#but who am i underneath that! i'm someone. and probably someone decent if not great

[pollen]

can i get a bit real? i've been trying to think about what i can do to make myself want to be an active participant in my life and it's terribly difficult knowing what i want, big picture and even just in the moment. i'm starting small: what can i do right now to want to be in my life? what do i want to do? how do i want to be spending my time? i really just don't know. coasting has gotten too easy. too comfortable and unnerving.

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

july 7, 2021 4:00 p.m. grant's house

[shannon] do you want to talk to them?

[grant] i don’t know. i mean, i would never talk to my mom, but...

[grant] people can change.

[shannon] grant...

[grant] i'm not good at being cold. some very sad and pitiful part of myself is hopeful that people aren’t as terrible as they seem to be.

[shannon] grant, they’re never going to love you. they’re never going to respect you. they’re never going to appreciate you for who you are.

[shannon] they didn’t bother when you needed authority figures to put dinner on the table or give you a lift to school in the mornings or pay any attention to you and your hobbies. so why would they do it now? why now when you need nothing from them?

[shannon] i'm no shrink or psychic or anything, but i feel it in my bones that they want to file you away so they can close out this tab in life and feel better about what they did to you. they don’t want to fix the problem. and if they did, i think they would have done it a long, long time ago, probably when you cut them out.

[shannon] and i'm so sorry. i'm genuinely really so sorry. your entire life, they’ve dangled, i don’t know, affection in front of you like a carrot on a stick and make it seem like you can catch it, but i don’t think you can.

[shannon] i know you want them to have a lightbulb moment and suddenly love you like they were supposed to, but...

[shannon] they’re going to fool you into trusting them because you’re a far better person than they could ever hope to be and then they’ll pull the rug out from underneath you.

[shannon] everyone always does.

[shannon] your own ex-fiancee, a decent girl, took advantage of you. what would stop the people who are a million times worse from doing it again? and unlike with her, you can predict it with them.

[grant] you’re right.

[grant] god, i literally feel insane. i'm not so stupid that i'm not skeptical of them reaching out, but i wish...

[shannon] ah now, you’re not insane. really, you’re very sane. the only way to survive in the world when you’ve seen the worst of it is to hope there’s good out there. it’s an admirable outlook. most people would be a lot more bitter than you in your position.

[grant] but i'm too nice.

[shannon] no, i'd not say that. it’s not about niceness but about boundaries. don’t be less nice, just...you know, put up a few more walls. and it’s not like it’s your fault that you are bad at that. it’s probably an attachment thing, right? your family is supposed to love you and when they don’t, i mean, you’re either going to turn out as someone who rejects or chases affection.

[grant] or both, if you’re me.

[shannon] yes. or both.

[shannon] i think you lean towards chasing but ironically, you are great at pushing people away when the mood strikes you to do it.

[grant] you don’t say.

[shannon] sure, i've never seen you ignore people so successfully that everyone thinks you’re dead.

[grant] i have gotten better about not doing that, in my defense.

[shannon] you have! still, the evidence of that behavior is around. you only talk to two people from your childhood that aren’t the family because you cut everyone else off.

[grant] i know. and i feel bad about it. i was just very embarrassed about talking to people at the height of my mental health crisis back in college. i didn’t want anyone to know.

[shannon] uhhh, they all already know, josie. everyone gossips.

[shannon] sorry! that sounded really mean, i didn’t mean it in a mean way, like.

[grant] you’re not wrong, though. i am perfectly aware that everyone whispers about me back home.

[shannon] you know who doesn’t gossip? the family in ireland and the towns they live in! no one cares about your personal business. you’ll be a free man while you’re there on holiday.

[shannon] well, actually, they are mad gossips and they do care about your personal business, but the atlantic ocean and general familial tact has protected them from knowing what you don’t want them to know, so it’ll be about other stuff! tolerable topics!

[the-firebird69]

Trump breaks with McCarthy, pushing Republicans to shut down the government

34 mins ago

This is what he's about anarchy having things not work and he's not from America he's from New Zealand and we are going to sue that the government recognizes that he was not rightfully president and he used force.

We're going to begin a series of attacks on Mac proper they're insisting that this hassle becomes president and he has done everything wrong and this evidence everywhere in all the courts he should be hung and shot and burned for treason and we're going to attach next to him who are attached and we're going to arrest them for treason I'm going to start now I'm going to start taking more of their territory using all sorts of methods but thereafter is trying to try and convict our son and put him on death row to threaten for stuff back and all sorts of things I think they could reverse it's a stupid plan and it got screwed around with by their leaders and now they're screwballs and they know about it they just waiting for people to hit him and they need them to we're going to do it because they have money and they have all sorts of money most of it and people are cowards they are attacking the very large bases and the clones are attacking as well and they will fall that's in the Eastern hemisphere not the Western and there are four of them and they're attacking seven large bases those are just outside of the deserts for the most part and they're going to continue to go in and they found their stop by then and Trump is going down no matter what we're going to take him out completely and we have all sorts of plans to do so and he's not going to make it to be elected at all he's going to die shortly and he does die before the election fully

Thor Freya

William actually doing is insane this guy has tons of power he has huge giants underneath cities and it's freeing the cities to release them he doesn't care about all this s*** you say cares about and he's not doing what you're saying he's doing he's trying to defend himself and so are we he's using massive amounts of force and you're going to be defeated eventually we can't let you keep doing what you're doing can we see your plan and it's very evil and very stupid sit here and piss someone off at him for years is a ridiculous venture try and hook it try and nail it says I'm not really a terrorist and I can't be associated with what you're doing and you don't understand it and it kind of attacking your own people he says I know we are we're going after the Max and said you're doing the wrong thing if you got it all that s*** up and you're attacking out there the battle will be over you'll be at the desert so I saw him think about it a little and he said you know what you're right so now you're losing it all and you could have drove those e-bikes to the collection point 200 miles away so now he's not smiling and he is following it so they're going to try and do something I'm glad I said something and he is too and we see our effects it's truth and it works they're not in love with us but we're the same kind of people

