in crisis, three (soon to be four) of whom predate Modern English entirely and the only one who's anywhere near her contemporary she's not supposed to talk to for a century. All of these people are telling her that pretty much any contact with any mortals poses an existential threat to her and the rest of the group. How the FUCK is she supposed to cope with that, like, generally? And would it be a more effective way for her to cope if she talked to Andy Joe and Nicky using the speech patterns that she used to use with her mom and brother, to at least retain that part of her identity even if it means having to do a lot of explaining, or would it meet her needs better to prioritize Andy Joe and Nicky understanding what she means with her words over using the particular words and grammar forms she used with her family?

I've seen several fics, both Nile-centric / BoN and otherwise, explore this a little bit in how/whether Nile uses Millennial™ speak. It's often a theme in Nile texting Booker despite the exile because of the popular headcanon that he as The Tech Guy is the only other immortal who understands memes. But Nile's much-younger-than-Booker mom probably uses Boomer and/or Gen X memes and Andy has been adapting to new communication styles for forever as evidenced by her canon high level of fluency with standard-American-accented English.

Which brings us back to people avoiding AAVE because they're not Black and they don't want to make mistakes (or they're not Black and they don't want to get yelled at for making mistakes, though I think many people overestimate how much they'll get yelled at while underestimating how much these mistakes can hurt). I can imagine some Black fans hold back from using much AAVE in fic because they don't want to share in-group stuff with white people who are likely to then adopt and ruin it, as white people so often do with Black cultural stuff. Some links about this including a great Khadija Mbowe video. I'm saying this gently, anon, because you might not know: woke, an example you cited as Millennial™ speak, is AAVE, and that's gotten erased by so many white people appropriating it and using it incorrectly online.

And also there's the part where fandom is a hobby and you never know when you're reading a fic that's the very first thing someone's ever written outside of a school assignment. This cultural considerations of language shit takes a level of effort and skill that not everybody puts into every fic, or even could if they wanted to because they haven't had time to build their skills yet. It's definitely easier for non-Black fans to project our millennial feels onto Nile than to do the layers of research and self-reflection it requires to depict what Blackness might mean to Nile, and it's not surprising that often people sharing their hobby creations on the internet have gone the easier route. There's not even necessarily shame in doing what's easier. It's just frustrating and often hurtful when structural white supremacy means that 3-dimensional Black characters are rare in media and thoughtful explorations of them in fandom are seen by the majority of fans as not-easy to make and therefore Nile Freeman, the main character in The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood, has the least fic and meta and art made about her of our 5 main immortals.

I've been active in different fandoms off and on for twenty years and I barely managed to write 5,000 words about Sam Wilson across multiple different fics in the 7 years since I fell in love with him. There's an alchemy to which characters we connect with, and on top of that which characters we connect with in a way that causes us to create stuff about them. Something about Nile Freeman finally tipped me over the edge from a voracious reader to a voracious writer. It's not for me to judge which characters speak to other individuals to the level of creating content about them, but I do think it's important for us to notice, and then work to fight, the pattern where across this fandom as a whole Nile gets way less content, and way less depth in so much of the content that's in theory about her, than any of these other characters.

Anyway, back to language. My two long fics feature Nile with several Black friends — Copley and OCs and cameos from other media — but all of those characters except Alec Hardison from Leverage aren't American. It's very possible I'm guilty of stereotyping Black British speech patterns in I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore. I watched hours and hours of Black haircare YouTube videos in the research for that fic and I modeled my OCs' speech patterns on what I heard from some of those YouTubers as well as what I've heard people like John Boyega and Idris Elba saying in interviews, but the thing about doing your best is you still might fuck up.

I'm slowly making progress on my WIP where Nile and Sam Wilson are cousins, and what ways of talking with a family member might be authentic for Nile is a major question I need to figure out. For that, I'm largely modeling my writing choices on how I hear my Black friends and colleagues talking to each other. I haven't overheard colleagues talking in an office in a long-ass time, but back when that was a thing, I remember seeing a ton of nuance in the different ways many of my Black colleagues would talk to each other. Different people have different personalities! And backgrounds! And priorities! A few jobs ago my department was about 1/3 Black and we worked closely with Obama administration staff many of whom were Black and there was SO MUCH VARIETY in how Black people talked to each other, about work and workplace-appropriate personal stuff, where I and other white coworkers could hear. There are a few work friends in particular who I have in my head when I'm trying to imagine how Sam and Nile might talk to each other. From the outside looking in, God DAMN is shit complicated, intellectually and interpersonally and spiritually, for Black people who are devoting their professional lives to public service in the United States.

One more aspect of this that I have big thoughts on but I need to take extra care in talking about is the idea of acknowledging Nile's Blackness in her patterns of speech. There's no one right way to be Black, and Nile's a fictional character created by a white dude but there are plenty of real-life Black Americans who don't use much or even any AAVE, for reasons that are complicated because of white supremacy. (Highly highly recommend this video by Shanspeare on the harms of the Oreo stereotype.)

Something that's not the same but has enough similarity that I think it's worth talking about is my personal experience with authenticity and American Jewish speech patterns. My Jewish family members don't talk like they're in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and I've known lots of people who do talk that way (or the millennial version of it), some of whom have questioned my Jewishness because I don't talk that way. That hurts me. Sometimes when another Jew tells me some shit like "I've never heard a Jew say y'all'd've," I can respond with "well now you have asshole, bless your Yankee-ass heart," because the myth of Dixie is a racist lie but I will totally call white Northerners Yankees when they're being shitty to me for being Southern, and this particular Jew fucking revels in using "bless your heart" with maximum polite aggression, especially with said Yankees. But sometimes I don't have it in me to say anything and it just quietly hurts having an important part of me disbelieved by someone who shares that important part of me. The sting isn't quite the same when non-Jews disbelieve or discount my Jewishness, but that hurts too.

Who counts as authentically Jewish is a messy in-group conversation and it doesn't really make sense to explain it all here. Who counts as authentically Jewish is a matter of legal status for immigration, citizenship, and civil rights in Israel, and it's my number 2 reason after horrific treatment of Palestinians that I'm antizionist. But outside that extremely high-stakes legal situation, it can just feel really shitty to not be recognized as One Of Us, especially by your own people.

It can also feel really shitty to be The Only One of Your Kind in a group, even if that group is an immortal chosen family who all loves each other dearly. Sometimes especially in a situation like that where you know those people love you but there are certain things they don't get about you and will never quite be able to. I'm definitely projecting at least a little bit of my "lonely Jew who will be alone again for yet another Jewish holiday" stuff onto Nile when at the end of I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore she's thinking about being the only Black immortal and moving away from the community she'd built with a mostly-Black group of mortals in that fic. Maybe that tracks, or maybe that's fucked up of me.

Basically, this got very long but it's complicated, writing about experiences that aren't your own takes skill which in turn takes time and practice to build, writing about experiences not your own that our society maligns can cause a lot of harm if done badly, it can also cause a lot of harm when a large enough portion of a fandom just decides to nope out of something that's difficult and risky because then there's just not much content about a character who deserves just a shit ton of loving and nuanced content, people are individuals and two people who come from the exact same cultural context might show that influence in all kinds of different ways, identity is complicated, language is complicated, writing is hard, and empathy and humility and doing our best aren't a guarantee of avoiding harm but they do go a long way in helping people create thoughtful content about a character as awesome and powerful and kind and messy and scared and curious and WORTHY as Nile Freeman.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

Social Media Clues via Big Sky

Okay, so this is kinda small potatoes, but call it a social media weirdness for this week. (Actually, it was posted last week.)

At first, it caught my eye because Jensen Ackles. I watched SPN and I'm a big fan of his. I definitely don't follow what he does anywhere near as closely as TWD, but obviously I follow him on IG, etc. But if you notice the caption, it mentions "new sheriff in town."

Now, normally, I wouldn't read into that. His buddy Jared Padelecki (also of SPN) does the new Walker Texas Ranger show, and Jensen produces, I think, so I thought this was in reference to that. But, futher down, it says @bigskyabc.

That caught my attention. Why would there be a “new sheriff in town” quote paired with Big Sky?

If you’ve followed me for very long, you’ve probably seen a few of my Big Sky posts. I've talked about it a few times as having TD symbolism in it. ABC is a sister studio to AMC, so they routinely give actors from TWD jobs there.

Overall, what I see in Big Sky is intriguing, but also pretty small potatoes. I think they use similar themes as in TWD, and it does shed some light and also let us know that we aren’t imagining the things we see in TWD (not that most of us have thought that for awhile) but I also don’t recommend everyone go watch it because maybe Beth will show up there or something. No, not at all. It’s just a small side thing that’s…kind of interesting.  

Anyway, I wondered why Jensen had tagged them. Then I swiped to his second pic. This is why:

Now, I think that's great for Jensen! I'll totally be more excited to watch Big Sky moving forward if he's in it. (Yeah!) But once again we have a tie between not just TWD, but BETH and Big Sky. Obviously, he's going to show up as a sheriff of some kind, and they're using the "new sheriff in town" line to sell it. I'm just saying.

More clues to TWD themes in Big Sky. And throw in Jensen Ackles to boot. I’m totally down!  😁

One other thing, and we’re not totally sure it’s related, but worth mentioning at least. Here’s a short conversation we had:

@galadrieljones​:

The thing about Jensen just made me think about how Emily tweeted recently about moving to Montana. I don’t think it’s related, because Big Sky is not actually filmed in Montana, but it does take place here. The show Yellowstone is filmed here, the big ranch where it’s partially filmed in my county, toward the park. Our friend Anne works on the production, but Yellowstone has nothing to do with Big Sky. Idk why Emily would ever imagine moving here lol unless there was something she was filming here. Isn’t she from Nebraska?

@twdmusicboxmystery​:

I didn’t think about her Montana tweet. I don’t know what it means either but (and maybe this is a stretch) if it’s a coordinated marketing effort where the hints are concerned, I could see her Montana tweet pointing toward Big Sky. Not because Emily will necessarily have anything to do with that show, but because it’s part of the AMC umbrella and they’re using it to drop hints. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Very convoluted, I know. 

But the other thing I was thinking about is that, a LONG time ago, Jensen and Michael Cudlitz put out a funny pic together. I bet I could find it. It was right after Abraham died and MC left the show as a character. 

Bc Negan killed him and JDM played the dad on SPN, it was just this funny picture of the two of them. Truly just them being funny and entertaining the fans. But if Jensen is working for ABC now, and we know MC does work for them and AMC both in front of and behind the camera, and may return in the Tales spin-off, there are some interesting ties here.

I really don’t have an overarching theory or anything. Not saying Jensen will be on TWD. He’s a busy guy and probably not. But since JDM joined the show, I’ve always thought it would be fun to have both Jensen and Jared guest star. Just as minor characters who get eaten by walkers by the end of the episode. They’ll both totally love that, I think, and if they shared the screen with JDM for even a minute, all the crossover SPN fans would jump for joy. Lol. It would just be fun. That’s all.

@galadrieljones:

Omg I would die if this happened lol. I’ll also say when I first read this I read it like, characters from “Lost” will be in the spin-off. Unrelated but there are a lot of crossovers. Kim Dickens being the most obvious, but Cudlitz was also in an episode of Lost in season 2. He was in one of Ana Lucia’s backstory episodes, played her partner on the LAPD. Question—Is AMC affiliated w ABC? I didn’t realize Big Sky was under the AMC umbrella?

@twdmusicboxmystery:

It’s more that AMC and ABC are under the same umbrella. Sister companies bc the same studio owns both of them. That’s why you see actors go between the two channels. Emily, Lauren Cohen, MC, and the actresses that played Asha and Cyndie (Oceanside) have all done ABC shows during times when they weren’t active parts of TWD. I think the studio does that to give them work until their characters are needed on TWD again. And that’s exactly why it’s so suspicious that Emily had done multiple small show for ABC, but not taken any other major parts for other networks. It shows she still has a contract here. And all the other characters who’ve done this have reappeared at some point, so… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

@galadrieljones:

Oh okay. I got it. Kind of like how old characters from the WB days have made a lot of appearances in CW shows, SPN in particular. Ah. That’s actually very interesting!

