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bumblesimagines · 11 months ago

Text

Curiosities

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Overwhelmed and distraught by his duties and the death of his child, King Aegon decides to indulge in his favorite pastime: visiting the Street of Silk. However, he decides this time, he wants to seek comfort in the one person he's always been curious about.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical GoT warnings, Aegon being Aegon, mentions/implications of child exploitation, mentions of teen-adult relationships, mentions of Targcest/incest, death of a child, sexual content dontttlookatme, (Y/N)/Reader is a brothel worker, potential spoilers for S2, mentioned/implied homophobia (the Faith)

Aegon is a pathetic wet cat of a man (derogatory) but Tom is so pretty

~~~

Aegon hardly remembered the first time he'd visited a brothel.

Perhaps it was the mixture of drinks in his system preventing him from recalling the first time he'd stepped foot in a brothel. He'd been a teenager, he knew that much, and he'd likely paid for the prettiest woman in there. He'd had enough experience messing with the maids around the castle to know what to do and he'd ensured to pay well for the service. But despite not recalling the act itself or even the woman he'd done it with, he vividly recalled the worker who'd caught his eye the second visit.

It'd been a week or so after the first visit and he'd gone in sober, willing to drink whatever the brothel had in stock until he passed out or was kicked out. He sauntered in with his typical confidence. He was a prince; everyone wanted a taste of him. The other customers in the brothel regarded him with smug smirks and nods of acknowledgment, to which he returned with the same smugness. He'd taken a seat at one of the tables and savored the way workers glided toward him in revealing clothing - or no clothing at all - with coy smiles and flirty coos. His eyes, however, failed to lock on the women flocking to him.

Across the way, he noticed one of the rooms with the curtains drawn back by a few inches, giving view to the worker and customer inside. A boy around his age, perhaps a year or two older, sat on the bed with his rope drawn back and hanging loosely from his shoulders. A woman had her head on his chest, her eyes shut tight and cheeks stained with tears while her red-colored lips formed words.

The sight would've made him laugh, it was utterly pathetic for a grown woman to cry on the chest of a boy, but his heart lurched longingly when the boy raked his fingers through her hair and gently rocked her. The act looked so... sweet.

"Who is that?" Aegon questioned one of the women settled at his side, hardly paying any mind to the soft stroking of his chest. She tilted her head over her shoulder, searching for what'd caught his attention before she spotted the two. She gave a soft hum and looked back at him, her lips delicately dragging over his cheek and stopping at his ear.

"That would be (Y/N)," She told him softly, her voice velvety. Her long lashes tickled his skin. "Poor Nora lost her husband to a horrible fever not long ago, My Prince. I hear he looked like (Y/N) in his youth. She seeks comfort, not pleasure."

"I see," Aegon murmured and finally took a swing of the wine offered to him, waiting for it to settle into his veins before he gave in to the ladies around him. His eyes continued to drag toward (Y/N) throughout his stay.

Men in brothels were no surprise, not to frequent customers, at least. Some enjoyed the company of men without facing scrutiny, some needed the money, and others were simply raised in the brothel. Throughout his visits to the brothel, Aegon learned it'd been the latter for (Y/N); a boy born in a brothel who simply never left. He found his curiosity spiked with each visit, each time he caught sight of him serving wine or slipping behind the curtain to entertain someone new.

Aegon never approached. It was completely new territory, territory he'd been told by septas and maesters he should never enter.

It'd only been when his little son and heir died at the order of his older half-sister that he decided he couldn't give a rat's ass about what the Seven thought of him. They'd never given him a time of day, even as the King of Westeros, so why should he care? His son was dead, his sister-wife was a mess, and the Council acted as if it were all a mere inconvenience.

When he staggered into the brothel that night, everyone stopped their doings to stare at him wide-eyed and silent. Each of them bowed, whether dipping their heads or bending at the waist and watched him as if waiting for him to crack. Aegon hated it. He hated how everyone seemingly viewed him as weak. He was the King, for fuck's sake! The wine and ale swimming through his veins made his senses and emotions heighten, forcing tears to spring to his eyes.

"Drinks on me!" He hollered into the room, and the crowd within erupted in cheers and whoops, the energy returning to the room tenfold. A laugh tumbled out of his lips and his shoulders straightened, soaking in the gleeful looks and nods sent his way. They loved him now, even if they believed him to be a usurper or not. They loved him.

Aegon took a goblet from a table and drank its contents, feeling the liquid burn his throat and send a shudder up his spine. He set the goblet aside and wiped his lips with the sleeve of his shirt, vibrant eyes searching the room until they spotted the object of his desire. He made a beeline for him, ignoring the ladies who attempted to catch his eye until he stopped by him and grasped his arm a tad roughly.

"Your Grace?" (Y/N) stumbled slightly with the tug, his grip on the pitcher tightening to avoid spilling any wine. He stared at him, brows lifting and eyes blinking owlishly. Aegon had never seen him up close before, and regret settled in his belly at the realization. What a fool he'd been, letting time pass him by.

"You're mine for the night," Aegon told him, taking the pitcher from his hands and setting it down at the table he'd been serving. The men there shifted uncomfortably under Aegon's stare, none of them uttering a single word of protest and instead turning their attention onto the other workers around.

Brothels had unspoken rules. Everything that happened in a brothel, stayed in the brothel. No one spoke a word of what went down or whom they saw within the walls of one, unless they wished for their own secrets and pleasures to be spilled to the public. Of course, Aegon expected his new Master of Whisperers to hear of it by the time he returned to the Red Keep, but he trusted Lord Larys to keep it to himself.

Without another word, he turned toward the nearest empty room and tugged the curtain open far enough for the two to step inside before tugging it close again. Aegon's heart raced in his chest, be it from the drinks or genuine excitement, he couldn't be sure. He turned to face (Y/N), finding the young man already seated at the edge of the bed watching him.

"What do you want, Your Grace?" He asked gently, his head tilting to the side while Aegon fumbled to get his clothes off fast enough. He looked enticing in the soft candleglow with his rope pulled apart to show his chest and stomach. It made heat spread throughout Aegon's body.

Discarding his layers of clothing, he stumbled forward and grabbed hold of (Y/N)'s face, lips slamming against his clumsily. "You." He exhaled and pressed their lips back together, pushing (Y/N) flat against the bed with ease and digging his knees into the mattress. His hands forced the silky robe further apart, undoing the belt and pushing it further down (Y/N)'s shoulders until he could grab a fistful of it and yank it off the bed.