Son of Ben Arnold and yes I am a morlock and I'm half decent a lot of stuff and I can teach people and BG has taken some of my courses

He's a great guy he's sharp he helped our friend our friend is helping us so we turned out to be a visible assholes and he's right we going to do in the movie it looks like we accidentally blow up Max place he says I think you get it blown up because he probably blow theirs up and now it makes sense

Bg

Olympus

What what the f*** you doing garth go home and shut up

Zues Hera

He says oh yeah I'm on the wrong side and I get it now I am doing the wrong thing so he went home

Thor Freya

[touyasdoll]

Complicated - Chapter Two

Chapter One: Here

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x reader

Warnings: self-degradation/self-doubt

Word count: 2.2k

A/n: Gonna rework this and ditch the first person POV, jsyk.

A/n pt. 2: This story does contain spoilers for the show/manga. The dates/ages of characters are going to be shifted around a bit.

------------------

It's been two days. Is he gonna call? Text? Completely forget I exist?

I sigh, trying to expel the anxiety balled up in the pit of my stomach.

Why would he call? We talked for, what, five minutes? He seemed older too. You were in your damn school uniform, idiot. He's obviously got more important shit to do than chat up a schoolgirl who can't mind her own fucking business.

"Ugh," I groan to no one but myself in my apartment. "I'm really just the biggest fucking jackass, aren't I?"

Flopping down on my bed, I let out another weighty sigh and bury my face in the plethora of pillows piled beneath me.

Relax. Maybe he'll text. Maybe he won't. And if he doesn't he's just sparing you the embarrassment that you would inevitably bring upon yourself.

A yawn escapes my lips as I feel a wave of drowsiness wash over me. Glancing at the clock, I could see it was hardly 5 PM.

Fucked up sleep schedule, here I come.

The familiar comfort of my bed allows me to quiet my thoughts enough to fall into a shallow sleep, until I'm startled awake by a vibrating sensation coming from underneath my chin.

I blink against the harsh light emitting from my phone, squinting to see who was disturbing me.

What the--oh shit!

It was an unknown number. Recognizing that it could be him, I sit up faster than I have ever managed to after a nap and fumble the phone into my palm, eagerly sliding my thumb across the screen to accept the call.

"Hello?"

My breath hitches and I bite my lip in anticipation as I wait, eager to hear his deep, silky voice on the other end.

But the pause on the other side of the line seems just a little too long. Something is off.

Is this him? Is it..just some creep? A prank? What the hell?

"We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty."

My eyes slam shut, a shake reverberating through my spine as a cocktail of anger and embarrassment wash over me.

That's it. Hope is off limits from now on.

"Fucking great."

I tap the end button, half ready to throw my phone out the window.

Instead, I decide to check and see if I missed anything else while I was out.

Hope is off limits.

I shake my head, trying to erase the little embers of hope that persist, praying that maybe he did reach out.

To my surprise, there's a text from an unrecognized number.

Unknown: You free tonight, doll?

Holy shit.

Looking above the message, I see: Today 6:58 PM. I wince as I dare to look at the clock, which mercifully reads 7:26 PM.

Tapping the text box, I don't give myself the chance to overthink this opportunity.

Me: For you? Sure thing.

Tossing my phone onto the bed, I nod my head, processing the sudden burst of confidence I seem to have found.

I'm not like this. What is it about this guy? He's just that--a guy. One that I don't know. And now I'm just gonna meet up with him?

He's literally a stranger. Who the hell do I think I am?? Is my vagina just running things now? Gonna run out and meet up with some strange dude, because he's pretty and charming?

You know who else was pretty and charming?? Ted Bundy.

That's right, you said it. This is dumb, logically. This is everything everyone’s ever warned you about.

My phone buzzes and my heart rate spikes in response, tearing me from my spiraling doubts.

Unknown: Our spot. 30 minutes. See you there.

A noise that I've certainly never made before eeks past my lips as I process his instructions.

Fuck it. The possibility of this guy being a serial killer has been assessed. I'm going, risks be damned.

You're an idiot. You're an idiot. You're an idiot.

I sigh for the umpteenth time today, waging war in my own mind.

I don't know what it is about him, but I have to see him again. Nothing bad is going to happen. It'll be fine.

That's what I tell myself as I exhale, until I catch my reflection.

My hair is disheveled, my mascara askew. I didn't even bother to take off my uniform before I passed out.

As if I weren't flustered enough, now I gotta make myself looking somewhere near presentable and get down there in time.

Here goes nothing.

Fifteen minutes fly by and I think I've managed it as I step back to look myself over in the mirror once more.

The shortest pair of high-waisted shorts I own, paired with a low-cut black crop top and my favorite slip-ons. My make-up doesn't look perfect and there's not much of it, but it's touched up, and my hair is at least brushed.

Okay, no turning back now.

Grabbing my keys, I tuck my phone in my back pocket and make my way to the meeting place.

+++++++++++++++

Our spot. The man is smooth and I think that he knows it.

I re-read the last message he sent for probably the thirteenth time in the past five minutes.

The clock in the corner of the screen reads 8:02.

Maybe he won’t show. Maybe this is a joke. He and his buddies with come around a corner and laugh as they speed off.

Damn, can I chill? No. He’s going to be here. And I’m going to act like a human fucking being. A normal girl. Someone he could like; I’m capable of that.

Aren’t I?

Scanning my surroundings yet again, I take in the scenery. I never really get out at night, but the city looks so pretty this way. There’s not too much traffic, especially considering that it’s a Friday night, but there are some people milling about up and down the sidewalk. Some look like they’re on their way home. Some look like they’re on their way out for a night on the town.

“Hey there.”