Maybe there will be “Lost” characters in the spin-off then, as Lost was in ABC (just kidding but according to the insane time traveling universe in Lost I wouldn’t be surprised lol).

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Okay, so obviously we’re all having some fun head canons about our favorite shows. But the first part—the fact that Jensen actually used the phrase “new sheriff in town” can’t possibly be a coincidence, in my opinion. If anything comes of these other connections (and truly, nothing may) it would just be icing on the cake.

Thoughts?

[scuttling]

Bully

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 2,249 Tags: SFW, Pre-relationship, Supportive Aaron Summary: A case in Chicago means the team is introduced to someone from Sophie's past. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 0-6 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to AO3 or read below! “Alright, we’ve got a case in Chicago,” JJ says as they gather in the briefing room on a Wednesday morning. “The detective there is… how do I put this? He’s a real asshole, but they need our help, so just prepare yourselves for one of those.” She passes out the case file, and Cortes tenses beside Hotch, a shift in demeanor he can almost feel, though they are sitting a foot apart.

“Please tell me, just to ease my mind, JJ—it’s not the 54th precinct, right?” She looks up with a grimace, and JJ nods.

“Sounds like you know the guy. Detective Jeffrey?”

“Fuck. Yes, I know him.” She puts an elbow on the table, leans her forehead into her hand, sighs. “He’s like the anti-Hotch: cruel, impulsive, hotheaded, blames his failures on his coworkers. This guy is going to give us grief the whole way, especially if I’m there.”

“Is there a reason for him to be aggressive toward you? Did you pass him up for promotions, accolades?” he asks, and she looks up at him, frowns.

“He’s a misogynist, and a racist, for starters. Wanted a spot on the tactical response team and didn’t get it because he can’t take orders, which had nothing to do with me, but you know how narcissists project.”

“Nothing is actually ever their fault,” Reid says, filling in the blanks.

“Exactly. I was the most convenient target for his anger. So, of course I want to do my part, I’m just letting you know there’s a lot of hostility there so you aren’t blindsided.” The team seems collectively a little more tense—no one messes with one of their own—and Hotch nods thoughtfully.

“You’re with me while we’re there, then. If he wants to give you a hard time, we won’t make it easy.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She exhales, turns back to the case file, and JJ continues with the briefing.

He takes her aside once they’re on the jet.

“Can we talk for a moment?” he asks, standing by the open seat next to hers, and she gestures to it.

“Sure. Is it about what I said earlier, about Jeffrey?”

“Yes and no. I trust your judgement; if this guy is going to be a pain in our ass, I want to have a game plan going in so things move as smoothly as possible.” She closes the folder in her lap, nods, gives him her full attention. “First and foremost, you can not let him get to you.” She leans back against the window, sighs.

“I know. It’s just hard, like going back to high school and facing your old bully.”

“I get it. From what you’ve told me, this guy is going to have all of us on edge, but you know the precinct, the area, some of the officers; the team is going to look to you a lot while we’re here. You need to be firm, authoritative, but not antagonistic. Most importantly, you need to be confident. Don’t second guess yourself because of this jerk we’re dealing with.”

“I know that giving in and getting mad is what he wants, so I’m going to try my damndest not to give it to him.” She laughs a little, like it’s easier said than done, and he maintains eye contact, wills her to see how much he really does trust her with this. “I really appreciate this, Hotch.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“I know. But you show your faith when it really matters, and not everyone in your position does that. You should know how much it means to us.” Her words warm his heart, and not just because it’s her who’s saying them. He knows he comes off like a drill sergeant sometimes, but it’s all for good reason. He just wants to take care of his team, keep them safe.

“Thank you. The job is tough; I try to support you guys anyway I can.”

“It shows. Thanks for having my back,” she says softly, tilting her head, and then she sighs and smiles, sits up in her seat. He’s known her long enough to be able to tell when things are getting a little too heavy for her, knows she’s looking for lightness, now. “If we have time for drinks after this case, we have to go to Tito’s, just putting it out there.” Morgan hears her, leans over from his seat across the aisle.

“Tito’s! I haven’t been there in years.”

“Neither have I. They have the best portobello tacos in Chicago. Drowning in chimichurri,” she says to Hotch, and he smiles a little at her excitement. “Give me a Corona and lime and a plate of tacos and I’ll forget all about Douglas fucking Jeffrey.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” he says, and he spends the rest of the trip sitting between the two of them as they reminisce about their favorite things about Chicago.

He actually really enjoys it.

When they arrive at the precinct, she is decidedly less jovial, and Hotch immediately understands why, when he introduces himself to Detective Jeffrey.

“Cortes, good to see you again,” he greets, while his expression tells a different story entirely. “Are you his... assistant?” He pretends to be confused, and JJ bristles beside them at the implication, but Sophie remains impassive, doesn’t even look tense. It’s possible his pep talk had more impact than he thought.

“She is no one’s assistant, she’s a supervisory special agent with the FBI just like me, and she will be taking point on this case. I expect you to defer to her expertise,” Hotch informs him with no room for misunderstanding in his tone. Again, if she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it, just continues reading over the case file provided.

“No offense, but this is a serial killer we’re talking about. It’s worlds away from chatting up a meth addict CI in a McDonald's parking lot.” She does close the file at that, and it appears to him that she can handle personal insults just fine, but that jabs at her work are where she gets defensive.

“You wouldn’t have closed half of your cases if it weren’t for my CIs, and you know it. But I’m not in Intelligence anymore, I’m a profiler, and I’m good at what I do.” She crosses her arms, exhales, and turns away from him, a clear dismissal. “Hotch, Prentiss, and I will go to the crime scene. Reid and Gideon will meet with the second victim’s wife, Morgan and JJ will work victimology, and we’ll reconvene here.”

“You got it, boss,” Morgan says, taking a seat, and in times like these he is really proud of his team. He knows as well as Sophie what it means to show Jeffrey that an alpha male like Morgan will take her orders, and Morgan took them and ran. He hides a smile.

They are unfortunately stuck with the detective when they are rerouted to a new crime scene as another body is found, but Hotch isn't worried. It will be a great place for her to show him what she can do.

“What do we know about the victim so far?” Sophie asks Jeffrey, her posture open.

“Sheila Lapinski, 27, hooker.” Prentiss rolls her eyes behind his back. “No one has reported her missing, no next of kin anywhere we can find. Coroner puts her time of death between 3 and 5 AM.”

“Does she have a record?”

“Osele’s pulling it now,” he says with a sigh, and she stops scanning the scene, looks to him with a cocked brow.

“Then how do you know she’s a prostitute?” He chuckles, puts out his hands like the answer is obvious.

“You know where we are. They’re like fleas around here, infesting, multiplying.” Cortes crouches down and lifts the sheet covering the victim, who is wearing a cardigan, pencil skirt, and flat shoes.

“She dressed like a prostitute to either of you?” she asks, looking up at Hotch and Prentiss, and he shakes his head, though he’s not sure why he’s surprised; the detective may actually be worse than she described him. Prentiss bends down, looks like she’s trying not to smile.

“No. She looks more like a school teacher, actually.”

“I’m telling you, they call this—pardon my French—” Sophie stands, crossing her arms, and cuts Jeffrey off.

“Pussy Alley. I know what guys like you call it. But you have no evidence this woman is a sex worker, and if she’s not, it’s extremely important that we find out how and why she was dumped here.” An older, bearded detective walks up to them, notebook open, and he smiles at her.

“Hey, Cortes. Nice to see you again, though not under the circumstances.”

“You too, Osele; these are Agents Hotchner and Prentiss. I worked with Osele in Intelligence way back when.” They all shake hands, and she nods to his notebook. “You have her record?"

“Yep, she’s squeaky clean. Not so much as a parking ticket.” Sophie shares a look with the both of them, and Jeffrey splutters.

“That’s—that’s not possible.”

“I think you’ll find that plenty is possible when you open your eyes, Detective,” Hotch can’t resist replying. Cortes crouches down again.

“There are no signs of a struggle. The bottoms of her shoes aren’t worn. Her clothes are clean, not cheap; hair done recently, not cheap.” Jeffrey puts his hands on his hips, all but rolls his eyes.

“Ah, there’s some hard hitting detective work.”

“You’re not even attempting to prove your theory that she’s a prostitute, so we’re disproving it for you,” Prentiss explains, pulling out her phone. “Easily. Garcia,” she begins, and she steps away from them to talk to the tech.

“What else do you see?” Hotch asks softly, meeting her on her level. “Anything that indicates occupation?” Her eyes are focused as she scans the victim, lifts her hand to examine her nails, her lip to examine her teeth.

“She has ink smudges on her hands, so she could be a teacher, but she could also be a receptionist, writer, accountant, secretary, bank teller… any type of administrative professional. She’s got a fresh manicure, teeth are in good health, so I’d bet she’s got insurance or has had it recently. No wedding ring, she’s too old to be on her parents’, so all signs point to a steady job.”

“Okay, there is no god damn way you can tell if she’s got health insurance just by looking at her.” She stands, and Hotch follows, covering the body with the sheet.

“No, you’re right, I can’t. It’s an educated guess based on analysis and not snap judgement. Do you have any insight into this case, aside from the fact that you think she’s a sex worker because of where she was found?”

“There’s not much to go on. Sometimes these cases go unsolved.” It’s then that Prentiss returns to them, and this time she is smiling.

“I had Garcia run our victim’s info, and it doesn’t look like she’s currently employed—no recent bank deposits, appears to be living off of her savings.”

“So not a teacher after all,” Jeffrey states, looking smug, and Hotch waits patiently, because he knows there’s more.

“Not right now, but she just moved to the area from a suburb called Evanston, and she was a third grade teacher there for two years. Private school, really nice place. Great insurance.” Sophie looks at her like something she said clicked, and she pulls out her phone.

“The ink on the heel of her hand could be from a newspaper; maybe she’s job hunting.”

“Wasn’t our first guy unemployed?” Prentiss recalls. “We should have Gideon and Reid ask his wife if he’s been job hunting. Could be a connection.”

“I’ll call Reid.” The fact that the victims were job hunting is what breaks the case. They work late into the evening, but they’re actually able to find the unsub—a man posing as a prospective employer only to people who are new to the area—relatively quickly once they put it all together.

The officers who remember Sophie from her time in Chicago are all clearly impressed with her and the team, and it makes him very, very proud.

Jeffrey clearly hates how quickly they solved the case, and he enjoys that, too.

That night, they do make it to Tito’s for drinks and Mexican food, and the team goes around the table and talks about their ‘Jeffreys’ in honor of Sophie showing up hers.

Morgan buys them all a round of Coronas in her honor as well, and later, Sophie offers to buy another; Hotch heads up the bar to help her carry.

“Since we’re here another night, is there anyone you’re going to try to see? Catch up with?” he asks while they wait for a few of the drinks. She smiles softly, tucks a hand under her chin thoughtfully.

“No, there’s nothing for me here anymore. Coming back, facing Jeffrey, was my last battle to fight, and you made that possible, so thank you.”

“It was my pleasure to see him knocked down a peg… and to watch you shine.” She reaches out, covers his hand with her own, which he did not expect, and nods back to the table with the rest of their coworkers, their friends.

“Come on. We’re going to have to rein them in soon. I could use a little back up.”

“Any time."