"What is it you want from me?" (Y/N) asked next, breathless and head tilting back to allow Aegon more access to his neck. Aegon suckled and nipped whatever skin he could reach, littering his skin with red and purple marks that'd surely vex the Madam who owned the brothel, but he was a king. He could do as he pleased.

Aegon laughed airly in return, leaning back to admire his work and pressing his thumb into one of the bruises. "What everyone else wants." He responded, eyes slowly raking over the rest of his body; from his rising and falling chest down to his thighs. Irritation flared in him at the fading mark of fingers and he placed his hand over his thighs, squeezing until he ensured the only mark left was by him.

"Your Grace," (Y/N) reached out to cup the nape of his neck, and in one swift move, Aegon found himself lying beneath him. He blinked up at him and then laughed giddily, hands flying to (Y/N)'s hips and squeezing the flesh there. (Y/N) leaned back on his thighs and took him by the shoulders, pulling him up into a sitting position so they were face to face. "What do you really want?"

"Yo-" The word died in his throat when (Y/N)'s fingertips brushed back his messy silver hair behind his ear. His lips pressed together tightly, eyes jumping away from the worker to focus on the lewd mural painted over the wall. (Y/N)'s palm pressed against his cheek, his thumb stroking his skin.

The gentleness of it, the sweetness, the comfort. It was all foreign to Aegon. He was used to being slapped, pushed, screamed at, ignored. Nobody had ever touched him with genuine kindness, not even Ser Criston who seemingly preferred his brother over him, or his mother who spent most of her time staring at him in exasperation or disappointment. The only people who ever looked at him with pure love and adoration... were his children. Little Jaehaerys..

Tears sprung to his eyes immediately, a sob threatening to rise in his throat. His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip as his vision blurred, fingers curling around the sheets in a desperate attempt to stop the tears from falling. He couldn't cry in front of someone else, much less a stranger. He was a king. He had to be strong. Crying showed weakness. Aegon wasn't weak. No, no, they were all wrong. He was strong. He-

"I'm here, Your Grace." (Y/N) cooed softly, and Aegon's eyes snapped back to him. He smiled kindly at him and pulled him closer, his fingers tangling themselves in Aegon's hair. They ran through the silver locks sweetly, comfortingly, detangling the knots that'd formed and scratching gently at his scalp. "I'll take care of you."

With that, the wall he'd so desperately built crumbled, his arms slinging around (Y/N)'s waist as his lips parted to release whimpers and muffled wails. (Y/N)'s arms curled around his shoulder, cradling his head and humming gentle lullabies Aegon vaguely recognized. His body trembled and shook with each sob and cry, arms pulling and tugging him closer; seeking out the warmth and comfort he'd been deprived of since his childhood. A father who ignored him, a mother who begrudgingly cared for him, siblings who hardly liked him... a dead son.

(Y/N) only moved to lean back into the countless pillows, bringing Aegon along with him and letting the king rest his head over his chest. His skin had long grown wet with tears and saliva but he remained silent, focused on rubbing circles along Aegon's back and brushing back his hair until the hiccups and sobs subsided, quieting down into sniffles and tired sighs. Part of him wanted to feel embarrassed but he felt too exhausted to allow the emotion to take hold of him.

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Your Grace." (Y/N) told him softly, and Aegon's face scrunched up again, the last few tears spilling down his cheeks. Nobody had bothered to comfort him, and he'd been too overwhelmed by everything to seek it from his sister-wife. They hardly understood each other. Her with her odd riddles and sayings, him with his drinking and affairs.

(Y/N) shifted underneath him, reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving a handkerchief. He dipped his fingers under Aegon's chin and tilted his head toward him, gently dapping at his cheeks and under his nose, drying and cleaning the evidence of his weeping. Nothing in his face changed, no disgust or boredom in his eyes. Only the kind smile and soft eyes. It made Aegon relax fully and completely.

His fingers tightened on Aegon's chin, tugging on it gently and pulling the king up before connecting their lips again. Aegon slumped against him, his clear mind focused on the softness of his lips and the hint of wine still on his tongue. The back of (Y/N)'s ankles met Aegon's bare thighs, carefully pushing against them until their hips were pressed together. He swallowed the breathy whine that escaped Aegon, a brief teasing smile appearing on his face before Aegon began rocking needily against him, the smile vanishing. His parted lips allowed Aegon to venture into his mouth, tongues colliding on occasion.

The hand along Aegon's back began exploring, running over the muscles he'd developed despite spending most of his time lazying about. His hand dipped downward and playfully squeezed the mound of flesh there, a low groan escaping Aegon. He pressed his forehead against (Y/N)'s, his lips curling into a smirk at the innocent look that (Y/N) gave him. Cheeky bastard. It was expected from a brothel worker, though.

The clumsy rocking of his hips increased and the fingers that retangled in his hair gave a tug, gentle enough to not create any real pain but hard enough to get his attention. Aegon whined and dropped his head down to (Y/N)'s shoulder but he eased his rocking, his fingers digging tightly into the pillows and sheets beneath him. At his easy submission, (Y/N) smiled again and pressed a chaste kiss to his temple.

"Good," He breathed and Aegon flushed at the way heat rushed to his lower belly. (Y/N)'s hand left Aegon's backside and reached for the nightstand again, pulling out a small round cup and bringing it closer. Despite his trembling thighs, Aegon managed to peel himself away from (Y/N), the loss of contact making his hips buck.

"What is..." Aegon trailed off, (Y/N)'s hand taking his wrist. His thumb swiped over Aegon's fingers, pressing each down until one remained uncurled. The realization dawned on him fairly quickly, the way his features brightened making (Y/N) laugh softly before he dipped the finger into the liquid Aegon assumed to be some sort of oil.

"I'll guide you, Your Grace." (Y/N) told him softly, setting the cup aside and guiding his hand down between their bodies. Aegon's eyes flickered between (Y/N)'s face and his hand, a strangled curse escaping him when warmth greeted his digit. His free hand tightened further around a pillow, the designs threaded into it imprinting in his palm. The way (Y/N) held eye contact hardly helped with his attempt at self-restraint.

His mind ran wild, promptly forgetting about politics or the fact they were nearing a war for the first time in decades in order to focus on (Y/N)'s face. The darkening bruises along his neck only made Aegon's mouth water and heart flutter with pride, every gentle gasp and quiet whine that left him only made his veins burn with desire, something he found more addictive than the intoxication of wine. His head swooped down, burying itself in his neck to drag his tongue over the bruises and darken them even further with more suckling.