My eyes are quick to follow the sound of his voice. I look up and he’s strolling up to the bench where I’m seated, the same one where I bandaged his arm the other day.

His hands are shoved in his front pockets, thumbs pushed through the belt loops of the tight, black jeans he’s sporting. His white t-shirt dangles off of his frame in a way that suits him, offering a glimpse of his muscular chest. A black coat completes his ensemble and he certainly looks the part of the typical bad boy.

But, damn, does it look so good on him.

“Hey, there. How’s the arm?”

I scoot over a bit, allowing for ample space between us if he were to take a seat. To my surprise, he sits towards the middle of the bench, so that his thigh brushes against mine as he settles.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, glancing down and covering the noise I want to make with a quiet clearing of my throat.

“It’s good. You do make a pretty decent nurse, sweetheart.”

He grins and pulls his coat sleeve back, revealing the still bandaged wound.

“Wait, have you changed that?”

You’re such a mom. You better hope he’s into MILFs, because otherwise this ain’t gonna get you where you wanna go, girl.

His brow furrows in an expression that tells me all I need to know before he even speaks.

“What do you mean? Changed what?”

A quiet sigh leaves my lungs as I hold out my hand.

“May I?”

His puzzled expression doesn’t falter, but he shrugs and offers his forearm up for inspection.

Carefully, I pull back the tape holding the bandages together and slowly begin to unwrap them.

That is, until the smell hits me. I barely catch of glimpse of the reddened skin before my nostrils detect the scent of burned flesh and excess viscera.

“Oh, dear. Have you even unwrapped this thing?”

Trying not to agitate anything further, I delicately wrap the bandages back around his arm, taping them down once again.

“No, should I have?”

I look up and my gaze meets his, a sense of true ignorance evident in his expression; I try not to laugh. I really try, but a soft giggle escapes nonetheless.

“Yes! I mean, if it doesn’t hurt, I’m sure it’s not that bad right now, but you should be cleaning and redressing a wound like that once every 12 hours at the very least. It’s been what, like, at least 50 at this point?”

His good arm reaches for the back of his neck, scratching at it as he dons an apologetic half smile.

“Sorry, I’m not exactly nurturing by nature, doll. I don’t know the first fucking thing about this kind shit.”

I cock a sympathetic smile as I look at him, sitting there looking almost helpless. I guess he is, in a sense. It’s actually kinda cute how he doesn’t seem to have an inkling of how to properly care for himself.

Because that’s absolutely what you want in a potential relationship. Someone to fix, how fun! Why not open up a shop for broken boys? Girl, when will you learnnn??

“Well, I don’t have anything on me right now, but if you don’t mind coming back to my place, I could clean it up there? And I’ll teach you how to keep up with it this time.”

I guess not today, motherfucker.

“Coming to my rescue again. You must be in a hero course, huh, doll?”

His smile is so naturally disarming as he stands and offers his hand out before me.

“I don’t mind, if you’re sure you don’t. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable and I don’t wanna be a burden. I didn’t ask you out tonight for you to have to play doctor on me again.”

He seems so sweet, so genuine. Maybe he is broken, but everyone deserves kindness. He looks like he hasn’t seen much of that. And as cliché as it is, maybe I can help him. Maybe he can help me.

I slip my hand in his, smiling as flirtatiously as I can manage as he pulls me to my feet.

“I don’t mind. I was kind of hoping I might get to play doctor on you again anyway. Maybe you could even return the favor.”

I brush my fingers against his as our hands disconnect, taking a page from his own book and watching his expression as my skin glides against his.

Or maybe we could just do this. This works too. No muss, no fuss. But oh my goodness what if what I just did was weird and he’s not even interested??

His eyebrows rise for just a moment as he chuckles and glances down, still grinning as he puts his hands in his coat pockets.

“Well, sweetheart, I don’t know much about medicine, but I do know how to give a pretty thorough physical exam.”

Something twitched deep inside my belly as my breath caught in my throat and I damn near tripped over my own two feet as we started walking.

Thankfully, his reflexes were quicker than my inate ability to fuck things up and his good arm reached out to steady my frame as he stepped in front of me.

The delicious scent of his cologne mingling with remnant cigarette smoke nearly made me dizzy as my hands connected with his chest, now completely unable to ignore the muscles just beneath his thin shirt.

“You all right there, doll?”

Long, slender fingers find their way under my chin. His thumb just barely brushing the edge of my bottom lip as he strokes it over my chin.

His eyes are practically piercing mine as he carefully lifts my face to his. Who knew being in such close proximity to someone so beautiful could be this paralyzing.

Holy fuck. Forget fixing me. He can break me and I’ll probably thank him for it.

The strong hand on the small of my back threatens to rob me of my breath all over again and I have to fight to keep any semblance of composure in his arms.

“Yeah.” I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and will myself to break eye contact. “You always have girls falling for you this quickly?”

I pity laugh at my own joke, wishing my quirk was something that would allow me to disappear.

But then he’s chuckling too. It’s melodious at first, but then it morphs into a deep reverberation that sends all the right chills down my spine as I level my eyes with his again.

He looks like an enigma personified. His eyes look so gentle and warm, but his smile reads so sad. The words that leave his lips sound like both a warning and an invitation to my flushe red ears.

“Trust me, princess. You don’t wanna fall for me. I’m no good for you.”

Oh, but it’s too late for that.

[popcorn-kitten]

C F I J M T and X (just clearing up that I'm interpreting that as "what kind of lingerie / underthings would they wear") for Marvus? Sorry if that's a lot, I'm thinking about that clown tonight 😔

Silas, my dude, it is always clown thoughts here @grandmaster-xoloto

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Fascinated with it, it’s liquidly but a little sticky and everyone’s is a different color and flavor.  He’s not going out looking to sample cum all over but when he’s with someone he notices the subtleties and differences in theirs vs his vs other’s. Would 100% use his to draw a :o) on his partner’s stomach.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Cowgirl, he likes watching his partner move on him and putting them in the position of having to do a decent portion of the work.  He’s tired after a long day of being Marvus and someone just lavishing him is a gift from the Messiahs.  It’s also a great position for his partner to lean forward and give him lots of kisses and eye contact.  