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part seven

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: hello i apologise in advance. pls dont hurt me!!! i would appreciate your feedback and your theories about where this fic is going! i hope this part isn’t too..... upsetting lmao. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | please donate to my ko-fi!

masterlist

You believed, until now, that you walked the world seeking out dark corners and underbellies other people didn’t want to touch. That’s your job. The current case you're supposed to be working on involves a man suspected of drugging his girlfriend to take nonconsensual nudes of her and sell them to his friends while she slept. You’re well aware the world is a dangerous place.

But things look different now, in a way you never could have imagined before the Lerna. Those men were dead before you could blink, and you know life is expendable and fragile and so easy to take but it’s another thing to see it taken before your eyes. It’s another thing to take it yourself. And you know, now, why Bucky would only show you parts of his life and himself because this whole truth feels like staring directly into the sun - painfully bright, to the point where it’s all you can see and all the good things are reduced to a spotty, hazy blur.

You’re sitting in your office, at your desk where you’re trying to work but you can’t get the sound of bullet casings hitting the floor and the thunk of a knife in skin out of your head. There, in the centre of your tiny office, was where you sat on Bucky’s lap and kissed him and demanded ‘no secrets.’ Too stubborn to know he was keeping them for a reason, that maybe there are things you don't want to know after all. But you can feel his skin under your fingertips and the brush of his stubble as he kissed you, a memory you can touch, and you can’t help but think it still feels worth it. At the end of it all, if it was a choice of the Lerna happening or never having Bucky at all, you know what you’d chose.

As if he can hear you, your phone buzzes with a text from him. Joey’s at 7?

It’s already 6:30. You’re grabbing your keys and leaving the fear on your desk chair as you text him back. Sounds perfect.

It really is. Joey’s is your favourite bar, and just seeing the grimy neon sign outside makes your heart feel less heavy. This, after everything, remains the same. You still feel giddy jogging down the stairs, ready for the heady bass music to push through your chest and a whiskey apple to numb the wounds. It feels like the beginning, half-nervous half-excited to go find Bucky tucked in a booth at the back, dim purple light chiseling out his cheekbones and catching bright on his sharp smile. Back then it was innocent, if a fuck buddy hook-up could be. Now that you know you would do things for Bucky you’d never do for anyone else, that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to remove his brand from your heart- well. You skip a couple more steps as you head down into Joey’s, only a few minutes late.

You don’t slow down as you enter the bar, weaving through patrons searching for a familiar face. Now that you’re here to the urge to see him, to have him in your arms, is almost unbearable. When you do find Bucky, spinning a glass between his fingers in a nervous habit you’ve noticed he has, he feels your eyes on him immediately. He stands and you crash into him, burying your hands under his leather jacket to feel the warmth of his body against your palms. Bucky hugs you back just as harshly, the force of his embrace lifting your toes off the ground. When he pulls away his runs a hand over your head, down your hair, coming to rest by the side of your neck as if to check your pulse and make sure you’re really there.

“You ok?” he asks, bright blue eyes now dark and hooded as he stares down at you.

You nod, unwilling to let go of your grip on the back of his t-shirt even as he pulls away, and say, “Am now.”

“Need to talk to you, it’s important,” Bucky says. He escapes your grip with ease, because he’s huge and strong and it’s easy to forget that when he softens for you. He sits at the booth and you slide in across him, watching as he downs the rest of the straight whiskey in his glass like its water. That bad feeling is back, like back at Steve’s tattoo shop, but you don’t want it here. You fumble for Bucky’s hand across the table, and he lets you hold it but it doesn’t stop the dread settling heavy in your gut. You squeeze his fingers tighter, just in case.

“Is everything alright?” you ask. “Are we- did the cops find out-“

“No, no,” Bucky says, shaking his head down at the table. His gaze catches on your intwined fingers, the glint of his signet rings in the dim bar light, and says, “The cops aren’t the problem.”

“But there is a problem,” you say, and now Bucky raises his eyes to look at you.

“I need to tell you something, it’s important” Bucky says, again, and the dread rises from your stomach like bile to your throat. “You have to understand this, so you can see that I’m not- that this isn’t just-“

“Bucky.” He lets out a ragged breath as you cut him off mid ramble, scrubs a hand through his hair. You hate the way your voice wobbles when you say, “You’re scaring me.”

You almost make yourself laugh as those words leave your mouth. This scares you? Bucky, frustrated and nervous and clinging to your hand like a lifeline, but when he walked over lifeless bodies he sunk bullets into with a giant rifle on his back - that was just fine.

“You know when we were at Steve’s, and we were talking about Hydra? About Rumlow? Do you remember that?” Bucky asks. He stares at you like he’s imploring you to say it for him, whatever it is he’s struggling to say, but you don’t understand.

You nod slowly and say, “Natasha said Rumlow had it out for you. You said Hydra is your biggest rival.”

“Yes, right,” Bucky says, nodding a bit manically. He’s still gripping your hand tight. “Rumlow hated me, and as far as we can tell - or Nat, I guess, she’s been looking into it - he was acting on his own, to get to me.”

“That’s good, right?” You don’t feel sure, with the way Bucky is acting and looking at you all glassy-eyed. “No big gang war, or whatever.”

“I need you to understand why Rumlow hated me, because it’s not just- it wasn’t just about him, ok?” Bucky says, and now he’s looking around the room like that night in your office. Casing the bar, looking for exits. “He’s dead, but none of this died with him.”

“What is ‘this’?” you ask, and wonder for the first time, do I want to find out?

“The first time I met Rumlow was in the hospital, a couple of days after I got back from Afghanistan,” Bucky says. “I’d been honourably discharged, my arm was all fucked up and fried from a chem bomb and I lost all sensation in it so they sent me home. I remember I was lying in the bed looking out the window, and it was snowing. I hadn’t been anywhere but a desert in so long and I was like, what do I do know? I don’t own a coat anymore. I’m a black ops sniper, that’s not exactly a transferrable skill - can’t even put it on a resume because it’s classified. My arm’s fried and ugly lookin’. I’m fucked.”

“You must’ve been so scared,” you say. Bucky meets your eyes, and you can see it haunting him in the back of them - so much heat and fire and pain left behind, so much cold and unknown and pain lying in front. Your dad has told you a similar story, when he came back from Iraq, and he had the same look in his eyes Bucky does right now.

“I was,” he says, and you squeeze his fingers. He looks towards your hands again and says, “I was, and they knew it.”

“Hydra,” you say, and you know you’re right. Bucky nods anyway.

“Rumlow came into my hospital room and told me, Hydra helps guys like me. They helped him and look - he’s got a job and money and friends and a team again. A purpose. But I said no. I’m black ops, I know shady guys when I seem ‘em and Rumlow reeked of it. Just, Hydra doesn’t like being told no.”

“They target vulnerable, traumatised vets in hospitals?” you ask, disgusted. You can taste the hate that boils up, and that ugly, angry part picturing Bucky lying in a bed so alone and afraid and imagining someone like Rumlow trying to take advantage of him like that - that ugly part says I’m glad he’s dead.

“They’re highly trained and easily moulded,” Bucky says in way of answer, and you shudder at the thought. “But seem Rumlow failed and it was my fault. He failed over and over again every time they sent him to recruit me. So he hated me, and then I started the Commandos with Steve and Sam and Nat to target them. The only way to save the next poor bastard like me from ending up with Hydra is to end them, except there ain't a cop in the city who can touch them.”

“But you can,” you say, and you know it’s stupid but your heart has never been known as terribly smart, so you add, “Bucky, that’s dangerous.”

He smiles, small but it’s there, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles as he says, “I know, doll. I don’t know if you know this about me, but stupid’s kinda my thing.”

“Very funny,” you say, rolling your eyes at Bucky’s cheeky grin now splitting his face. As quick as it came, though, his smile dies and so does the small spark of hope that maybe this story has a happy ending.

“I’ve made Hydra my enemy and I can’t change that. I don’t want to,” Bucky says, nodding solemnly at his own words and you watch him physically turn cold, stony and distant in the space of a second. “But that means that as long as Hydra is around, they’re going to be coming after me. First Rumlow, but it won’t stop there. They’ll come and keep coming and what if, one time, I don’t get there in time? Or you don’t get to leave your phone on, or even make it to a location before they shoot you in the back of the car?”

“No,” you say. You’re not stupid, you know where this is going and just- no. Bucky is being deliberately harsh, speaking loud and unfiltered to try and make it easier to do what he’s about to do but you won’t let him. That dread turned bile has now turned into straight, acidic fire pumping through veins and it hurts.

Bucky smiles faint and sad, says, “You said it yourself - it’s dangerous no matter what.”

“That's not what I meant,” you say, shaking your head vehemently, wildly, as if you can physically shake Bucky of this stupid idea and the actual pain you’re in just entertaining this conversation. “You know that’s not what I meant, what are- you asked me to stay, Bucky. You asked me, and now you want-“

“I know, I know,” Bucky says,  tugging your hand close to him now but it’s your turn to try and pull away, albeit unsuccessfully. “I know and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you almost died. Do you understand that? They would have killed you, and the only reason is me.”  

“That’s such bullshit,” you say, trying and failing to pull your hand free of his grip but he isn’t letting go now and the death-grip he has on you, tethering you to him even as he pushes you away, makes your eyes sting with ugly tears.

“It’s not,” Bucky says, so sad, and you just want to kiss that guilt away for him even still, even as your heart is breaking under his fist. “You will always be in danger until the day comes where I can’t protect you, and I won’t do that to you. I can’t, I can’t be the reason you get hurt.”

“You can’t protect me if you’re not around,” you say, so soft you can barely be heard over Joey’s house music but honestly, you might as well be completely alone for how little you care about the bar around you.

“The safest place for you is away from me,” Bucky says, and that makes you laugh. Humourless, fucking painfully, but you laugh and Bucky glares so dark you’re reminded of the look in his eyes when he stared down at Rumlow’s body bleeding out on the ground. Through gritted teeth he says, “You think I would do this if there was any other way?”

“There is another way,” you say, glaring right back. “There’s not being a coward about it, Bucky. You lead a dangerous life, I get it. Believe me, I fucking get it, and I chose to stay. Ok? I wanna be here anyway, so why does my choice not matter to you? Is this some stupid excuse to get rid of me?”

“Don’t say that,” Bucky all but growls, and you should be scared. He’s scary, Bucky is dangerous by his own admission but you refuse to be afraid of him. Even when he’s trying to force you to be, holding your hand too tight and dragging you around the booth so he can pin you to the seat and you both know the only way you can move is if he lets you. As if he thinks he can scare you away from him, if he can’t reason you to go.

“I don’t care how dangerous it is,” you say into his seething face, inches from yours, teeth bared in a truly terrifying snarl as he pins you to the leather in a show of strength that will leave bruises tomorrow. “I don’t wanna be away from you.”

For half a moment, you really think Bucky is going to hit you. He moves so fast, and you’ve never seen his face look like that - hurt and angry and upset and half-insane all at once. But he just presses his forehead to yours, closes his eyes and breathes you in, and for another half a moment you get to think, maybe he’ll change his mind.

“You’re all I want,” Bucky breathes, so soft and quiet you almost don’t hear him if it wasn’t said almost directly into your skin. “But that’s selfish.”

“I don’t care,” you say, like a mantra now, or a prayer. Just hoping he’ll hear you, “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.”

“You should,” Bucky says, and pulls away from you just as fast as he came in. “I won’t be the reason you end up dead.”

Bucky sits before you like a solid brick wall - unbreakable, immovable, cold and blank. His eyes are shuttered from you and you know there’s no way to get to him now. There’s nothing else you can say. If you aren’t enough for him to push past his fear and love you anyway, nothing you say is going to change his mind. Just because you know it’s true doesn’t mean it hurts any less, though, as you sit there boxed in by this menacing stranger looking at you in a way you never want to be looked at again. Like he already doesn’t know you. Like you’ve already been forgotten.