His hand began moving, slowly and experimental at first. Aegon hardly considered himself a gentle lover, for he preferred the joy of rough and fast fucking, only ever being considerate when it came to his sister-wife. Even then, even with Helaena, he often chased after his own high and pleasure over everyone else's, but he'd been desiring (Y/N) for far too long to make a fool of himself. When he curled his finger and heard (Y/N)'s breath hitch, he smirked and slipped in a second digit.

Aegon humbly believed himself a quick learner when it came to things he enjoyed, so by the time he added a third digit, he'd already ensured (Y/N) had turned into a panting and whining mess. (Y/N)'s heels dug into his calves roughly enough to turn his pale skin red, the subtle hint of pain only fueling him to quicken his pace. He'd left (Y/N)'s collarbone and part of his chest covered in markings, ensuring any other patrons (Y/N) took for the following days knew who'd taken him to bed.

The hand tightly gripping his bicep flew down to Aegon's wrist, squeezing around it and pulling his fingers out. His lips formed a pout immediately but he savored the gasp and light huff that escaped (Y/N). He swallowed and leaned up, capturing Aegon's lips again before pushing back against him, toppling Aegon onto his back once again and straddling his hips. Aegon's eyes brightened, his hands digging into (Y/N)'s thighs in anticipation.

"Shit," A guttural groan left the king, his blunt nails leaving imprints in (Y/N)'s skin when he wrapped his fingers around Aegon's length, his thumb pressing over the slit. Aegon's hips bucked and he threw his head back, his adams apple bobbing with a harsh swallow. His chest heaved and a mixture of a whine and a plead fell from his lips like a prayer.

"Easy, Your Grace." (Y/N) cooed, his free hand moving to Aegon's chest and pressing against it, fingers gently massaging into the muscle. The hint of mischief in his words didn't go over Aegon's head. His heels dug into the crinkling sheets and his nostrils flared with the deep breath he took, his grip on (Y/N) loosening and thumbs rubbing over the areas apologetically. (Y/N) nodded approvingly and Aegon gave a lopsided grin.

His composure lasted a whole three seconds before it crumbled with a few pumps from (Y/N)'s hand, though he only continued with a chuckle instead of scolding him. Aegon's eyes turned glassy again from the sensations, his breath hitching every few minutes while the knot in his stomach tightened. He let out a whiny noise when (Y/N) paused his movements, his bottom lip jutting out. However, when he caught the way (Y/N) pushed himself further on his knees and hovered over him, he clamped his mouth shut.

Aegon's breath hitched again followed by a sharp curse as (Y/N) lowered himself at an agonizingly slow pace. A dribble of drool slipped out from the corner of his parted lips and trailed down his cheek. His mind had long gone blank, the only thing he focused on being the sensation of (Y/N) taking him with only soft pants and the occasional hiss. He desperately wished to move, to flip them over and ensure (Y/N) wouldn't be able to walk for at least a day but he wanted to be good, he wanted the praise he rarely ever got. So he remained still, hands moving to (Y/N)'s hips and clawing lightly at him.

"You're doing-" (Y/N) cut himself off with a soft grunt, the hand at the base of Aegon's length leaving to plant itself on his other shoulder. Aegon swore he saw stars when (Y/N) fully settled on him. (Y/N) breathlessly laughed at the awestruck, hazy look on Aegon's face, his hand gently cupping his cheek and kissing him. "-so well, my sweet Aegon." Aegon whined softly at that.

"Please," Aegon whispered and (Y/N) gave him a thoughtful look despite the teasing curl of his lips. "I'll be good." He murmured, words slurred but he hardly felt the effects of everything he'd taken that night.

"Will you?" (Y/N) still sounded breathless, the candlelight showing off the gleam of sweat on his skin. His hands moved from his shoulders to wander over Aegon's chest and stomach, trailing over his biceps and arms until they reached his hands and laced their fingers together. Aegon nodded hurriedly, so desperate and wanting but the feeling of their hands together made his stomach flutter with a newfound emotion.

"I-" Aegon had little time to finish his sentence before (Y/N) rose to the tip and then slipped back down to the base, the action knocking the air out of both of them and further tightening the knot threatening to break loose at any moment. One of (Y/N)'s hands untangled itself from Aegon's to slam beside Aegon's hand, a half-hearted attempt at balancing and grounding himself. Aegon held onto the other hand tightly, refusing to let him go for even a second.

(Y/N) leaned down and pulled him into a heated kiss full of all tongue and muffled cries, Aegon's restraint chipping fully away when (Y/N) grinded down on him a few times. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and wrapped his arm around (Y/N)'s waist tightly, his thighs beginning to ache and burn deliciously.

"Go ahead," (Y/N) exhaled on his lips and Aegon lost himself.

Much time passed, the sound of pained groaning and grumpy muttering from the other side of the window telling them the sun would soon be rising. The thumping footsteps of patrons nursing hangovers echoed through the brothel as they shuffled out, the jingling of coins and such mixing in. The quiet chatter of brothel workers followed, cups and chairs clinking as they began cleaning up.

"Your Grace," (Y/N) sighed sleepily, his eyelids visibly heavy and lip slightly jutted out. Aegon felt equally as exhausted but the sight of him rubbing tiredly at his eyes made his heart swell, finding himself unable to resist kissing his semi-swollen lips. (Y/N) hummed softly, his fingers slipping between their faces to push Aegon back. "You must head home. Your-" He cut himself off with a yawn. "Your kingdom requires you."

"I'd much prefer staying here forever," Aegon responded, coiling his arms tightly around (Y/N)'s body and dragging him closer against him. His whole body ached, his muscles sore and head spinning from the beginning of a hangover. (Y/N) breathed out a snort and rubbed his cheek into the soft satin pillow, eyes beginning to droop.

"You mustn't. They'll come looking for you, Your Grace."

"Aegon." He groaned. "Call me Aegon."

"Aegon." (Y/N) repeated softly. "Go home."

"Come with me, then," Aegon told him quietly. At his words, (Y/N)'s eyes snapped open, the sleep jerked away from his body and replaced with surprise. Aegon chuckled at his wide-eyed expression. "Come with me to- to the Red Keep. Come... be my paramour. You'll have your own room near mine... and- and you'll receive whatever you wish for. No one will dare say a thing."

(Y/N) stared at him for a long moment before he cupped Aegon's cheek and pressed a fleeting kiss to the tip of his nose. "You're exhausted, Your Grace. You do not understand what you're saying. You'll come to once you properly rest. You must go now before the sun rises and others see you." He said, slithering out of Aegon's hold to retrieve their clothes. He slipped his robe on with ease and offered Aegon his tunic.