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Oof...depends?  If it’s a hook up because he needs to get stress out, that’s all it’s going to be - a  quick in and out with almost no talking or eye contact.  When it’s someone he is actually interested in he likes to take things much slower.  He’s a person of sensations and showmanship so he’s going to make sure he and his partner get a good experience out of it.  He struggles not to crack jokes and just be in the moment - he gets really caught up in how he is appearing; not even necessarily to his partner but to the image in his mind of how it should go.  Breaking down that barrier is going to be a challenge and at the center of it is a large clown with no idea what genuine intimacy is. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t have much time for it.  Sometimes will try to sneak one in before sleeping but he would honestly just rather go to bed at the end of the night.  Has ABSOLUTLY passed out mid wank.  More likely to do it when he’s on tour because there’s less going on that he needs to be involved in - it’s already all set to go and he just has to show up.  It’s more of a way to make time pass.  BUT if he’s got someone he’s thinking about while doing it then it’s a different story. He rarely will jack off alone and likes to video chat you while he’s doing so to get you to join in.  

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Being listened to and asked about his thoughts on deep topics, genuine compliments about him as a person, genuine soft words of affection with light kisses, flipped scripts are fun for him so you being the one to take him out or even just having a date night at home where you cook for him. Playing hard to get, some teasing while in public that isn’t too obvious to others.  Quickies in the limo between events

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

OK I defs am reusing my own HC but he owns A LOT of toys, none of them he purchased or really wanted?  Companies are always trying to get him to endorse them or let them make a mold of him and they send products to butter him up and show what they can do.  He sets them on pedestals like modern art or sticks them to walls for coat racks.  

If he has a partner who is interested he’ll try to get more invested.  If there’s something that really brings that person to the brink he’d be intrigued to see just how far he can push them and then be more willing to try it himself and see what the big deal is.  On a whim has you controlling a vibrator inside his nook during an interview because it’s funny and to see how you’ll play the game.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

On a regular day to day he’s going for a comfortable and breathable boxer brief.  His pants are tight so he doesn’t wear anything too bulky.  When he’s get dance practice there’s usually nothing under his sweats because it gets too hot and uncomfortable.  For a show may go a little more risqué and wear something lacey or a thong - he’s often barged in on and has to look good at all times for the camera that follows him everywhere.  If he were to wear a lingerie set it would probably be a mix of delicate lace and some outlandish feathers and gold chains with a purple leopard print crop jacket over it.  Mismatched thigh highs from Gucci and some ugly ass expensive Jordan's.  When he does get that coveted free time he’s wearing loose basketball shorts and nothing underneath

I mean I can talk about his bulge and nook too if you want tho??? 

[writing-with-olive]

So, I'm developing characters for a new story. One of them fits very closely into the Bad Boy archetype. I don't want to completely rewrite his character, but I know that this archetype can get really toxic and dangerous really quickly when the media says that someone should aspire to date one. He's still a nice kid, but I want to be cautious. Any advice?

Hey @six-of-brides!

Because I don't entirely know his role in the story, I can't specifically offer advice specifically about that. However, a couple things come to mind.

First, just like almost all characters, there will be positive and negative traits. I think a lot of media creates Bad Boy characters will all the flaws that come with the archetype, but then in the actual story, they don't treat the flaws as actual flaws. Instead, it's seen as cool and edgy, or conflated with more positive attributes that would lift a person up.

In general, when it comes to dating, there's various approaches to relationships, some of which are less healthy than others

(rest of answer below the cut)

being aware of a partner's flaws, accepting some of them because everyone is flawed, and setting boundaries that say "this line, if crossed, means we can't be dating anymore." If this process is done with ample communication, such as letting people know when they're starting to cross boundaries, and figuring out where both parties can compromise and come to agreements, it can lead to a pretty healthy relationship.

setting boundaries that don't allow for a partner to have flaws, and if they do show flaws, it's an immediate deal-breaker. This is a lot less healthy, as it means the partner is expected to be perfect (which is unreasonable to expect of anyone) and it would probably turn pretty controlling pretty quick, and since there would be that misunderstanding from the get-go, would mean that communication is probably pretty lacking.

being aware of a partner's flaws and not doing anything about them - setting few or no personal boundaries. This is generally pretty toxic because a lack of boundaries usually means there's not great communication, and if there are things that the other person is doing that would cross over a boundary if it was established means there is little personal agency going on, which is a problem. Both people should be active parts in a relationship.

Being unaware of a person's flaws, or believing that they have none, and having few personal boundaries as a result. Everyone is flawed in some regard, and everyone has their own baggage. If the partner seems to be entirely perfect in every way, they're either being performative or manipulative, and/or there's not enough communication happening.

So where am I going with this? Firstly, for a relationship to not be toxic, there needs to be decent communication. The same applies to if your bad boy character starts to date someone. Since the archetype is often characterized by characters who act rebellious and edgy as a result to building up a kind of wall around themselves, they will have to mellow out a bit to sustain a relationship that is actually healthy.

Another thing is that other characters should recognize when he's doing something problematic, even if he doesn't see it that way immediately. The way a lot of media glorifies bad boy characters is based on showing them as someone other characters see as cool and awesome while not really acknowledging the parts that are less great. A lot of it's about how characters are framed, and what the overall context is.

Also, don't be afraid to show underneath the walls and shields he's probably got built up every now and again. Edgy characters can get kinda tiring when all you see is the edgy stuff, but showing what they truly care about, some of their softer emotions here or there even if it's just a split second can make a difference.

I guess tl;dr is communication is vital for healthy relationships, acknowledge character's flaws, and show some of their softer side sometimes.