“This was always gonna happen, wasn’t it?” you ask, more to yourself than to Bucky. You laugh at his silence, the flat set of his mouth and clenched fists on his thighs. Maybe if you never went to that first party at Natasha’s house and remained at arms length, sneaking out his window and never staying the night, then maybe you could’ve had him just a little bit longer. But you didn’t, and now you’re hurt in a way you’ve never been before. Your dad never prepared you to survive a pain like this.

You slide out the other side of the booth, tripping slightly as you climb to unsteady feet. It’s hard to see through unshed tears but you don’t bother looking back at Bucky still sat in the booth. You weave through people just as fast as when you came in, but for the opposite reason now - you can’t leave behind this dim-lit bar painted with the gorey tatters of your heart fast enough.

When you emerge onto the street you know Bucky has followed you, his hulking presence palpable behind you as you stand on the sidewalk and try and calm your rapid heartbeat. You’re surprised its still beating with how much it hurts, especially when Bucky places a hand on your shoulder and cracks your heart neatly in two. He says, softly under New York traffic, “Let me drive you home. Please.”

Instead of asking why, why does he care, why does he want to, if the safest place is away from you then leave me alone, what you say is a mildly whiny, “You don’t know where I live.”

“I’ll put the address in my phone,” Bucky says, calm and low as if to placate you but you’re well past that point now. You’re crying openly on the street like a lunatic as Bucky gently takes your hand and leads you towards his bike, manhandles you onto it, clicks a helmet on over your head. It feels cruel for him to be this soft after so ruthlessly tearing you apart, but you suppose it’s better than being left alone in the street like he never cared at all.

When you pull up to your apartment building Bucky kills the engine and leans in close to you before you have a chance to jump off and run away. You think, surely he’s not about to kiss me right now and you really hate the part of you that hopes he does, but he doesn’t. He just leans in close and whispers into your helmet, “They could be watching your place, after what happened. I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes. Bucky’s right, this will never stop, but that doesn’t mean you want to face it alone. Your whole life has been carved out for you only, but just once you thought maybe you could live it with someone else. That’s not a life for you to have, it seems, so you take a deep breath through snotty tears and nod, say, “I can handle it,” because you know you can. You’ll have to.

“I think-“ Bucky starts but falters, bites his lip blanched white before continuing, “They might leave you alone if you make it clear I’m not in your life anymore.”

“You can’t ask me to do that,” you say, and all the resolve you just gathered is shattered as instantly as you found it. You’re crying again because fuck, nothing has ever hurt like this has, from the inside where you can’t find it or heal it or stop it so it just sucks the life out of you one painful second at a time.

“You have to, honey,” Bucky says, and you want to punch him for it. The way he talks to you like he loves you, like he cares, but he can’t if he’s making you do this. Break your own heart to save his. “Scream at me, send me away. They won’t need to target you then.”

“You’re cruel,” you say, pulling away from him. You don’t want to touch him anymore, can’t stand to be this close so you trip off the bike and stumble down the street. Bucky stares after you, his own eyes teary and face screwed up in genuine pain. It could never compare to the sick feelings in your stomach as you take a deep breath and scream, “Go away, Bucky. Fucking leave me alone and never come back or I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me? Fuck off, and don’t come back.”

You can’t help the sob that rips from you, threatening to buckle your knees and break you right on the sidewalk. Bucky is looking at you like you’ve just stuck a knife in his chest but he asked you to, he keeps asking and taking and it’s always you that ends up hurt. You leave him on the street, stumble up the stairs to your apartment and sink to the floor as soon as the door clicks shut behind you. It’s dark in your apartment, nothing but streetlights outside casting shadows on furniture he never touched, but it still feels like he’s haunting you just the same.

Bucky’s bike revs to life and he tears away, the sound ripping straight through and down the street. It leaves you hollowed out, a burnt-through husk curled up on your hardwood floor. You know you’ll never hear that sound again.

****

For your entire life it’s always been you against the world. The only person you could ever trust is yourself, the only one who’s going to look out for you is you and you can’t remember a time where you didn’t think this way. Maybe it’s nature, maybe it’s nurture, but it’s how you’ve always seen the world.

However, you’re only now starting to feel what being truly alone is actually like.

Bucky’s contact lies open on your phone, but you don’t press call. You won’t. He pushed you away for your own ‘safety,’ for his own fear, and you’ll have to learn to live with his choice. Even though you still love him and always will, you can’t have him and you’ll just have to be ok with that. So you leave this contact photo up on your phone, resting on your coffee table beside your open laptop. You’ve got the input feed of the bug you planted in your dad’s kitchen open, chunky headphones on, scrolling through the audio from the past few days since you’d last seen him.

Your heart is broken by the first man you’ve ever let into your life and the only other person who knows you and who you trust, you’re currently spying on. Now, for the first time, you truly have no one left.

Focusing on work has always been an escape for you, and even when your life is in pieces around you and your heart looks no different, work still pulls through. Even if that work is your own father and the inane conversations he has with himself about the baseball teams on TV, or the calls he makes to his vet friends, or the late-night renditions of ABBA songs you remember well from your childhood. A file lies open on your coffee table with your father’s name on it and pages of notes you’ve made from nearly one hundred hours of audio recordings. You hope beyond hope that you’re just paranoid, and that this time when you go digging you don’t find anything at all.

The only thing you’ve noticed so far is your dad makes a lot of phone calls. They’re long, with a lot of names thrown around you don’t recognise as being his friends or anyone from work he’s mentioned to you before. You write them all down to look up later, but you’ve got to go meet a client so you shut everything down and collect your notes in the file. You hide them, just in case, and grab your leather jacket before you leave. You still have rent to pay. The world goes on around you despite everything being turned upside down, almost as if Bucky never happened at all.

You leave via the back of the building, to come out onto the street closest to the subway station. Usually smokers hang out around there so you aren’t surprised to see two men leaning against the wall, but you are surprised when they star following you down the alley. At this point you’re an old hand at being followed, and the petty part of you brain thinks in Bucky’s direction, see? Doesn’t matter if you’re here or not, dumbass. You sigh to yourself and plan to give them the run around once you clear the alley, but you don’t get a chance to.

From behind you hear a couple of solid thunks, a groan, a muttered curse from one of the men and then one final thunk before silence. You turn around, half afraid of who you’re going to meet once you do and half annoyed because you think you might know who it is. Sure enough, standing there in her leather jacket and a rusted metal pipe from the dumpster in her grip, is Natasha.

She blows a stray strand of hair out of her face and says, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“So he’ll break up with me but will still have me followed,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. Natasha shrugs and you mutter, “Figures.”

“I am always the first to say James is an idiot,” Natasha says, twirling the pipe like a baton in her delicate hands. She grins at you and says, “James is an idiot.”

“I’m aware,” you grit out, glaring at the red-head. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you don’t end up as Hydra mince-meat,” Natasha says, “What does it look like?”

“Doing whatever Bucky says even when it’s stupid,” you say. Natasha doesn’t like that, her bright grin dropping into a scowl as she steps up to you. Small, but with a clearly lethal weapon in her hands if the unconscious bodies behind her are anything to go by, she jabs the tip of the pipe into your chest and forces you a step backwards.

“James always has good intentions, even if his logic is sometimes flawed.” She drops the pipe, letting it clang to the floor between you as if to punctuate her saying, “Besides, James didn't tell me to do anything. I volunteered.”

“Why?” you ask, sneering slightly. “I think we both know you don’t trust me, or like me, and you make it very hard to like you.”

Natasha smiles at that, and you hate the face she makes every time you say something she ‘approves’ of - condescending, like she doesn’t expect you to have brain cells and is surprised every time you do. She says, very solemn despite the smile in her eyes, “I owe you.”

That makes you pause. Instantly, like you’re right back in that bar. You can see her groaning body struggling to stand after being thrown into a wall. Rumlow pointing a gun at her back, the blood-thirst emanating off him in waves. Your own hand, as if detached from your body, flinging the knife across the room into his neck before he can put a bullet in Natasha’s.

You swallow thickly, shake your head and say, “No you don’t.”

“I do,” she insists. She steps forward with her hand out, beckoning her fingers like she wants you to hand her something. You just stare at her empty palm for a few seconds before she clicks her tongue and says, “Phone.”

You hand it over without thinking, which was definitely stupid. But Natasha just types away quickly before giving it back and you see you have a new contact with her name attached entered into your phone.

“If you ever need anything,” she says, and taps your phone screen with her nail, “call me.”

It was only minutes ago you were sitting on your couch scrolling through audio from your tapped father’s kitchen thinking you’ve never been more alone in your life. Yet here you are, looking at a helping hand outstretched from the last person you expected it to come from. Your fingers shake slightly as you tuck your phone into your back pocket, and Natasha smiles at you like she understands.

“Thank you,” you say, and you hope she knows you genuinely do mean it.

Natasha nods, then says, “Get out of here, alright? I have to clean this up.”

You suppose that’s Natasha speak for ‘your welcome,’ so you leave her to it. The whole client meeting you can’t focus properly, too busy trying to decide if you feel safer or more afraid at having one of the scariest women you know watching your apartment. By the end of the day, your conclusion is that if Natasha is going to be in your life, its probably best she’s on your side rather than against it.

When you get home that afternoon there is no sign of the two guys Natasha knocked out, nor is she anywhere to be seen. You can’t help but feel watched, though, as you enter your building and climb the stairs. She’s a busy woman and you know she can’t be watching you all the time but you still feel her green eyes on the back of your neck - its not an altogether uncomfortable sensation. That’s something to unpack later, you think, as you collapse on the couch.

You try to resist, but as soon as you sit down and close your eyes the urge to forget about the case you’ve just taken on and look into your own hunches grows too strong. You get up again and fish out your dad’s file again from your hiding place, bringing it back to the couch to flip open. The list of names you’ve been compiling is at the top, scribbled in messy handwriting as you listened to your dad’s one-sided conversations. You tallied up how many times the same name had been mentioned and in what context, however it had been hard to decipher what your dad was talking about with only half the story.

You decide to go looking into the most mentioned name - more of a title, really. Somebody your dad calls Chief shows up in almost every single conversation he has over the phone, and when you were going through the audio it dredged up some strange, suppressed childhood memory. You used to hear him talking to guys downstairs when you were doing your homework, and you always thought he called them ‘chief’ as a nickname or weird, macho term of endearment like how kids in your class would call each other ‘bro’.

Maybe, he was only talking to one guy. You were going to find out.

Starting at your dad’s job, you scroll through their website and LinkedIn profiles to find any link to the name ‘Chief.’ He works as a security guard for a chain of clubs in the city so you are doubtful, and sure enough nothing really comes up to peak your interest. Your dad really only has one other major outlet to look into and that’s the VA, so you have to swallow past the dirty feeling of investigating suffering vets and start scrolling through the website for the Brooklyn VA group attached to the medical centre.

It’s all wholesome stuff and nothing of interest to your snooping at all until you get to a photo gallery from four years ago. It’s dedicated to commemorating the Brooklyn VA and New York Police Department workshop day promoting mental health for vets and servicemen. There are a bunch of photos of group activities and the lunch put on by the VA, and you spot your dad in a couple of them. You’re about to click off when you find one where your dad is posed with another vet and a very official, very dressed up cop. Nothing you haven’t seen at least forty of before in this gallery, but it’s the caption which makes you pause.

It reads, Some of the Brooklyn VA’s finest with NY Chief of Police. It has to be a coincidence, the man’s job title and nothing more. He’s tall, broad, with sandy blonde hair turning grey under his police hat. There are more medals than you can count pinned to his uniform and even in this grainy photo you can tell he would squash your dad like an ant if he gave the Chief of Police a reason to. You’ve never paid attention to this before, steering clear of cops whenever you can, but you find yourself googling him as soon as you can pull yourself away from his mile-long stare.