"I'll get dressed," Aegon took his wrist and dragged his lips over the back of his hand. "If you agree to become my paramour and live in the Red Keep."

"We're only allowed in the Red Keep to entertain, Your Grace. You'll never be allowed to have a brothel worker as a paramour, much less a man. The Faith will never allow it. The Dowager Queen and- and-"

"I do not care what they think. I am King. I can do whatever I want, and I want you to be mine."

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shenachigans · 6 months ago

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THE KEY TO HER HEART | Cassandra Kiramman

PAIRING: Cassandra Kiramman x Fem!Reader

CW: angst with a hopeful ending?, spoilers for season 2 act I, canon divergence, in Caitlyn’s pov, no dialogues (except one), mentions of death, mentions of reader being married to a man and having children with said man, mentions of pregnancy, mentions and implications of being in the hospital deathbed, tragic-ish love, 1950s Hollywood inspired in terms of homosexuality-ish, mentions of homophobia, back in the old day women are expected to marry a man, they kept their love for each other hidden until the end, reader is also a matriarch of her own family like Cassandra, most likely ooc Cassandra and Caitlyn

SUMMARY: Caitlyn receives the Kiramman Key to unlock knowledge privy to the Kiramman matriarchs. She also unlocks a memoir of her mother’s past, specifically with the person she loved the most through old photographs and unsent letters.

A/N: I realized a lot of my published work is composed of the “letter narrative” as I call it and this one has a bunch. It’s similar to my first Cassandra fanfic, the only difference is there’s death and grief involved. I have yet to finish the season, but her funeral and the memorial were hard to watch. I miss her so much.

A/N (12/11/24): Reading it while listening to “I Can’t Hear It Now” by Freya Ridings/Arcane on loop is a whole other experience...

WORDS: 2,669

(FANFIC IS UNDER THE CUT!)

When her father handed her the Kiramman Key her mother wanted her to have, Caitlyn knew she was truly gone. She was now the leader of House Kiramman too soon, without the guidance of her mother, Cassandra. It was a position she deemed unworthy of, but her mother reassured her of the merit of her birthright. Only when she thought her relationship with her mother would progress, the world decided to strip that opportunity from her.

Filled with grief, loss, and vengeance, especially after the attack at the memorial, Caitlyn decided to view what her mother had in store for her. First, it was the presentation of the ducts, the toxic air in the fissures contained by her mother’s instructions, allowing the people of The Undercity to breathe. She could use the passageways of the ventilation system and the Grey to locate Jinx, dismantle Shimmer, and neutralize any agents still loyal to Silco. Second, was a drawer of letters and photographs in a compartment at the bottom of the desk. It had nothing to do with the Kiramman Clan, but something to do with her mother’s personal life when she was younger.

The drawer seemed to be a memoir, maybe something left to be forgotten as dust covered its contents. Everything was held together with twine, completed with a battered tag, showing how old the letters and photographs were — possibly older than Caitlyn herself. She gently grabbed the bundle of memories in her hands, flipping the tag over to see what was written, the ink smudged by droplets. It wrote: My old love, in Cassandra’s handwriting. Her mother had a lover?

Caitlyn swore her breath hitched when she untangled the twine to reveal the secrets Cassandra carried. She wanted to see who her mother loved so much, that she had a collection of their time together, but she wasn’t expecting several photographs of you to appear. After all, you were her mother’s childhood friend, her closest companion and confidant.

It was clear in Caitlyn’s eyes that you two had a platonic relationship. Did she read it wrong? She saw you as an aunt, a second mother beside Cassandra; she never realized that her mother loved you romantically. This doesn’t make sense. You had a husband and children of your own, just like her mother. You and Cassandra would get together and gossip about your spouses and children. She had proof, she had accompanied you two when she was a little girl on several occasions. What did Caitlyn miss? What was kept hidden?

Did her mother love you more than her own husband? What about you? Did you love Cassandra too? Caitlyn flickered through the photographs, putting the letters aside for later, it was clear her mother was devoted to you. She never imagined her mother would ever use a camera to capture your beauty throughout your shared life. It felt uncharacteristic of her to do so, to have her mother be deeply in love with someone other than her father.

Now that she thought about it. It seemed like Cassandra changed when you passed away. Gone was the warmth she wore on her sleeves as she became distant and even more stubborn, pretentious, and selfish, perfecting her façade as a politician. She now realized how her mother tried to tone down her grief during your burial, to appear as if she only lost a good friend. Caitlyn was too entangled in her own emotions of also losing you to realize how deeply your sudden death affected her mother. She was still too young to comprehend how you died, Cassandra never told her. It was too painful to recount.

Maybe all this time, Cassandra was still grieving your loss till the day she died, having failed to protect you and prevent your death, so much so that her efforts were transferred onto Caitlyn so she could avoid the same fate. She started to understand her mother’s actions a little more, not that she condoned them after the seclusion and restriction she felt all her life. Her mother meant well, even if it hurt. Cassandra didn’t want to lose Caitlyn as she lost you.

After observing each photograph, soon came the letters. Caitlyn skimmed from the oldest letter at the bottom pile to the newer ones at the top. These words were never meant to see the light of day, never meant for someone else to see, especially not you or an outsider like Caitlyn. She can’t believe how raw the emotions she felt from her mother’s words. Caitlyn cannot do justice to her mother’s letters by explaining their contents. You simply had to read them to feel Cassandra’s love for you, but you were gone, unaware that your dearest friend saw you as her whole world even if she could not display her heart at her sleeves due to the societal expectations in the past.

Caitlyn saw smears of ink in many places, making it hard for her to comprehend the smudged words, but she knew her mother cried writing and possibly reading them. These letters were a diary, a collection of paper with words akin to a symphony of her love for you. Caitlyn wondered if you were aware of Cassandra’s feelings and simply did not comment on it, or if you and her mother shared the same situation, loving each other in the shadows as your respective families were in the spotlight of attention.

Was writing letters something Cassandra did in her free time? Because there were so many, it would take Caitlyn some time to skim through all of them. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but maybe her mother wanted someone to know her feelings unless this parcel was supposed to be discarded before Caitlyn took over as the Kiramman Clan Matriarch. Still, Caitlyn couldn’t help but go through it, you meant a lot to her too, and she felt the connection between you two that had faded since your death years ago. The world had taken you and her mother too early, Caitlyn only had her father left, hoping his grief for Cassandra wouldn’t make his life wither and leave her too.