Happy writing!

[coldalbion]

This is a tricky religious question, but I'll try to encapsulate it in an ask. I feel a strong connection to Odin, but I also want to make that spiritual connection more firm in the landscape I /already/ inhabit, if that makes sense? Unfortunately, as a white person in a land that was never my own, I feel it would be disrespectful. My "ancestors" are from across the sea and I cannot claim to know them, either. Whiteness has colonised and homogenized culture. So I'm unsure how to proceed.

Imma be upfront here: What you want and feel doesn’t automatically have primacy when dealing with other beings. We don’t own the land, the land owns us.To think otherwise is a manifestation of that same colonial, homogenising, reflex which has married itself to rapacious capitalism and set about obliterating nuance and intimacy and depth.So, listen, I’m assuming you’re White here, but - Hwaet!: The land has its own needs, its own desires. The beings that populate it have theirs, and you don’t get to decide what’s respectful, and what’s not. To do that, you have to go and find out. You have to put yourself out there and say: “Hello. Here I am. Are you up for maybe building a relationship? A relationship that’s between us, even with all the shit people with my shade of skin have pulled?”They may very well say no. And, in the spirit of being up front? That. May. Be. Easier. If they say no, then you’re done.But if they say yes? That’s when the hard bloody work begins. Because you have to cobble together something from the ground up. And you have to do that, situated within the horror of Whiteness, because Whiteness actually homogenised and destroyed many of the vast number of differing and rich variations that North West Europeans and their descendants had for interacting with the world. It was deliberately constructed by those in power to level internal resistance and then turn that animus on POC and indigenous peoples. It created an ‘US’ to pit against ‘THEM’.As White folks, we and our ancestors have perpetuated, and continue to implicitly take part in a set of systems which have perpetuated atrocities across the planet, and continue to do so.And it is the absolute right of those beings, human and non, to hate us on sight. It hurts, and is upsetting, and if we’re decent people, we want to make it right. But we don’t get to decide how and whether that’s possible.Having said all this - the crimes perpetuated by folks with our shade of skin do not automatically disqualify us from anything - unless we’re told otherwise. But neither do they qualify us in advance.

 This is the lie (some) of our ancestors bought, the one bearing the rubric of Whiteness. Whiteness, the lie goes, is a thing to aspire to - because Whiteness is better, being White makes you better automagically.(And yes, I more-than-half-believe that Whiteness is an imperialist magic spell. Seriously.) Because there was a time when ‘white’ was merely a simple descriptor of skin colour. And then it was made into something else.; I’d equate it with the ancient and very real magic of Roman citizenship, except for the fact that the Roman Empire was, at least at beginning, a polytheist culture.I’ve said above that Whiteness doesn’t automatically disqualify us unless we’re told, but I want to emphasise that ignorance is not an excuse either. Seek out those qualified. Do your research.Whiteness may have once only been a skin descriptor - but now it’s so, so, much more complex. We do not get to complain building healthy and fruitful relationships is hard, that Whiteness makes things difficult, and so we can’t do anything.That’s the lie speaking, trying to persuade us to leave Whiteness-as-is, as a monolith that can never be pulled down and replaced with a memorial to all those whose lives and lands it oppressed - just as say, Germany pulled down the statues of the Reich, and erected holocaust memorials.Germany has not absolved itself - it is flawed, and imperfect as an example. Yet, it has acknowledged what was done and moved forward, but not on.  Those memorials are meant to stand as moral checkpoints. Thing that exist as reminders, as-never-again.Leaving Whiteness-as-monolith is simply ignoring the shadow it casts. Instead, we should blow it up, reconfigure, deconstruct it - whilst at the same time never forgetting where it comes from.Whether we acknowledge them or not, we are our ancestors, emanating their genes, the products of their actions, here and now. Even if we seek to deliberately excise them, that very excision is relation to them. If we cut out a family member due to their behaviour, they influence us in terms of what-not-to-do.Negative space, emptiness, is still a phenomenon, and everything is connected.

So when I say deconstruct, I mean not simply demolish, not simply raze-as-if-it-never-was. I say use it as fuel, transmute it; look for the cracks in its homogeneity - the things buried beneath - the green vitality that survives despite paving, steal and glass. The way birds fly, flock, wheel, and dive - and most importantly the spaces between.Focus - narrow, and so, so deep. Beneath Whiteness, there is Blood - and though these things are so beloved by white supremacist arseholes? Look at Blood Again. Do not see it as one thing, but note how many cells rush by - notice how many substances, hormones, surge through your veins, how very many things it is.Blood is never pure.And beneath that? Glistening, shining Bone - not white at all, shaded and stained ivory, all honeycombed and filled with marrow. Each heartbeat a rhythmic pulse.For your ancestors are Many, and you see them everytime you look in the mirror, Perhaps you have your Father’s mouth, your Mother’s jaw, your Grandfather’s eyes?But where did they get them?You know them, but you don’t know you know them. Known knowns and unknown knowns, known unknowns, and unknown unknowns.The spell of Whiteness says it is homegenous, because it homogenizes. But it’s a lie, and dig underneath it and you will find white-skinned variety - mixedness, shadowed memory - old ways, localised cultus based on village, town, terroir, field and forest. Mixed races and traditions.

Which of these is supreme? None. They are contextual. They are local. The landscape is not levelled, not concretized. Monoculture has its propaganda. Its siren-song that it it is the only option.But: Things are not gone - their roots remain, buried deep, ready to emerge in new forms.The knowledge of them may be held already, kept sacred by indigenous or closed groups, and if so, so be it. Or, it may lie waiting to be discovered again

And these new-old forms can only come forth if we risk ourselves. If we dedicate ourselves to reconnection, to respect and research, to wholeness and to wilfully acknowledging that we Know Nothing.