As soon as the NYPD profile on the Chief of Police loads, your blood turns to ice. You want to say you’re crazy, you’re crazy, you’re paranoid, but name one time your paranoia had led you wrong? Two strange coincidences don’t happen back to back, no matter how disconnected they may appear. Two worlds you never thought you would know, let alone be watching them collide, stare up at you from your computer screen. You can hear Steve’s voice like he’s sitting right next to you, saying “It is strange we haven’t heard anything from Pierce,” and right under a professional portrait of the Chief of Police is his name burning into the back of your eyelids - Alexander Pierce.

You shove your laptop onto the coffee table and stand, pacing back and forth in front of your couch. Scraping a hand through your hair and pulling half of it out of your head in the process, you try to reason your way out of connecting these dots. They’re barely dots, their echoes of dots - so your dad took a photo with the Chief of Police four years ago and he refers to someone he knows as ‘Chief’ as a nickname and Steve mentioned Pierce was someone in Hydra and the Chief of Police happened to be named Alexander Pierce. So what, right?

“Ok, ok, ok, ok,” you say to yourself, rushed and manic. You’ll just ask your dad. He’s your dad, he was never supposed to hide anything from you so why would he start now? If you just ask he might-

You don’t get to finish your thought. Three loud knocks ring through your empty apartment, your doorbell chiming impatiently straight afterwards. You stare at the door with your heart in your throat, long enough for them to ring the doorbell again and a loud, male voice to call out your full name. Someone you don’t recognise, yet they know where you live. You approach the door on silent feet and look through the peephole, reaching for the baseball bat you keep behind a pot plant as you do.

Standing outside are two men in suits, one of whom is looming at the peephole and making stupid faces while his college rolls his eyes and attempts to hold him back. Through the door, you ask, “Who is it? What department are you with?”

“I’m Special Detective James Rhodes and this is my partner, Special Detective Tony Stark,” the unimpressed cop says, elbowing his colleague out of the way who is still trying to look through the wrong side of the peephole. Holding up a badge and gesturing for his partner to do the same, Detective Rhodes says, “We’re with the FBI, ma’am.”

“Shit,” you say, before realising you said that out loud. Your hand feels numb where you grip your baseball bat tightly, and you decide in that moment you have to be dreaming. No way has the events of the past fifteen minutes taken place.

The guy who must be Detective Stark laughs and says, “Shit is right. Let us in, ma’am, we need to ask you some questions.”

You look back at the coffee table laden with copious notes on your father and your open laptop, Chief of Police Alexander Pierce’s face staring back at you. An omen, you think, but it would be even more suspicious if you asked them to wait to clean everything up. Your heart-stopping, life-changing, maybe-discovery will have to wait.

You slide off the chain and unlock your deadbolt, opening the door for the two FBI agents. They walk in without another word, and it really hits you then. It doesn’t matter what Bucky does now, if he leaves you and never comes back or if he never left at all - you’re in this, now. And now you’ll pay the price.

[queerlymasculine]

this is a really long post and I have yet to discover a way to put a read-more on posts while on mobile. RIP. I'll tag it as a long post, but that's the best I can do. mobile does have filtering, btw, so you can hide tags and content (including usernames btw) that you don't want to see, so blacklist "long post"

anyway

in tonight's edition of "growing up in fundamentalist Christianity was a deeply traumatic experience for me on top of the trauma I was already experiencing at the same time,"

I have realized once again why the way primarily cisgender heterosexual people talk about kink has never vibed with me.

fundamentalist Christianity is all about how pleasure is bad. if you feel pleasure, you are not doing enough. you are not a good person if you are feeling pleasure (or even if you're feeling calm and comfortable). suffering is the point. you should be suffering all the time. you should be uncomfortable. suffering is good. suffering is the right thing to do. if you are struggling and constantly telling yourself you're a bad person and constantly aware that you should be doing more, you're on the right track. but you're never a good person. everyone is fundamentally bad, and the best we can do is work insanely hard to be less-bad.

I'm not kidding. it sounds crazy because it is. it sounds unhealthy because it is.

and that's the narrative people have about submission. maybe suffering isn't the right word because I feel like at least 51% of people in kink understand that if you're playing with any kind of pain, you should be enjoying it at all times. I feel like most people think pain should be a fun time for you if you're going to do it.

maybe sacrifice is the better word. submission seems synonymous with sacrifice. submissives, it seems, give something up, and dominants gain. a submissive lacks, and a dominant has. people talk about it as though that is what submission -- maybe more specifically the type of submission that includes an aspect of service -- entails. that sacrifice is the core of submission.

and honestly I don't fuck with that, given the trauma I experienced. I can see in theory how one might enjoy that, I genuinely do. it's not for me, but that doesn't mean I don't understand what the appeal is.

but I don't fuck with it. I lived with that narrative for years, and it contributed to the other horrible things I was going through, and I'm over it, none for me thanks.

and yet, here I am, in a d/s relationship (intentionally not capitalized because I find the obsession with capitalization exhausting and demeaning), and here I am, with the desire to serve.

it should be noted that this desire to serve is exclusive to my owner and has grown organically in me. I didn't want this before I met hir, and I only want this with hir.

so, how do I make this make sense? how do I align my desire to serve with the fact I refuse to operate under a framework where discomfort, sacrifice, and suffering are expected of me?

because there's no obligation. there are no consequences if I don't want to or am not able to. I will receive the same praise and love, and I will be desired either way. there are no conditions on pleasure. hir pleasure is never more important than mine. pleasure can look different for each of us -- for example, sometimes it's pleasurable to orgasm, sometimes it's pleasurable not to -- but we both deserve and get pleasure from what we do.

when I think about performing acts of service for hir, it's a pleasurable thought and I have every reason to believe the experience in real life would feel the same way. I want to do them because I want to, which seems reductive, I'll grant you that. I want to do them because the idea of doing them brings me pleasure. the fact it will also bring hir pleasure is a beneficial side effect.

(obviously I wouldn't do them if ze didn't want me to. what I'm saying is that I don't feel compelled to do them because I believe I have to in order to please hir.)

i wouldn't want to do these things if I didn't feel safe. my desire to do them is one of the most pure feelings I experience. it's not complicated. I don't feel like I have to. I don't feel like I need to. I don't feel like it will make me a Better Submissive if I do them. I don't think wanting to serve makes me a Better Submissive than people who don't want to. it's just a thing I want to do because it is a way I can express how I feel about hir.

I wouldn't feel this way about someone who wanted me to do it or expected me to. I don't find acts of domestic-flavored service inherently rewarding, most likely because of the way I was raised and the society in which we live. doing these things requires a lot from me, and when it's expected, the emotional payoff is never enough to justify the cost incurred.

ze doesn't expect it. even when I express certain desires, ze never holds me to them, ze never expects me to want to do the same things every time we play. the lack of expectation and concurrent lack of punitive response -- not just lack of discipline play but also that ze never reacts negatively when I express my needs, ze never gets angry or frustrated with me, etc -- makes me feel safe.

ze is a really good person, and I'm not just saying that in the same way that people always say the person they love is a good person. ze is like.......... a really good person. I've only ever met a handful of other people who are good like this. ze is the kind of person who is so good that you kinda can't trust it at first because you're like, "okay nobody is actually that good. nobody is actually that kind and good and patient and smart and loving and genuine."

but like.... ze actually is like that.

and I just, the way I feel about hir, I don't know how to express it in a different way. there aren't other ways to express this facet of it. there certainly aren't words for it. this is the only way that can properly communicate it.

I just want to serve hir because that's the way I feel about hir and because I feel that ze deserves it. I don't think any of the random doms on here deserve it from me because I know I'm better than them. they're not good enough for me.

but ze is good enough for me. that is why ze gets to play under this framework with me. ze is kind and good and loving and gentle and soft, and I deserve that. similarly, I'm kind and gentle and loving and supportive and able to be honest about my needs, and ze deserves a partner and submissive with those qualities.

and I believe ze deserves the kind of devotion I have for hir. I believe ze deserves the way I feel about hir.

so it doesn't feel like a sacrifice. nothing about being hirs feels like I'm giving anything up. I genuinely see everything we do as me getting something. there's no loss or sacrifice at all. other people might look at what we do and view it with that lens, but their interpretation would be wrong.

to me, kink is just an umbrella of different ways to experience pleasure. it's a choose your own adventure thing with a wide range of options. the only two mandatory requirements are enthusiastic consent and safety, both physical and emotional.

kink should just be a nice time that you enjoy with people you like and trust. it shouldn't be boring or a chore. it should be fun and fulfilling. it shouldn't be sacrifice. there shouldn't be a price.

I want to serve because it feels good, that's all. I will only serve when it feels good. that's how it works for me. I might enjoy something right now and do it, but if tomorrow it doesn't feel good, I don't do it tomorrow.

and for me, I don't mess with extra steps. if it doesn't feel uncomplicatedly good, then I'm not going to do it. I don't have anything to prove. if a dominant needs a submissive to Prove™️ they are the dominant's submissive, I am not the partner for them and they are not the dominant for me.

my time is valuable, people. I don't waste it on shit I don't have to. if I choose to share my free time with you, it's because I want to, and I don't respect people who feel entitled to more than what I want to give them.

this is a good example of why I choose to be with my owner -- I have literally said the words "I want you to feel entitled to me" to hir lmao. ze has never acted like ze feels entitled to my time or attention. that tells me ze respects me and that ze believes my time and attention have value because decent people don't just go around expecting valuable things for free.

I know ze respects me. so I want hir to feel entitled to me because I want to be hirs and I want hir to feel that I belong to hir. I want to know ze feels and understands how I feel.

i don't personally see the benefit of living under a narrative of sacrifice. I tried it, and it fucked me up. I work with a narrative of pleasure and wanting to serve my owner is a product of that narrative. it is pleasurable to serve hir. it is exclusively pleasurable. it's healing, too. it is healing to adore someone this way and to be adored in return. it is healing to want to serve someone deserves it and who appreciates the entirety of it. it is healing to be this safe.

idk what the point of this post is, other than lacetop is great and you really can just do the parts of kink that are fun for you and forget the rest.

[remmushound]

Beyond the Bay Chapter 19, Traximus

Summary: The Turtles meet a dinosaur

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @selfindulgenz @ilo-artistry @unhealthyobsessions101

Content warnings: swears

Bubble, bubble, bubble went the water as it swelled and displaced. Weapons were drawn, and the katana in Leonardo’s hand felt as foreign as if someone had just given him a book in Chinese and instructed him to read it. The handle was smaller than his odachi, and the blade was shorter, and it was thinner, and its weight was lighter, almost nothing. Still, a weapon was a weapon, even if he naturally navigated toward the back of the crowded group to put a wall of muscle between him and whatever was emerging from the cesspool.

There came two curved horns as long as Leonardo’s arm and as thick as Leo’s at the base, curved forward and angled close together. The gap between then formed an almost triangle shape. First came the horns, and then came an apricot head that rivaled the size of a small car, revealing a third smaller horn on the tip of a muzzle just before heavy, meaty flesh parted to a hard, bony beak. The head shook from size to side, a loud whoosh resulting as the broad frill caught the air. Further still the triceraton revealed himself.

His shoulders were as wide as the frill on his head, and he had a torso that could be mistaken for a brick wall. He was clothed in a red and orange regalia that could have once been a beautiful suit but was now stained with waste and ruin, heavy from the submergence. His nostrils flared to blow away the water that still cascaded along his muscular form, his breaths coming in heavy and labored grunts. Donnie couldn’t help but take notice of many wires hanging loosely around the triceratons shoulders, several of them severed or otherwise damaged; what use could they have once served? The options were limitless!

The triceraton didn't charge, but the clan held their ground. Eyes of an impossibly bright emerald sought something among the group; what that something was was anyone’s guess, but it must have been important. Apparently it was Donnie that held what the alien sought, because when his eyes found the box turtle they stopped searching. His head bowed and the turtles once more braced themselves for a charge. The triceraton lifted his arms up to his horns, arching his fingers downward so they formed an inverted triangle; joined with the angling of his horns, a diamond shape was revealed.