The letters started with Cassandra realizing she loved you; appreciating your beauty from inside and out. She expressed in detail the moment she knew she was in love, from how her heart threatened to beat out of her chest as your hair blew in the wind, the purple petals from the grand ivory-barked tree swayed with you. Caitlyn recognized it was the sacred place she and her mother shared near the fountain on the outskirts of the city, a place where they never argued and remembered your presence together.

“...We went to the place you enjoyed the most, Y/n. I came to share your love for this park because you were always there with me. I never thought you would take my breath away like you had today. You were beautiful, you have always been.

Today felt different, however. The sight before me was something that came out of books. The wind picked up and your hair danced with the purple petals that floated around you. Your smile directed at me made it seem like I was in a fairytale my mother used to tell me as a child. It was a sight to behold, and I knew then and there, that I had fallen in love with you...”

The following letters were short, but filled with admiration and love. Cassandra appreciated you in many ways Caitlyn never knew in each letter, expressing her appreciation for everything you did, your character, appearance, and how you treated her. Her mother was so youthful, so happy whenever she was with you. It broke Caitlyn’s heart when the letters started to take on another tone; one of loss and hopelessness.

“...Why must society be this way, my love? Why am I prohibited from loving you the way you deserve? I am shackled by these expectations placed upon me, and I’m ashamed that I have to hide in the dark to be able to express my love. I’m a coward for not throwing everything away so I could love you publicly. I wish to have you by my side, to call you my lover, my beloved wife, without the consequences of society. I was overjoyed when I realized you loved me too, but it pained me that you were also hiding your love. You were as careful as I was with concealing how we felt for each other. Do you know that I love you too? I wish for you to know, but I’m scared of putting you in danger.

I wouldn’t know of your feelings if not for the day my parents announced my engagement. You had shown a crack of your true self from your poised façade. It pained me to see the sullen expression on your face. You tried to hide your turmoil, but I knew the news broke you as much as it did me. I wanted to cup your face and hold you in my embrace, to feel your warmth against mine as I whispered words of love, saying that we would still have each other as our duties befall us.

I wanted to kiss your troubles away, but I did not let myself get carried away with such intimacy. Any hint of something more as friendship in anyone’s eyes would lead to forced separation… I don’t want to lose you. I’m sorry, Y/n, but I need to build distance between us to avoid suspicion. Please forgive me… I despise myself for being powerless to protect you from the pain I would cause you…”

Caitlyn read the following letters, Cassandra expressed her guilt for keeping you at arm's length when all she wanted was to have all of you, to be with you the way you both wanted, but such a thing never happened when the two of you started your own families. She apologized in many letters as she realized how you started to pull away from her. Caitlyn tried her best to decipher the smudged words that filled the loose paper. Her mother didn’t want this, didn’t want to pretend she felt nothing for you other than a platonic friendship, that she didn’t love you. It was cruel.

There was a large time gap between the letters. Caitlyn decided that her mother tried to focus on her duties as the Kiramman Matriarch and her relationship with Tobias by severing her attachments to the letters. Cassandra must’ve been carrying Caitlyn somewhere during this time, not wanting the memory of your relationship with her to cause stress and emotional turmoil during her months of pregnancy.

The letter that followed was something close to reconciliation even if the distance was still there. You and Cassandra must’ve accepted the fate of your separated lives and decided to continue what was remaining of your friendship. Caitlyn was surprised she was the catalyst of this event.

“...I was nervous about meeting you again after months of no contact, Y/n. I didn’t know what to expect after you distanced yourself from me. I still remember the pained expression on your face when I told you we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I never hated myself so much for being the cause of your pain. I have never done anything but hurt you. So, I was in disbelief when you easily agreed to the invitation I sent out of the blue to meet Caitlyn.

You must’ve laughed at my audacity for wanting you back after pushing you out of my life, that you only agreed to this because your kind husband convinced you so. I hate to say I’m relieved you have wedded a respectful man. I know you are safe in his hands when I can’t be there to do the same.

I was faced with an impassive demeanor when you arrived at the Kiramman residence, and I didn’t know if our friendship could be salvaged, but when you held Caitlyn, I saw a glimmer of love shine in your eyes. The smile that broke from your façade when you cradled my daughter with so much care made my heart swell at the sight. Then you met my gaze, and it felt like that day in the park all over again. I knew I was still in love with you, and you felt the same, even as our love dwelled in pain and loss because of the world we live in…”

The last letter on the pile was tattered compared to the other ones. It was difficult to understand because of the ink smudges, shaky handwriting, and teardrops… Caitlyn knew what this letter was about and could see how her mother struggled to write this one. The unshakeable grief that filled this page hurt Caitlyn. This must’ve been the fork Cassandra faced when she decided that writing more letters would only cause her more pain than solace as she thought about you.

“...I failed you, my love. I failed to protect you from your curiosity and compassion for The Undercity. The world was too cruel to take you from me, our relationship had only begun to blossom its fruits. The time we spent rebuilding what was lost… How could I sleep at night, knowing I could’ve prevented your death? I will never be able to live with the guilt of hurting you even until your last breath.

I should’ve listened to you, I should’ve been more open-minded about creating the ventilation system for people of the fissures. Was this the world’s response to my selfishness, to take you away from me? I feel so empty without you, the grief is tearing away at me. I couldn’t bear hearing Caitlyn’s cries when I told her you would no longer be with us to spoil her, to love her like your own.

Everything that happened to you is all my fault. No amount of apologies would bring you back, but I am so sorry, Y/n. The Grey I could’ve contained with my influence and resources ate at your life, poisoned your lungs, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

It tore at my heart to see you fighting for your life, hooked to machines, but everything was a lost cause when the grip of your hand on mine loosened and lay limp between my own. Your eyes became distant and empty as the light in them faded, but you still held the smile I fell in love with, muttering the words I longed to hear for decades: ‘I love you, Cassandra.’ I couldn’t respond in time, I failed to say that I love you too… because you were already gone…

I promise I will let the people of The Undercity breathe, just as you had wished, my love…”

Caitlyn now understood why her mother completed the project. She did it for you. It was a grand and equally dangerous project that took many lives and resources to complete, and here Caitlyn was, planning to unleash the gas that killed you to look for a criminal who killed her mother and many others.

After reading the letters, Caitlyn wondered several things. Would her mother be happy again, now that she has reunited with you in the afterlife? Would she be able to express her love after hiding her true feelings for you for so long? Caitlyn hopes she can because she knows how much her mother was alive when you were around, even in moments of joy and sadness. She wanted her mother to be happy again despite the pain in her heart that she was no longer there with her and her father.