And the spell, the Imperial magic of Whiteness is failing, but it’s not dead. It’s cunning, shape-shifting into notions of silos and ideological purity. It says you are either Enough, or Not Enough.Enough is better, Enough is pure.And you are not pure, not clean. None of us are. So Whiteness uses that - creates both White guilt and White Pride - enhancing the sense of helplessness, which breeds sorrow and anger, and thus increasing US vs THEM.It creates toxicity which further perpetuates itself - and the individual can do little to change it, and virtually nothing to change the world. reaching towards purity is good, because purity is a beacon, a nice clear reference point by which we can make sense of the world.

And the Old Man is about as ambiguous and impure as they come. He emanates double and triple meaning - poetry as magic, as weapon, as entertainment, as blood and fury and iron. Knowledge as poison, as drug, as psycho-active substance.In some ways, I think he may find it darkly funny the way neo-nazi scumbags constantly use his name to justify purity and fitness. This one-eyed wanderer who self-harmed and submitted himself totally to the Kosmos because he wanted to Know itAnd not on his terms. On Its.He deliberately put aside all methods of control. He neither ate nor drank. He bled for it, probably even died for it. He sacrificed himself to himself because there was nobody else. Only by being completely Himself, in that environment, and letting whatever happened, happen, was he able to go down to the depths and receive and perceive the runes.Be prepared for the necessity of that. Of setting yourself apart, not as pure or better - but different. Empty your cup, as they say in Zen.Understand that he is the strife-bringer and its soother.If you want to find him in the landscape, first you have to meet him, it - on its terms. The lore says he gave humans breath.So breathe. Realise your Whiteness is not something you can help - you cannot stop being White, and you are enmeshed in the monoculture, but that the monoculture is not what it says it is. It is not the Only One.There are many different ways, and as master interpreter - the hermes in the hermeneutics, the Wanderer has travelled most, if not all of them.His answer to the Seeress’ question is YES. Forever and always YES. And knowing more is not just intellectual knowing, but meeting, knowing someone, carrying them, or a place with you.There’s a reason we call the World Tree what we do. It has roots no man knows, And this? This is the Old Man’s Horse - a tree is his method of travel, is the Great Tree which holds all worlds. The ancestral tree, just as humans were made from wood.The runes are risted with red, stained well with the power of blood and breath; the power of a magic alphabet filled with the rhythms  of life and death.The poetry can crack a world. the root can break stone .A return to new-old ways can acknowledge and suborn your Whiteness, forcing it to undergo a detournement which will never grant some distant absolution, but just may allow the usage of that magical spiritual potency of that spell to benefit you, and others.In honouring Odin, you have the appearance of honouring the same god as some neo-Nazi scum. And yet, you are not, because of the relationship which is (may come to be) betwixt you. And it is that which contains life, death, health and wholeness. That is not theirs, but yours.In doing so, in living a connected life you illustrate, you render a way which was hidden, open. A way which may shift and change - for though the Whiteness was laid upon you at birth, its meaning may change in an unexpected way. You become a thing which is different, and Odin will be in your land, just as he came to be in mine.As to how that happens, only you can tell, but for me, it came to pass with a realization that he has always��been there. He was just waiting for me to see his shape in the world - a piece of negative space, which once I discovered it, has become a roaring source of gnosis, a quiet whisper that raises the hair on the back of the neck.A thing to be lived with, and died with, and borne and lifted up and cast down.You are an enforced descendant of a vast criminal syndicate which killed millions, destroyed thousands of cultures, infected its own people with a thought-virus to keep them compliant, and keeps insisting it’s the only game in town.Its not. Be open. Live with who you are, as you are.But who you are is not who you have been told.Good luck.

[thecupcakeconsumer]

Playing Ball pt. 5 - Defection and Resurrection

A/N: Soooo, I said this would be out last night – that was before I knew debates would run an hour late and the ignorant cishet on the team would irritate me to all ends. But here it is!

Part One |  Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five (You are here!)

Navigation: Masterlist is here.

Taglist: @writers-block0o0, @imaginesbyemma.

Summary: After the short stop's gone, the team seems to thrive – all but one member, that is.

Warnings: Them feels, gay, mild language, gay, butt smacking, gay, and did I mention there's a bit of gay in here?

Word Count: 2,688.

Other Notes: Female reader. Post-Terminal, pre-Spike.

Team captain Y/N Claybourne had a nice ring to it, that you'd admit.

But the way in which it was getting you unwanted attention that you hadn't experienced since Chance checked himself into a mental hospital? Not as nice a ring.

Apparently, it came with the same social status as the previous captain's had, considering you were the reason for her being kicked off the team – something she had taken by whipping off her jersey and throwing it at the coach before storming off the pitch in a sports bra.

Despite it all, you felt a little bit bad – no matter how many people she had been responsible for having kicked off the team, nobody deserved to be a social outcast among the students with more money than sense of Bolton Prep.

Not to mention how you'd found Sarah the other day.

“I'm… fine, Claybourne.”

You narrowed your eyes down at her. “You're the ground outside the pitch holding – is that the jersey that Lee-?”

“What? No, of course not!” she responded, awkwardly shoving it behind her back and making it almost too obvious.

“Are… are you crying?” you asked awkwardly.

“If I was crying, I'd be crying tears of pain at seeing your face.”

In spite of her attitude, you crouched by her, putting a hand on her leg. “Mind sharing?”

“I don't want to talk about this, especially not with you-” Sarah tried to get up but your grip only tightened.

“Why did you like her?”

“Oh, don't pretend I was in love with the bitch for any rational reason,” she retorted, before sobering. “I guess I'm even more pathetic than that.”

“It doesn't make you pathetic.”

She glared. “What makes someone pathetic? Because news flash, Claybourne – if I found anyone crying over their unrequited love who hurt so many people, I'd tell them to get up and stop being pathetic.”

Sarah looked up at the sky, falling back and lying now on the grass, taking long brown hair out of the hair tie that had held it up in a fluid motion and letting it splay around her head.