“Awaiting… orders… general Mozar.” He sounded as if he had swallowed a cheese grater.

Raph’s confusion disturbed the unyielding stance. “Who?”

All eyes gleaned over at Donnie. The box turtle paled at all the attention suddenly on him, his throat drying and a visible drop of sweat dripping down his forehead.

“Dudes this is so weird…” Mikey breathed.

“Woah!” Despite the many shouts of discouragement and several attempts to stop Michelangelo, the box turtle made his way to the front of the group to oggle the still giant. “How can we understand you?! Is there some super cool alien translation device?!”

“Actually Michael, I think he’s just speaking english.” Donatello commented absently.

“Oh.” Michelangelo deflated, “That’s less fun.”

The giant seemed to tolerate Michelangelo’s presence surprisingly well; that is to say, he didn't immediately try to beat the young turtle into a puddle.

“Should we be concerned that he’s not, you know… pummeling us right now?” Raphael asked, his hands still fixed firmly on his tonfa.

“Don’t let your guard down.” Leo whispered to the group, “He still might.”

“I don’t think he will.” Leonardo said, and his eyes were locked on the dinosaur as if seeing something no one else could.

“Excuse me?” With a hand perched on his hip, Leo addressed Leonardo’s words with scrutiny.

“Donnie.” Leonardo said to the box turtle, “Raise your hand…”

Donnie, though confused, raised his hand. The triceraton lowered his strange salute and raised his hand; Donnie leaned curiously to the side, and the dinosaur leaned to the side. Donnie leaned to the other side, and the dinosaur followed, like a baby mimicking its mother.

“Ooookay, things just got a whole lot weirder.” Mikey whistled.

“Guys, you remember that one really red triceraton?” Donnie asked quickly without removing his eyes from the ten foot giant before him. “The one with the lopsided horns?”

“Yeah, the leader.” Leo said just as quick as Donnie, just as urgent.

Donnie didn't answer verbally, but made a point of motioning to the goggles perched on his head, the lopsided lenses glistening.

“Aaaaand sidebar!” Despite being the smallest of all eight gathered, Leonardo was able to wrap his arms around the other mutants and whisk them to the side while Traximus returned to his unsteady salute. “Okay bros; how we feeling ‘bout this?”

“That dino dude’s acting weird…” Mikey said, and made a point of enunciating the last word,

“Yeah, like Mikey weird.” Raph whistled.

“Hey.” Mikey narrowed his eyes.

“And his gears all busted up.” Donnie reported, “He doesn’t have his mask on anymore for one.”

“And why is he playing some twisted version of Simon Says with Donnie?” Raph’s words came with a sharp scoff.

“Maybe he’s friendly?” Michelangelo offered up.

“Unlikely.” Donatello disagreed.

“Well the robot was nice.” Michelangelo pointed out.

“That is a fair point.” Leonardo nodded and agreed.

“And what’s that meant to be, some kinda salute?” Raph lifted his head from the group to look back at the giant. “An’ why does he think Don’s this ‘Mozar’ or whatever?”

Donatello cleared his throat to call everyone’s attention. “I would like to offer a theory if I may?”

“Yeah, shoot.” Raphael said.

“You mentioned something about a mask.” Donatello said, holding one hand over his mouth and nose to resemble a mask, “Like, a cloth mask or an oxygen mask?”

“Uh, oxygen.” Donnie nodded his confirmation.

“Right.” Donatello nodded, and pointed over at the dinosaur. “I see no oxygen tank. If he had one to begin with, it’s gone now, and yet he’s still up and walking.”

“I… don’t remember any oxygen tank.” Leo shook his head.

“That’s because it probably wasn’t an oxygen mask. Not if all five of your dinosaurs were wearing ‘em in a place where there was quite clearly oxygen. That, my dear friends, is a pattern, not a coincidence. If they all had it, chances are it’s some sort of filter, like they’re meant to be breathing something that’s not our air. And if someone from our planet breathes in something that isn’t oxygen…”

“It kills them?” Leo wasn’t following.

“Yes, and no. How about you?” Donatello pointed at Donnie.

“It can cause… delirium, confusion… hallucinations…” Donnie was following perfectly.

“Who’s to say the effects aren’t the same for someone like him?”

“You’re saying he’s deprived of some type of breathing apparatus?” Donnie’s eyes lit up like the skies on the Fourth of July, “It makes sense!”

“And it would explain the confusion.” Leonardo said.

Leo, wanting desperately to get on to a more important subject, urged, “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“Yes.” Donatello answered confidently, “But he also thinks dear Donald here is his beloved General Mozar, and we should keep it that way.”

“General…” The dinosaur called,. “Awaiting orders…”

“Uh. At ease?” Donnie offered.

The dinosaur stared at him for the longest time, trying to decipher why his bold and brash commander had spoken so strangely before lowering his arms to his side. Donnie cleared his throat and stepped forward away from the group, trying to make himself as big as possible which wasn’t much of a task for the tree-like turtle.

“Remind me of your name and rank again, soldier.” Donnie’s voice slowly gained more confidence and tone, and the dinosaur seemed to be excited by it.

“Major Traximus of the Ygthian fleet, serving our great and powerful Prime Leader.”

“That’s right.” It felt almost fun being in a position of power, and it quickly went to Donnie’s head. “My command for you, Major Traximus, is to help me escort these… diplomats back to their home.”

“Yes Commander Mozar…” Traximus bowed the immensity of his head. “As you command…”

Though one could expect a beast of such immense proportion to lumber at an awkward gait, it was quite the opposite as Traximus walked with such speed and determination. The turtles parted to allow him plenty of space to pass by them. He was a man— or alien— on a mission that would stop for nothing. Glances were exchanged, followed by ‘what else are we gonna do?’ shrugs and curious excitement as the turtles were quick to keep up with the charging titan.

“How’d he get through anyway?” Raph asked; he was the one now holding Splinter, cradling the rat to his chest and still working absently to dry his fur.

“He was the one chasing us back in our world.” Leo said, “Maybe he got through the rift, ended up in the sewers. Lord knows the time rift had ask of us scattered to the winds.”

“Awesome…” Mikey breathed, followed up with, “I told you he was out here!”

“Yeah…” Both Leo and Raph faltered their steps, “You did…”

They made good time getting back to the lair where Yoshi and April were sat together at the living room coffee table assembling a puzzle; it was one activity that Yoshi didn't need help with, since the pieces were so big and obvious, and the old rat took great pride in each success. April, like her turtle brothers, had grown and matured greatly. She had forgone her usual buns in favor of tight braids clinging to her scalp and cascading to just above her shoulders, and she wore a modest yellow jumpsuit and rubber rain boots, perfect for traversing the wet ick of the sewer. One thing was familiar about her, however, and it was that same green coat she had been wearing since her younger adolescent. April looked up when she heard their approach, the smile turning to her mouth hanging open and her eyes bulging.

“Holy Jurassic Park…”

Leonardo took Splinter from Raph’s arm and immediately whisked him away, leaving Raph with his empty arms still out in a cradle, pouting and desperately pawing at the air that had once been his dad. Donnie parted from the group and tried follow Leonardo to the infirmary, but the red eared slider stopped him.

“I got him; you and the guys take care of our little… guest over there.” And Leonardo motioned to Traximus, who was still and awaiting orders.

“Oh. Right.” Donnie watched Leonardo leave like a distressed puppy watching his owner go to work without him. Seeking some guidance, Donnie turned to his brother. “Leo?”

“Maybe we… get him something to eat?” Leo offered.

“What do dinosaurs eat anyway?” Raph huffed; now without anything to hold, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Nothing that still exists.” Donnie muttered bitterly, and his eyes passed over the orange dinosaur trying to make better sense of the alien presence.

“Well, he is an alien dinosaur.” Michelangelo pointed, “Maybe he eats something different.”

“If it’s alien, it still won’t be on our planet, Michael.” Donatello added.

“Oh.” Michelangelo’s expression deflated.

“But we can still try.” Leo said, arms motioning widely as he called attention to himself, “We need to make his comfortable before we can get anything out of him.”

“Are we sure he even knows anything?” Donatello asked, and he was looking absently at his nails, “Doesn’t look like there’s much happening upstairs.”

It was true that Traximus’ eyes did look remarkably empty, but Donnie wasn’t convinced he was completely gone. The dinosaur could talk, and could obey orders, even if he couldn’t recognize them as not being from his own species. And they had been there for two days now! He didn't know a damn thing about alien triceratops digestion, or how long they could go without food, but he did know a thing or two about empathy. Did this triceraton need food? Maybe. Water? Maybe. Donnie would make sure the creature didn't go without either.

“Major Traximus?”

The triceraton snorted and shook his head as he brought his focus to attention at the call of his commander.

“Would you care to… indulge in… sustenance?” Donnie tried to choose his words carefully, but it was difficult, if not impossible, with knowing next to nothing about who he was meant to be portraying.

Traximus tilted his head to one side, and then the other. “Commander Mozar…?”

“Yes, that’s me.” Donnie gulped, raising his head a little higher and keeping his expression still and serious. With eyes as beady and small as Traximus’, he wasn’t sure the alien could even see him. “You must be hungry soldiers. Follow me to the… dining room and select something to eat.”

Without another word, Donnie turned on his heels and guided the way to the kitchen. Traximus, confusion evident on all of his features, trailed behind with the gaggle of curious turtles following him. They got to the kitchen and he surpassed Donnie, intent on obeying the command and maybe just plain starving as he pulled the fridge door open— more like ripped it off its hinges— and began to dig around inside. The turtles watched in curious awe.

Now that they weren’t in immediate danger of being trampled and crushed by this titan of a creature, it was like they couldn’t stop watching him. Something not human, not yokai, not mutant— something new! You didn't have to be Donnie to see the beauty in this new creature, nor to feel a desperate urge to know more and more about them! Raphael was practically exploding with excitement. He had always wanted to be so close to a dinosaur but now it was happening? He could hardly breathe! The kitchen was barely big enough for them all, but they managed to crowd around in such a way that they all could get a good view of what was happening.

Traximus picked up the gallon of milk first, shaking it a bit and then promptly discarding it. In fact, he discarded all the liquid, tossing drinks behind him and letting them shatter and spill over the floor. Not even Michelangelo cared about the mess made of his precious ingredients— not when it was this beautifully intricate creature doing it! Once all the liquid contents were out of his way, Traximus began a long pattern of selecting food, taking a bite, deciding he didn't like it, and tossing it carelessly. This process continued on until the fridge was almost barren and Michelangelo was finally regretting not intervening sooner. One of the final things left in the fridge, chili peppers, were the next thing Traximus grabbed.

“Wait— maybe you shouldn’t—” Raphael tried a little too late, as Traximus was already shoving a handful into his mouth, stems and seeds and all.

Everyone cringed, even Raph— who had taken on a hot pepper challenge many times again Leo and always somehow lost (he lost because Leo had switched out all of his own peppers for sweet peppers, but Leo would never admit that). They waited for the burn, for the scream, for the desperate scramble to find coolness. Instead, Traximus chomped happily and his mouth began to drool in response to the burning stimuli, his lips curling up as his tongue poked out to lap up all the drool that tried to escape. He dumped the rest of the basket into his mouth and dove back into the fridge in pursuit of more burning delights.

“We have a winner.” Raph said with a satisfied smirk.

Michelangelo’s eyes were firmly fixed on the mess at their feet. “And we have no dinner…”

[volturicangetit]

D.V- Mates 1/2

Summary: The reader is a human friend of the Cullens who gets taken by the volturi because they’re Demitri’s mate. 