Meanwhile…

“I finally got to see you again, my love… Oh, how I missed you so… My life was never the same when you left… I can’t believe you’re back in my life… and in my arms… I love you too, Y/n… I love you so, so much, dearest.”

#arcane #arcane cassandra #cassandra kiramman #cassandra kiramman x reader #arcane x reader #league of legends #arcane netflix #arcane women #cassandra x reader #arcane league of legends x reader #arcane league of legends #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #cassandra arcane

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syscultureis · 1 year ago

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Vent //

Plural culture is joining a friend's server and using pluralkit while trying to explain to people that you're not a bot and that you have DID and then getting an ableist response to which your friend then supports so your protector and anger holder(s) front and go off at them and then you also find out that person is also homophobic and your friend did nothing to kick them or anything. Despite knowing that you're a system that is mostly queer and that you're all very sensitive to those sort of things.

I'm so sorry that happened that's awful :(

#endos dni #osdd #pdid #did #did system #pdid system #osddid #actually did #traumagenic #actually dissociative #plural culture is #tw homophobia #cw homophobia #tw ableism #cw ableism

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steviewashere · 23 days ago

Text

One Day I Am Gonna Grow Wings

Rating: Mature CW: Implied/Referenced Domestic Abuse, Alcoholism/Alcohol Abuse, Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Depression, Minor Suicidal Ideation, Implied/Referenced Cheating (But Not on Anybody Important; You'll See), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Vomiting Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post Break-Up, Past Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Drunk Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Self Esteem Issues, Negative Self Talk, Self Hatred, Steve's Current Girlfriend Sucks, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Steve Harrington Is Not Okay, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug (And Gets One), Defensive Steve Harrington, Worried Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Comforts Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Hopeful Ending Title is from "Let Down" by Radiohead

💔—————💔 He doesn’t know what changed—it’s the same night he goes through. Drink until he’s swaying and slurring and warm. Climb into bed with someone—anyone. And then make a run for it in the morning; raging headache, aching teeth, and all. He finds a party and crashes it and keeps crashing it until he gets his end goal—a person in bed with him—or somebody realizes he doesn’t belong there and throws him out by the scruff of his neck.

The drinks are in his system. Everything around him blurring and tilting on its side. He’s not sure who he’s looking at when he reaches for them, when they touch him and coo at him. Whoever he’s bumped into treats him with a sweet sort of care he hasn’t had since—

No, he tells himself, don’t think about him tonight.

Rescinding memories of brown eyes and freckled soft cheeks, Steve nearly upchucks on his own sneakers. But the stranger is holding his face now, surely pasty and sweaty, and leading them down a seemingly endless hallway, right into the deep darkness of somebody’s unclaimed bedroom. The mattress is soft. This stranger’s fingers are softer as they help him toe out of his sneakers, yet leave him to struggle with his jeans. Whoever they are, they’re respectful—too respectful, if you were to ask Steve; he needs to be fucked, rough and unkind and brutal until he’s choking and sobbing on emotions, until he’s smacked a little loose and left in the wake of his own sore desires; he’s supposed to be treated like dirt—at least he thinks.

Steve’s tucked under the blanket. A cool washrag draped over his sweat beading forehead. Laid on his side with a trash can placed conveniently along the side of the bed. In a bleary whirlwind, he watches this stranger set out a glass of water and some Advil. And then he’s left on his own—the party now died out beyond the bedroom door, and the stranger disappearing behind it.

He tosses and turns and chokes himself with the duvet.

Then—

Birds are chirping outside, but the curtains are drawn tight. The bedroom is partially familiar, yet completely new all at the same time. He recognizes some of the bands on the wall: Metallica, Judas Priest, and he believes Accept—though that one’s a toss-up considering how faded all these posters are. There’s laundry strewn about the space, cigarettes in a full ashtray, a leaning tower of tapes. Some amps and chords and—

Eddie. He’s in Eddie Munson’s fucking room.

Hastily, Steve darts for the nearest container he can find—the tall kitchen garbage can from last night. His throat burns, pinches, and expels the contents of whatever he found. It’s all sour, though, so it’s not like he can pinpoint what exactly he got into. Some heavy alcohol, for sure, since he doesn’t remember climbing into this bed. His nostrils flare and sting, breath choking out between harsh, wet gags. When he finally pulls back from the opening of the can, he’s unsure how long he was out of it.

The bag is…decently full and the smell is atrocious and his whole mouth tastes like bile. He heaves for breath, chest moving up and down in harsh, painful builds. His stomach cramps around nothing, phantom things as if to punish him. And when he reaches up to scratch his cheeks, he’s met with his usual rough skin wet with tears. Great, he thinks, I’m sobbing like a baby in my ex’s bedroom. Such a cool guy thing to do, Steve; really outdid yourself this time, Steve.

Somebody knocks on the bedroom door, pushing it open with a soft click of the doorknob. “You doing okay?” And that’s…

That’s Eddie’s voice. Raspy from smoking, yet still soft around the edges. He’s looking through the gap of the door. Big brown eyes, shiny in the dim light, his hair all the same wild though healthier looking around him, and his face full of honest concern.

Steve takes a deep breath and traces the ache of it in his heart and his lungs, down to his toes. “Puke,” he says, “I puked, ‘m sorry.”

The door opens further. Eddie steps inside. Tall and broad and healthy. His skin no longer pale, now tanned gently from the recent early summer sun. He still looks concerned, eyebrows wrinkled down his face, mouth pinched. Softly, “You don’t have to apologize, Steve. I put the can out just in case. You were…you were really out of it last night.”

He sniffles. “I drank, like, a lot…”—swallows the last dredges of bile still stuck like velcro to his throat—“…I think.”

“Your breath smelt like alcohol pretty strongly,” Eddie says—gentle, always so fucking gentle, “I’m not shocked you don’t remember.”

Steve shrugs. “Guess I was too wasted.” That’s been happening a lot more, he doesn’t say, sorry if that worries you. He reaches for the glass of lukewarm water on the nightstand, takes a gentle sip to test if he can stomach it, and then downs the Advil when he decides it’s safe. “I usually know my limits. Must’ve gone a beer too far.”

He watches Eddie roll words around his mouth like marbles. His tongue clearly working over his teeth. Arms pulled tighter to his chest. “I didn’t invite you last night,” Eddie states, “and you harassed a good amount of my guests.”

“I’m sor”—

“Why did you come over?”