“You wouldn't know what it's like. You've crushed on, what, one actually decent guy ever, and now you've been dating him for years.”

“Sarah, I-”

“Fuck off, Claybourne.”

Shaking your head to clear it of your thoughts, you grabbed your bag, glancing around to see if Chance was nearby before throwing it down the stairs and sliding down the banister after it.

(There were, most definitely, perks to living in such a large mansion).

When you got to the bottom, he was holding your bag with a disapproving look.

“You're going to break your neck.”

“In my defense, I didn't think you would catch me.”

“Not the right answer.”

“Um… I didn't break my neck?”

“Get in the car, Y/N.”

“Yes, sir.”

He followed you out the door, locking it behind him, before putting the keys in the ignition and asking conversationally, “You still suspended?”

“No, not anymore,” you answered, shaking your head with a slight smile as you realized that Chance didn't know about your recent promotion yet.

“Oh, really?” he asked, turning out of the driveway. “Did he lift it early, then? Or was there another game I didn't know about?”

“Well, the new team captain got her suspension lifted after the old one was kicked off the team,” you answered, smirking as he slammed the brakes at a stop sign he'd almost missed.

Breathing heavily, Chance asked, “You're team captain? Since when?”

“Oh, I don't know, two, three days ago? When I made a case against Delilah and the coach finally saw reason?”

“And you didn't tell me?”

“Must've slipped my mind.”

Your brother nodded slowly, before reaching into his bag and pulling out an envelope. “This came for you yesterday, by the way.”

You took the offered letter as he parked the car in front of the school, staring at the handwriting that, though you'd so rarely seen it, you'd recognize anywhere.

Opening the door and getting out with your bag, you ripped it open and took out one of the sheets, folded in three, feeling a tidal wave seem to rise in you as your emotions struggled to get the better of you.

Y/N,

Captain of the softball team even though I never saw you with a glove in your hand. If it's not from the Claybourne side, perhaps it's from your mothers – both the athleticism and your determination to succeed. She always was a driven one.

I've never been so glad that you have the Claybourne name.

He hadn't signed it, perhaps because signing it off with his name made him seem so distant and yet the two of you were never close enough that he would have felt comfortable referring to himself as your father… and yet, even if he'd never been your father, not really, you'd always wanted him to notice you.

It was always Chance this, Chance that, the eldest son capturing your father's attention.

Now, you were receiving the same affection and you didn't know how to deal with it.

The words blurred together as tears came to your eyes.

You'd done it.

You'd finally made him proud.

So why didn't it feel better?

Because Chance pushed you to it, you realized. Even when you could finally make him proud, it was always him behind the scenes.

When would you make a choice, alone, that he might be willing to put the Claybourne name on?

As your emotions overwhelmed you, you felt the switch inside of you flip.

Great. Flaring in public. This is a great day.

“Y/N!” called out Ben, falling into step beside you, black t-shirt and jeans making him stand out amongst the uniforms that the students were wearing.

“Ben? What're you doing here? Did you forget you'd graduated?”

He shook his head, before scrutinizing you more closely. “Are you okay?”

“What? Of course I am.” Managing to snuff out the flare, you continued, “Never been better. Morning, Lily.”

“Morning!” she greeted cheerfully as you walked past her on the way to your locker.

“See? I'm great.”

“Saying good morning to someone doesn't make you okay,” he responded, before adding, “I'd know” under his breath.

Coming to your locker, you put down your bag and turned to him. “What're you doing here?”

“I came to congratulate you on the captaincy, but now I see that I need to talk to you about whatever's in that letter. Who's it from, Y/N?”

“My dad,” you answered reluctantly.

“And?”

“And he's proud of me.”

Ben held up your backpack as you zipped it shut, asking, “Well, who wouldn't be?”

“You don't get it, Ben, he's… he's never like this. Not when it comes to me.”

“Why are you feeling like this, then?”

“You're one to talk about feelings, Benjamin Blue.”

“That doesn't answer the question.”

“No, it doesn't,” you acknowledged begrudgingly. “It's just… he's always been proud of Chance, you know? And Chance made me do this. In a way, it's just like he's proud of Chance all over again. I – I know it seems silly-”

“Chance didn't get Delilah Lee kicked off, now, did he? Or was it him that set up the cameras in the supply room, him that spoke to the former pitcher who was doomed from the start, him that never gave up even when suspended?”

“You… know about all that?”

“Oh, please, just because I'm graduated doesn't mean that those three don't constantly talk about you. Speaking of which, text me sometime, would you?”

He ruffled your hair and squeezed your shoulder, and you smiled as he walked away, going to replace the sheet in the envelope but finding another paper in there.

A clipping from the school newspaper, the headline reading 'With Lee Defected, A Team Resurrected?'; a picture that you didn't remember being taken of you at bat.

Underneath the picture, where the caption identified you, there was no writing – only a double underline under the name “Claybourne”.

And in spite of yourself, you clutched the letter and the clipping a little closer to your chest before putting them away.

“Having a social life is exhausting,” you bemoaned, letting your face fall onto the cafeteria table.

Tory poked your arm, moving an exaggerated foot back when you growled. “By God, the woman's an animal!”

“Aren't we all?” asked Hi, causing you to kick him under the table. “A wolf on the streets and a wolf in the sheets!”

“Hi.”

“Please remove me from this place if you exist, Jesus-”

“Some of us are Jewish, Shelton-”

“Jewish or not, you're all a mess,” cut in Jason, putting his tray on the table. “Losers. Tory.”

“I'm included in losers now?” You glanced up, adding, “I could destroy you. At least, that's what my new social status seems to say. Hit me up with a fry, Taylor, and I might forgive you.”

He rolled his eyes but nonetheless held the cup out to you, adding, “I believe you're too tired from upholding your social life to destroy me.”