Warnings: reader getting turned, swearing

wordcount: 1562

MASTERLIST

Why did Bella have to be such a dumb ass? You were really contemplating every choice you ever made that lead up to this point. Here you are, running after your love crazy friend, trough the herds of locals trying to celebrate their festival. You try to look behind you every so often to see if you can find Alice, knowing that she is probably taking some back allay's to stay out of the sun. But part of you still hopes that she'll come sprinting up to you to help with your lunatic friend. The fan really hit the shit when you saw Edward stepping out of the building. You know about what they are, which wasn't so hard to find out since Jacob told you the weird folktale stories and Edward can't stop talking about how his soul is damned.

" Edward! " You can hear Bella yell as she struts through the fountain. You take an easier route and just simply walk around it. Bella quickly pushes Edward inside the castle again to keep him out of the sun. You try to push your way through the people and towards the castle, to no avail however since the mass of people just pushes you in the opposite direction. That's when you feel a cold hand wrap itself around your arm and pulling you out of the mass of people. It all happens so fast and in such a blur that you can't even see who it is.

It's only when you are being pushed through the doors of the castle that you look behind you. A man with dirty blond, spiky hair is holding your arm. He's wearing a cape and a cold chain with a prominent V hanging from it make you quickly realize that he is one of them. You would think that with those clothes someone would realize that they aren't from this time. You quickly spot Bella, clinging to Edward's arm as a tall man, that has some resemblance of a bear, glares daggers at them. Alice stand next to them clutching her shawl.

" Y/n... " Bella says. You give her a quick nod to signal her that all is okay. The man who brought you here lets go of your arm and takes his place next to the tall man. " Demitri, we can leave them out of this. " Edward says. The man, Demitri, shakes his head. " They know about us. I think master Aro would like to meet them as well," he says with a smooth British accent.

Nobody who is referred to as ' master ' is to be trusted. That theory proved itself when you found yourself standing in front of Aro. Slik, raven hair is pushed behind his ears as his red eyes stare at you. " Two...humans," he says as he walks over to Bella. He slides his hand over her cheek. " Ah, young Bella. ". He drags out his vowels a bit. Everything about him makes you want to throw up. Every warning sign in your body is going off. Get out of here! Run! Get out!

But you can't just run out of a castle full of vampires, especially not one with the rulers of the vampires in it. ' And Y/n. Oh, how immortality would suit you. ". His fingertips run over your neck, stopping for a second right on top of your artery. You want to push his hand off you. You want to scream at him to keep his hands to himself but you're smarter than that. You want to make it out of this room alive and not end up as vampire dinner.

Aro finally gets if hands of you. You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding in. " We do hope that Bella will get turned soon. But we can't say the same about Y/n. ". Aro says as he walks back towards his throne and sits down in it. fear runs through your body. You were deadmeat. You're going to die. Probably by the fangs of on Demitri, or that blond girl or anyone in this room. " I'm sorry? " Alice says. Fear laces her voice taking a couple of steps forward.

" We can hardly allow you to stay friends with one human. Definitely not two. " the blond king, who you learned was named Carius, says. " They'll stay. ". It all goes quick. A tall, brunette man picks you up with ease. Edward runs towards you but gets stop when he falls to the floor screaming. The blond girl's eyes are locked on him as she mutters out ' pain '. The doors open and close quickly as the man carries you out of the throne room.

" Let me go! " you scream as you claw at his arms. You flail your legs to try and wiggle out of his grasp, but his cold arms are not letting you go anytime soon. “ Let me go your fucking mosquito! “

Two months, three days and sixteen hours. That's how long the Volturi has kept you in the castle. You still don't know why they kept you, or why they kept you alive. You have started to become friends with some of the vampires in the castle. Mostly with the higher guards. They had some respect for you, even though you didn't know why. You had gotten close to Demitri in particular. He would spend his night in your room since he didn't sleep anyway. You were too afraid of him to object to it. And somewhere, deep down, you found some comfort in it as well.

" Umano? " Demitri's voice rings from behind your door. He doesn't wait for your invitation as he walks into your room. " There you are. ". You're propped up against some pillows on a small couch Aro was kind enough to place in your room, right in front of the fireplace. Sure, the summers felt like heaven but it got wickedly cold in the winters. Demitri stands in front of you, towering over you as you look up at him. He immediately felt a wave of calmness wash over him. You could always make him relax, which why he liked hanging out with you so much. " I'm sorry to interrupt your reading but the masters want to have a talk with you. ". Normally, his soft British accent calmed you down but now, it fills your body with fear. You place the book you were reading down with shaky hands and let him help you stand up. He guides you towards the throne room even though you know the castle from heart by now. The dark oak doors are open for you as you walk into the room, Demitri close at your side.

" Y/n! How glad we are that you could join us. " Aro says as he stands up from his throne and clasps his hands together. In front of him stand Jane, Alec and Felix. Demitri quickly walks over to them to join them. " We have some important news to share. ". The moment you are within arms reach of Aro, he grabs your hand and wraps his own around it. You're used to it by now, the constant mind reading. It was like he had an insecurity. Like he needed constant confinement that you didn't have any bad thoughts about him. " It looks like Demitri found his mate. " Marcus mutters out as he continues to stare blankly at the wall. " Mate? " you ask. Mates sound more like a thing that werewolves or dogs would have.

" The second half that completes his soul. " Aro explains. " Every person has one, the bond gets stronger with vampires, however. You make him feel whole. You give him purpose. ". Demitri keeps his eyes cast on you, not daring to say a word. He knew that the masters would find out. He tried his hardest to keep it a secret but that has proven to be hard when Marcus could see the bonds.

" I-Is it romantic? Because Demitri you're great, but I don't- I don't see you like that," you say as you look at him apologetically. Aro quickly interrupts you. ' Not necessarily. Platonic mates are also very common. Just having you in his life makes him feel whole again. ". He walks circles around you before he grabs your hand and lifts it up to his ear, listening to your heartbeat. Another habit that all the residents of the castle fell into. " Which is why we need to change you. You understand that, don't you, young Y/n? ". You nod. You knew this day would come. You would either get turned or killed, neither of which were preferable to you. Before you could say anything, Aro's teeth sink into your skin. White, hot pain seers through your body as you can feel the venom seeping in. Your vision starts to go black as the world moves in slow motion. The last thing you can see is Demitri running towards you with panic in his eyes.

TWILIGHT TAGS:

@scuzmunkie @thanossexual @kpopgirlbtssvt

[feckin-zicons]

that's why i hate larries, i hate them with all my heart. besides being boring they are hypocrites 🙄

Hey nonnie, sorry its taken me so long to reply but if you’re following me you know I’ve been travelling lately and have been more scatterbrained than usual. Not that I’m ever not scatterbrained, but its been just a little crazier than usual!

Now I wouldn’t go as far to say I hate Larries. After all their delusions can be pretty funny sometimes!

Joking aside, I don’t hate Larries, I love Larries, I’m a Larry, so I really hesitate to tarry the whole group with the same brush. However I do strongly agree with you that there are those who are complete hypocrites. Nothing annoys more more than when Larries ™ treat the other boys, other celebrities, their friends and even family as one more side character to the Larry Show.

In particular when Larries ™ flood comment sections asking or in some cases, ordering people to confirm rumors/the couple being together. The absolute fucking disrespect. Not just because they’re flooding comment sections in videos streams, tweets, what have you, that sometimes have nothing to do with the couple in question, but because its presumptuous and rude as fuck to think they’re owed a coming out- just because they’re fans of the boys.

Stop it. Thats fucking ugly as hell.

While I have no doubt all the boys will one day be out (as referenced by their continued efforts in fighting the closet. I don’t get the sense the boys will just stop at being freed from their contractual obligations). It should and will be on their own terms. Provided they’re not forcibly outed some other way.

Coming out is a deeply personal experience and no one, no one ever, has the right to out someone else. I’ll never not be absolutely furious at the Larries ™ who posted about having ‘receipts’ that would out the boys. Which… tbh weren’t receipts at all but thats a whole other story. I’m also still angry at the reactions after Liams Attitude spread that wouldn’t have been as bad if not for the entitled fandom that peddled ridiculous claims beforehand about Liam confirming Larry to be real.

I mean… What the actual fuck. Setting aside the fandom experience of the time, and boy was it an experience. What right would Liam have confirming Louis and Harry’s relationship? I mean, get some perspective? It doesn’t help that a lot of fandom adults were the ones coming up with, and reblogging those theories and the younger fans ate it up. It would have made more sense for Louis and Harry to do it but idk maybe I’m still out of touch for thinking so. I mean, it felt like every other week someone was talking about Larry coming out. It was such a shit storm oh my god.

Biggest issue I still have with them is that the entitled behaviour hasn’t stopped. For some it seems like, Larry coming out is it for them. Like pack it up, goodbye, shows over, Louis and Harry are gay and in a relationship and everything is rainbows, we get to see cute pictures of them and everyone lives happily ever after.

Yeah, no. Coming out, for anyone, is just the beginning, can’t even begin to imagine what its like for them. They’re still going to need everyones support, and it irritates me that for some fans it seems so fucking conditional.

Time and time again, I’ve seen tweets, and posts, and videos, whatever, going on about Larry coming out and it reads like a fucking wattpad story. Not just that but its always on the assumption by the poster, on the off chance they consider the other 3/5ths of the band and Ziam being a possibility, that Larry will come out first?

What?

I’m sorry but, what?

Everything I’ve seen from the boys tells me they’re all in this together, they support each other and are working through the bullshit as a team. We have all seen the No Judgement music video yes? The merch, posts, double speak etc referencing each other, yes?

I mean, I suppose if you only look at Louis and Harry, like so many do, sure. Only Larry matters, everyone else is a side character in their life.

(Lemme just, scream for a second).

However, that kind of thinking leads them to the wrong conclusions. Like… assuming the SBB/RBB countdown was attributed to nothing, when it counted down to Liam finally being free of Sophia. In the years since, I’ve seen Larries ™ backtrack on claiming the bears had anything to do with the boys, that they weren’t behind it at all, or that they were just trolling the fandom.

You know, despite all the proof otherwise, and some really, really good posts breaking down clues about what the boys were trying to tell us. The moment something might not actually be about Louis and Harry its like all their thinking shuts off. Its frustrating. Really fucking frustrating.

Seriously, fans of the other boys as individulas, not just Ziams, have been talking about the stunts too and how they fit together. Its why we tend to be right, because we’re considering the entire group. They’re still a group. They’re not free until all of them are free.

Just for that Nialls coming out first. Lmao. I’ll call it now. Lets go Niall, whens the baby coming. We all wanna know. Its been years.

Imagine, imagine! Acting like coming out is some race to be won. The fucking audacity.

Go outside and touch fucking grass you absoulte ninny.

I get it, you want to be vindicated, you want to be rewarded for putting your faith in two celebrities being together.

Newsflash you dandelionfluff, its not a race, Louis and Harry coming out isn’t a fucking prize. Thats not what supporting a relationship looks like.

Its worse when someone admits they don’t know much about Ziam or the possibility of Niall being LGBT+, and claim they’re open to it, but then immediately tweet or reblog or sub tweet or tag comment a post or answer an ask from another Larry ™ talking about how Larries ™ are the most marginalized and persecuted group.

???

In what fucking world?

IN WHAT FUCKING WORLD?

If we wanna play that game, boohoo, the media claims Louis and Harry aren’t friends anymore because of crazy shippers. Meanwhile Zayn publicly isn’t friend with anyone and “left” the band… despite the Ziam fandom calling the stunt about either Louis or Zayn “leaving” and getting it down to the exact week (the second article coming out a week before about the Ziam kiss pretty much cemented it for Zayn leaving. Which did a lot to fan the flames of the already rabid fanbase when Ziam got two articles confirming a Ziam kiss over the years and Larry got nada. Like that actually means anything).

Not to mention Larries ™ using the hetties and management tactics against the other parts of the fandom to silence them.