Owlishly, Steve blinks. “I don’t…I don’t know. Think I had been walking around and saw the full house and then…and then…I—Now I’m awake in your bed, man, I don’t know.”

Eddie blows out a long, loud breath. “Steve, that’s not good. That’s pretty fucking dangerous.” He covers his mouth with his ringless left hand. Worried. “You…fuck…you look terrible, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that. You fuckin’ broke up with me, you don’t get to call me that.”

When Eddie blinks, he blinks as if ridding tears from his eyes—which he must’ve been, since his next breath in is a nasally, bubbly sniffle—and then he concedes with a nod. “Okay, fine, I won’t call you that.” He tilts his head. Analyzing Steve like he is so prone to do. “Does this happen a lot? You go to random parties and get shitfaced?”

“It doesn’t happen that often.”

Pressing, “How often, Steve?”

Agitated, he sighs. “I don’t know! Fucking…probably three or four times a week? I’m not always drinking, though, so it’s fine!” He scoots the sloshing garbage can away from himself, stomach twinging at the sound, and collapses back into Eddie’s mattress. Usually, he can leave by now, but it seems like he’s trapped. He’d rather die than be here. Prickly, “Can I go home yet or are you gonna keep pestering me about stupid shit?”

Eddie crosses the room and takes a seat at the foot of his bed. For a moment, his left hand falls away from his face, hovering above the mound that Steve’s feet are making in the blanket—and then he hesitates. And then he hangs his hands between his spread knees. Careful. “I called Robin,” he says, “and she told me you haven’t been living with her for a few months now. If you really want to go home, that’s fine, but I’d like to know where this home is just to make sure you get there safely.”

“Why do you care? It’s not like you’ll ever need to know.”

“Steve, don’t get avoidant on me. Robin also said she was worried, and since she is, now I’m worried.” Eddie clicks his tongue against his teeth. Gapes his mouth, floundering for a few beats like a suffocating goldfish. He looks away as if the sight of Steve physically pains him. Then, “This isn’t you and I know it isn’t. Even if we aren’t together anymore and you wanna spout some shit at me about how this isthe real you or whatever, this isn’t the person Robin is friends with. What’s going on, man?”

He rolls his eyes. “Dude, just because I’m twenty pounds overweight and drink every once in a while doesn’t mean something’s wrong. I just don’t live with her anymore. It’s fine.”

“If things were fine, then nobody would be worrying over you. I know you’re not dumb, but I seriously don’t know why you’re acting like it. Can you at least tell me where you’re living so that I can give you a ride”—

“My girlfriend’s, okay? It’s my fuckin’ girlfriend’s apartment. She wasn’t home last night and I took advantage of that. It’s seriously not that big of a deal.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “You were trying to get laid at my fucking party last night! That’s more than just taking advantage of a free night, Steve. You’re actively cheating on”—

“She deserves it,” Steve snaps, “if you knew her, you’d get why I’m doing it. Guess I’m just too chicken shit to break things off.”

“What the—what do you mean she deserves”—

“Can I use your shower? I think I got barf on myself. Think it’s on my clothes, too.”

Sighing, Eddie relents. Pastes a sarcastic grin on his face. Slaps his hands together. Dramatic. “Yeah, fine, whatever. But we’re talking about this afterwards. Robin was basically on the verge of tears, man. I promised her that I’d figure out what was going on.”

With a final roll of his eyes and a steaming huff, Steve mutters, “Fucking whatever.”

——— When he’s fresh out of the shower, Steve finds that his clothes have been changed out for some of Eddie’s. A plain pair of grey sweatpants and some scrappy Metallica t-shirt, the logo’s barely hanging on, peeling on the outlines. He wears them even if something lurches inside him. And, even stupider, he brings the collar of the t-shirt up to his nose and inhales. It’s clean based off of the faint scent of lavender, but there’s still an underlying layer of musk and sweat and tobacco. Something rich and so completely Eddie, it makes him want to run wild.

He hasn’t been in Eddie’s vicinity since the break up.

It wasn’t an amicable break up. He had been holding on, fingernails deep into the skin and fat of their relationship’s body, but Eddie had been slowly giving up. Stepping back, so he had said. That he couldn’t watch Steve destroy himself; it hadn’t been the alcohol yet, it was the wallowing and the wasting, the unemployment bouts and his irritable episodes and the whole…sneaking around and smoking weed and lying to Eddie’s face about it and then getting explosive when pestered and then—

Steve was a wreck.

Is a wreck.

Before they ended things, Steve had been spiraling. Down the drain kind of spiraling. They started things where he was merely stagnant water in a rusted sink and, well, then he went down from there—which was somehow possible. He didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand, so he’s explained time and time again to the people around him: Robin, Dustin, Nancy, and most importantly Eddie. It’s just that he didn’t know how to relax anymore. And the fact that his parents had finished offloading him from their lives. And that everybody around him kept moving on to bigger and greater things.

And then there was him. Plain Steve with his minimum wage job. Which, everybody told him that it was fine. That he shouldn’t be beating himself up so hard over what kind of job he’s got. Though, these were the same people that were starting college or joining more clubs or entering internships and apprenticeships. Steve was just there, in it. After bad shifts, he leant on a lit joint; before a bad shift could even start, he was excusing himself with a joint in his pocket. He smoked in his car, he smoked on the porch, he smoked in the bathroom. Every night, it felt like, he caught himself choking on all the shit he was full of; caught himself breaking into pure hysterics, sobbing and crying and clawing. When Eddie tried to comfort him, Steve could swear that it felt like his world was closing in, and every time he’d back away from the arms and the kisses and the soft words—if he didn’t, he feared he’d tear his own skin off in an attempt to escape. And that’s what it was all about—escapism. He wanted an out, so he made his own exit. The smoking and the bickering and the crying were just force of habit.

He was miserable.

…Is miserable.

Once out of the bathroom, Steve follows his nose towards the kitchen. Eddie’s at the stove, scrambling up some eggs, over-frying the bacon. He makes himself sit at the dining table. Because he knows this is Eddie’s way of confrontation.

“So…” Eddie starts. “There’s a girlfriend.”

Steve swallows around phantom bile and chunks. “Do we have to talk about her?”

Eddie shrugs. “Feels like maybe we should, don’t you think? ‘Cause if this is a case of, like, you’ve fallen out of love with her, I can give you a few pointers on how to, y’know”—

“Oh, fuck you, man,” Steve spits. “That’s so completely uncool of”—

“Okay, okay…I’m sorry. Obviously you’re not up for jokes, I should’ve known better.” He sighs, clicks the burners off, and putters around one of the cabinets, clearly stalling. “But there’s something about this girl. And whatever it is, it’s got you cagey and on the defense immediately…and I feel like it has something to do with what you were getting up to last night.”