“I'm never too tired for vengeance,” you retorted, taking two fries instead of the promised one and almost laughing at his mock outrage. “Oh, sit down.”

You hadn't lied – all the talking to people that you'd done since they talked to you and you didn't want to be mean, the fact that you had to pretend to care when one of the girls had asked you for relationship advice and your answer was largely bullshit considering the fact that you hadn't really been listening probably evident, but apparently not to her.

The day finished, you finally walked into the house after both the long school day and the softball practice that had run for two hours, sighing with relief as you threw down your-

“Don't leave your bag in the middle of the foyer again.”

Thanks a lot, Chance. You begrudgingly moved into the dining room, freezing as you noticed the smell in the room coming from what was in the center of the table.

“Chance?” you asked hesitantly, dropping your bag in the middle of the dining room – it wasn't the foyer, after all. “Why did you buy roses?”

“What?” His shadow shifted in the kitchen as he added, “I didn't.”

“Then… what are these doing here?”

“Oh, those? They're from Jason.”

Wait, Jason Taylor?

“Hold on a minute, what?”

Your half-brother entered the room, leaning against the wall as he ate a banana. “They're from Jason. Taylor, that is.”

You blinked.

“What the holy fuck?”

Since when does he buy you roses? Are you dating? Since when?

You realized it should have been obvious – hell, Jason had almost said just a short while ago that he and Jason were more than friends, quickly catching himself and correcting it to “more than you know”.

“I was under the impression that you knew,” he added. “There was that one time the other month when you asked where I was going and I said on a date?”

“I – I thought you were being sarcastic!”

“Two weeks ago, you asked why I was smiling and I said I was back from a date.”

“Again, thought you were joking.”

“When I texted you and said I was staying the night at Jason's house?”

“I thought you were friends-” You blanched. “You mean that you were having sex? That's nasty! Weren't his parents home?”

Oh, wait. He'd hosted a party that day because his parents were out of town.

Of course.

“Oh, my god. You're… dating Jason. He's gay. You're gay!” You walked back and forth, trying to make sense of it all.

“Bisexual, actually.”

“The two of you had sex! You said I couldn't stay the night on Morris the other day because you were afraid Hi and I would have sex!” you cried, turning on him.

“I'm allowed to have sex, for God's sake, I'm a consenting adult!” He turned into the kitchen, shaking his head.

“You can't control who I sleep with.”

“I don't want you to end up like your mother!”

“Don't you dare insult my mother, at least my mother is alive!”

Anger rose in you, a spark igniting as you eyes changed color, but your blood chilled when he turned around, dark blue eyes meeting.

His expression shifted and tone dropped as he murmured, “You too?”

The silence took over the room, tension having been cut through by the realization that both of your flares had returned, and a sob rose in your throat as you moved quickly across the room, finally falling apart in his arms.

“It didn't work,” he murmured. “I thought it might just have been me, but-”

“It's everyone.”

“Including Cole and Ella?”

“I wouldn't know, I don't talk to them. Then again, sometimes I don't know things about people I do talk to.”

“I'm not sure if you're referring to the flare or my relationship status.”

“Does dad know?”

He froze.

“I sure as hell hope he doesn't.”

“And if he did?”

He sighed deeply, his chest dropping with a shudder. “I'd probably be rewritten out of the will, to be honest.”

“What, it's not like he has any other heirs.”

“He has you, Y/N.”

Oh, right. “You think he'd choose me over you?”

“Knowing him? Probably.”

“You think I wouldn't cover you?”

Chance laughed. “I can't answer that, honestly.”

You hit his chest. “Asshole.”

“Is that a no?”

“Of course not.”

“It's the bottom of the ninth inning, and the Griffins are on their winning streak – if they win this game, they take home the championship! We are at a tie right now, Claybourne's up to bat, the team captain hits it, it's off, she's off! She's putting a lot of faith in her bat right now considering no man's on base and we have two strikes – she's at first and the ball is into the stands! It's a home run! She's not taking her time as she slides onto second, takes off for third – off third, and she's home! The championship is ours!”

Rolling your eyes at Sarah's commentary, you slid onto the home plate, hopping up while the team flooded onto the field, being hugged by eight different girls at once as the crowd cheered loudly.

During your tenure, your home runs were something of a habit… though, admittedly, you were prone to the accidental flare or two on the field, and this victory had come of one.

“I can't believe you're leaving us,” yelled Lily in your ear, standing on tiptoes in order to be heard. “Do you have to go and graduate? You're brilliant!”

Sarah held her arms open with a smirk. “Look at that, loser.”

You hugged her without a moment's hesitance, grinning. “You're the best commentator. Real career for you there, you know.

“Please. You’re the one who makes the game interesting enough to want to talk about.”

Surrounded by your girl, you realized that the team was about more than victory.

It was about the experiences you had.

Though winning never hurt.

“Wow, babe, you got dirty out there,” laughed Hi, waggling his eyebrows at the dirt along the side of your uniform and yelping “Assault!” when you smacked him, pulling you close and-

“Did you just whack my butt?” you asked, somewhat bewildered.

“Hashtag no regrets.”

Rolling your eyes, you retorted, “Stop using hashtags in verbal conversations!” “Hashtag can't stop won't stop.”

“Hi.”

“Fine, fine, I'll stop. But only for the beautiful girlfriend that I'm entirely too lucky to have, who is smart, strong and I can't think of a word that starts with 's' for kind but if I could I'd say it!”

“You're a dork.”

“Your dork,” he corrected, before whacking your butt again.

“Hi!”

“It looks so good in that uniform, though!”

“Oh, shut up.”

He leaned down, grabbing you around the waist.

Your arms flew around his neck by instinct as he kissed you insistently, yet slowly – passionately, yet sweetly – quickly, yet seeming to last forever.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, lips leaving yours to trail kisses on your exposed neck.

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

A/N: This series is done! Next series is called Spring Into Action, which’ll be some interesting shit. Thanks for reading!