Who cares what the media says anyway!  TPTB, 1DHQ, The Sun, The Mirror, Simon and his minions and their unpaid interns have used the media to split the fandom apart and it worked.

Who the fuck cares if the media calls the 1D stans delusional, you know the truth! The truth it out there and you’ve seen it! The truth is coming! Who gives a damn about what some two bit “journo” who failed out of their creative writing course writes? They get worse by the year. If it wasn’t so pathetic and hilarious I might actually feel embarrassed for them. They can’t even come up with new stories and have just taken to copying old articles, but you’re upset with them??? Give it a rest. Honestly.

The sense of disconnect, entitlement and victimhood of some Larries ™ is absolutely ridiculous.

Oh my god they’re Karens. I’m not trying to be insulting, but thats exactly who they remind me of.

I’m not going to say its a surprise to me that so many in the Ziam fandom are POC, LGBT+, and Neurodivergent and any combination of those, but I am going to say I’ve read a lot of Larry fics that just have Het sex made gay. Those in the Ziam fandom just tend to look at facts in a different way than Larries do due to their life experiences. A interfaith, interracial, relationship where one or both partners fall under the Bi umbrella (not saying Louis or Harry can’t be or aren’t Bi+ but rumors, and the way the fandom markets them, puts them firmly in the gay category) looks very, very different than gay or straight relationship. Both looking from outside and being in one. There’s just different dynamics at play that aren’t often realized or understood by the gays and hets.

Its not a bad thing. All relationships are different. The issue is that theres a lot of biphobia/racism/religious prejudice etc that arises from people being unwilling to understand the inherent differences.

Taking myself for example, I’m bi, like, bi as hell, and I don’t understand how gays and hets only like one gender. I just don’t. Can’t wrap my head around it. If someone asks me to choose one gender over the others to prefer I can’t. Its so stressful. My brain goes into panic mode and it feels like I’m being torn apart. My sense of identity is shaken- its a shit feeling. I just can’t lie to myself like that. If other people feel the same well, its no wonder bi+ have such high rates of depression and suicide. Its not about choosing who to like, there is no choice, I just feel attraction to everyone. Aces, I get. Its similar to being the opposite of what I feel, or not feeling an attraction to someone I’m not interested in. Easy. Gays and hets? I’m completely lost on.

Completely, and I know I’m not the only one who feels that way. But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to try and understand where they’re coming from. Its alien to me, personally, but I’m not going to shut down the fact, that theres a fuck ton of people who only like one gender or try and make up reasons as to why they’re actually bi+

I digress, none of the boys fall neatly into the gay stereotypes, its just that parts of the Larry fandom have boxed Louis and Harry into certain roles to fit preconceived notions (likely do to them initially fitting in better with the white, sassy, somewhat effeminate twink thats been plastered all over Hollywood as their “LGBT+ representation” for years. Gag), they can understand better, and only look for proof to back up their theories but don’t look at things objectively.

They really need to get out more and make some LGBT+ friends that aren’t on the internet and talk to some gay elders. They need educating that’s not the often sanitized and insulting Hollywood version, that’s all I’m saying.

They made Louis and Harry more palatable for themselves and its… really gross.

I don’t know, I don’t get it.

Some Larries ™ turned the boys into their fandom and fanfiction stereotypes when they’re so much more than that. The Sony leaks should have been enough to dissuade the fandom, and prove that the brand sold to the broader audience is just that- a brand, and yet… Niall only talks about food and golf and Ireland and is only allowed to be straight or ace. If he exists at all its just to be Capt Niall. Liams slow and dumb and depending on the day he’s either Capt Liam or a horrific abusive homophobe. Zayns just The Worst, a unstable drug addict, and the boys hate each other, and they should have kicked him out of the band sooner because he never wanted to be part of them anyway, etc.

It drives me absolutely around the bend some days. They’re real people who don’t owe anyone anything, especially not coming out.

Yes, I think they will. But they’re not obligated to. They can change their minds, I’ll support them regardless of an “official” coming out or not.

Look, a part of me gets it. They wanna be right, they wanna prove the haters wrong, they want to be able to say I called it all along! The vindication will be sweet.

But like, it takes a quick look at someone other than Louis and Harry to realize theres something hinky going on with Liam, Zayn and Niall. Please listen to their fans who have spent just as much time as you have looking into Louis and Harry compiling together evidence.

It might take a weekend to watch the ILYSM and pterodactyl bros videos and a few more hours looking into some Niall blogs, which isn’t much compared to the hours I know they’ve spent looking into Larry. At least then they’ll have enough information to form an opinion on things.

I wonder, for some, what would happen if Larry didn’t come out, or didn’t come out first, or one of the other boys was outed against their will. Because… I don’t know. It seems like some would rather just be proven right at this point.

I get it. We’re tired. Its been eleven long years. But this isn’t a television show were everything can come to a head with a s3 or s4 cliff hanger and fixed in the series finale. Its real life, and they started off as boys trusting industry veterans who never had their best interests at heart.

Iduno. I just want some Larries ™ to take a step out of the echo chamber, realize life isn’t The Larry Show & co. And especially. ESPECIALLY, that every instance were someone, friends, family, co-works, industry peeps etc support the boys they are SUPPORTING THE BOYS, NOT THE FANDOM. They are not “confirming Larry for the fans” they’re doing it to support the couple, not to cater to the fandom. Please stop confusing the two. There’s a huge fucking difference. Learn it.

[rurifangirl]

chile, could ya explain the magic system in yo oc world more? im kinda confused w how it works👁👄👁

Oh boy, here we go bitches.

So as an intro to this, I said bout last oc post in Qiran's part that their fam was full of mages n shit, but also some of em weren't, n since they do have magic istelf Imma do more parts (3 parts)

First part- how does It all work (Humans/Mages)

First of all, not all of em have a connection with magic, for example Evelyn doesn't at all while Lyva does but only through a magical item so It doesn't really count.

Other then that, if you're born you can either be born with some kind of magic, or simply not. It all depends from your family's lineage, for example If you come from a family of mainly rougues it's hard to get some kind of magical power, while if your parents have both some kind of power or even if it's only one of em, it's more likely you'll end up with something really similar, or a mixture of the two. (In case both of your parents have magical powers of any sort.)

It also depends on where you're living, for example If you'd be born from a cold place it's unlikely ya'd have magma magic rather than snow magic.

Between humans/mages the system Is kinda the same, but that does change for Hybrids/Demi gods/anything that isn't born between the same species.

Between humans/mages it's more of how their ancestors managed to treat its powers, as some got even destroyed for not being worthy of its usage, so If anything at this point and time they're lucky about getting somethin.

Mages are far more cautious about It, having both a lot of hidden knowlege about spells or even origins of some types of magic, though that being the most "common" ones, (for example fire, water ect.), because it's not only them of course, there's far more variants and all are different from eachother.

They can also get stronger by the worshipping of certain gods, which I don't think I will really talk about, at least in this post. (And also because they're still a wip of mine)

But the gang until now really never relied on any of them, or at least Lyva/Rui n Naexi never really did, while the others absolutely did. This Is also why I will do another post as a sorta of a part 2.

Anyways back on topic, most people in all parts of my oc world aren't used to worshipping anymore, or at least a great part of It, mainly because of a loss of knowlege about anything about them.

It's kind of taboo even mentioning most gods names, as they fear something will go wrong if they would (*ahem*being suspicious n allarmin the cult*AHEM*). In fact it's hard to get on most religions because the only remains of It are extremely either hidden, or destroyed in the meanwhile.

I wanna say that another reason because the worshipping stopped Is also because of Rui's cult. Yes, remember that?

It's gonna be talked about on its own post, but let's just say that for them, it's a safe way to restrain anyone knowing far too much about how everything works.

They're the only ones owning most stuff about different coltures to avoid having them against their side,

If there's no worshippers, no knowlege, n more weak magic because people don't strengthen them, who's gonna go against em? (It'll turn out to be the shittiest idea they've ever had but that really did work for the longest time.)

Oh I think i forgot to mention this, but since magic goes lineage to lineage, It also weakenens as generations pass by, as THAT'S the reason they absolutely need those texts.

That's also the reason most humans struggle w keepin magic. Mages can manage, though it's a small portion, since sometimes not even what they've learned over generations works anymore.

Second part- how does It all work (Hybrids/Demi gods n stuff)

Oh boy, so, I'm also gonna use Shou n Naexi a lot here, so bear w me. As I said earlier, it's different from em, since it's not about lineage at all.

Apart that the union between different species Is both a taboo n seen as something "ashaming",so even if they had a child It was more likely they'd Hide It or leave It behind. So it's already a really, god-awful situation for them.

The magic works kinda randomly, in the sense that since the hybrid's nature is seen as unstable to begin w, there's no real critere to handle how the child born Is gonna turn out to be.

Sometimes it's really hard to notice, having yeah some features but can be hidden really easly, but other times Is just, a real mess between the two species, n the magic Is also uncontrollable, especially during their first years of life.

For example, in Shou's case he used to really switch a lot between em, that being the reason he later on prefers not to switch, n havin to learn as soon as possible how to learn how his magic n form would work w It, having again a lot of preassure comin from people he knew.

This Is unfortunatly a really common situation between most hybrids. And there's also no choise.

If you as an hybrid can control magic w/o anything to rely on then you can live, while if you cannot do It, it's a matter of time before you'd get zoned out by everyone and everything.

This Is a big issue, other than having everything fucked by the cult but that's another story.

Aight now bout demi-gods, they're also really not seen well. Most of them prefer not to interact at all with anything that Is not godly related, and in fact, most of em even refused to adknowledge their mortal parent, since they all have resentment over the sudden disappereance of all belivers.

If anything Naexi Is a weird one at that, as they did have a suddent interest in humans and ungodly creatures, though still recognized about how cruel any of them could've been, especially she's a demi-god and has a bad reputation at that.

The magic system Is relatively simple, they just get a certain amount of power from their god parent and are actually pretty capable of controlling them in confront of Hybrids.

That mainly comes from a special connection w their god parent's power, so in theory they're sort of devoted to them.

I wanna expand this when I'll do the gods post n finnaly introduce some of em (And potentially Naexi's mother👀), so I'll not go beyond this atm.

Third part- Magical items/weapons

Aight onto another important part, which Is basically how tf would that work. We have that comin from Qiran's sword n Lyva's earrings, so they'll also be later on disscussed bout.

Even though it's a tough and long procedure, you can transport some of your own magic onto somethin as ordinary as an hat or as sharp as a dagger.

This Is being mainly used in emergency situations, as that energy can eventually be re-used later on by its user.

The user can be changed as long as there's a deal between both parties, whether that being a gift, buying It, or anythin up to them really.

It can also be a great way to hide mage's power, since there are some parts where they arent exactly that respected, so they could blend in with normal humans.

In fact, Qiran does that continiously thanks to their sword, daggers and other lil weapons, and they keep a big part of It there, to seem rather a normal knight/adventurer rather than havin somethin supernatural goin on.

They have a great holdo it since their father did make them learn to fulfill their request to be freerly goin round.

With Lyva it's not really different, even if she kinda stole It n there wasn't really a deal at that moment, but before runnin away from everyone n everything she convinced her mother to give her something that she could use to defend herself, since they were never around and when they were, they would've kinda avoided her.

Oh, and to add this, you could also curse an item. It's a way to mainly punish since ,well, it's a curse,

and makes the user either completely obsessed with the object itself or makin them do somethin w/o any type of consent, whether physical or emotional.

In some cases It can also be a torture tool. Though, as some recent stuff happened, they're somewhat hard to find.

If you still have somethin unclear lemme know cuz idk If I covered everythin or if somethin ain't clear enough😭

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@a-chaotic-dumbass @spoopy-fish-writes @dopesaladlady @damnfoxx @audre-falrose @nadi-117

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