A plate clunks down in front of Steve. Full with cheesy eggs and crisp bacon. There’s also a steaming cup of black coffee—no creamer or sugar in sight—just as he likes it. Deep within him, a timid creature lurches again, pressing and purring up against his ribcage; he juts his fingers between his ribs in an attempt to stab it.

“Does Robin know about her?” Eddie asks.

Steve gives a half-assed shrug. Takes a bite that overwhelms his cheeks. Not a word.

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Across the table, Eddie sits in his own chair. Hands clasped together. Leaning over the surface as if interrogating. He supposes that’s what this is. “And if Robin doesn’t know, then I’m going to assume that nobody knows. The only reason you told me is because I prodded enough. Which…that also tells me you’re…you’re isolating yourself again, aren’t you? Not talking to everybody else?”

He chews his food slower. Keeps his stare down at the plate. Grips his fork a little tighter when his hand starts to shake. “I see them,” Steve lies.

Eddie doesn’t buy it—evident in the click of his tongue, the huff of his breath. “Nobody’s seen you. You’re being secretive about this girl’s place. You don’t even fucking like her and”—he gasps, big and breathy and taking all the air out of the room with it—“are those…”—and then Eddie grabs at Steve’s left wrist, tugging at his arm until his bicep is on display—“…Steve, oh my god!”

Though he could pull back, hide what Eddie’s already clearly seen, Steve is stuck—not frozen, but stuck. He hides his face by continuing to stare down. “It’s not what it looks like, Eds…Eddie, come on”—

“Who did this? These are finger imprints, Steve. Who the fuck did this to you?”

Embarrassingly, Steve’s eyes fill with tears. He yanks at the grip, but no shot. “Ed—please, come on, just let it go”—

“Steve”—

“Stop!” And Eddie lets go with a muttered apology. Steve curls his arm against his chest. Now would be a great time for a drink and the floor to open itself. For now, though, he slumps in his seat. “You already got the answer, okay? Just drop it. It’s not important. And it’s not…I’m not…it’s not something to worry about.”

The room completely quiets.

He doesn’t pick his fork back up.

And his face isn’t cooperating the way it should. Instead, it’s hot and embarrassed. He’s crying, too, which doesn’t bode well for whatever conversation is ahead.

“Steve?” Eddie calls softly, “can you look at me?”

Fighting every instinct that tells him no, he begrudgingly looks up from his lap. Can’t make direct eye contact, but whatever glimpse Eddie gets seems to satisfy him.

Murmuring now, “Is she hurting you?” Eddie asks. “You don’t have to say anything, you can just…just give me a visual.”

Steve sniffs. Croaky, “Y-yeah. But…but it’s fine, okay? We just get into arguments sometimes and I say the wrong thing and she has to—She still…we still cuddle and have sex and stuff and she…she tells me she loves me.”

“Sweetheart”—Steve shoots Eddie a quick glare—“sorry…I know I shouldn’t—Just because she’s nice sometimes doesn’t mean you deserve any of this. You understand?” When he doesn’t give an answer, Eddie sighs. “Does your girlfriend know where Robin lives?” Steve simply nods. “Okay…okay. How about where I live?”

Subtly, Steve gives a quick shake of his head. It’s not supposed to be like this—this overwhelming sense to hide; the way Eddie knows that even Steve was too weak to fight back. You can’t think like that, he tries to tell himself, Eddie doesn’t think like that. Eddie love—“No…I don’t…we don’t talk about you. She, um, she doesn’t support that…that kind of…stuff? Last time I tried to talk about anything to do with”—he clutches his arm tighter to his chest, can trace the exact place a fracture had lasted for months—“she made sure I knew that I chose her.”

Something twisted flashes over Eddie’s face. Paling him. Sickening him. “Steve,” he says horrified, “that’s awful.”

“But she loves me,” Steve is quick to amend, “so it’s fine that she doesn’t like that part”—

“None of this is okay,” Eddie firmly interrupts. “Not a single bit of it, do you hear me? She’s hurting you. She is isolating you from your friends. She is hiding you, Steve.” He crosses his arms again, hard against the table, enough to shake it. “I’m not taking you back there. I am not putting you in that situation again.”

Scrambling, Steve whips his head straight up. “Eds, no, c’mon…it’s…it’s fine, okay? Seriously. I…I can take care of myself, swear. And it’s not like she’s hurting me that”—

“Do not finish that sentence, Steve Harrington. I mean that. I really fucking mean that. You know, just as well as I do, that what you’re trying to tell me is horseshit. Pure shit.” Eddie bites into his bottom lip, staring off beyond Steve’s shoulder for a moment. Contemplating a million things, it seems. But then his stare goes back to normal, watery and miserable. His voice wavers. “I have a pull-out in my spare room. It’s usually the space I use to write and record, but I’ll let you use it. There’s a million blankets in my hall closet. I make a mean plate of breakfast. No rent. No chipping in on utilities.”

“I can’t just take advantage of you, Eddie.”

“You wouldn’t be. Steve, in no way, shape, or form are you a burden to me.”

Steve shakes his head and drops his stare back to his lap. “You know that’s not true,” he says quietly, “I was falling apart before her. I’m falling apart during her. I’m just gonna fall apart again after her. And I can’t…Eddie, I can’t put you through that again.” He sniffs. Rolls his lips against his teeth, tries to stop himself from crying—to no avail. “I know, okay? I know that I…I fucked us up so bad before. You had every fucking right to leave me. I was miserable. I was sick. There was nothing motivating me—not even you…not even Robin—just nothing. I was lying to you. I was stealing your weed. I was…I was terrible, Eds. I’m a”—

“Don’t you dare”—

“I’m a terrible person, Eddie. I am. I know it.” Steve shorts a sob. It sprays loose against his forearms. Chokes him at the base of his throat. “If I was good, then this kind of bullshit would stop happening to me. If I was a good person, then I’d be able to hold a job or make something of myself. If I could just get myself together, maybe my parents would love me…not more, but maybe again? And I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t be in this mess!

“I wouldn’t be like a fucking sponge that just absorbs everything around it. That’s all I do. I swear to God, that’s all I do. Everything negative just gets stuck in me and it has nowhere to go but out and so I get bitchy and mean and I argue and I do stupid shit and I—I’m a complete fuck up, okay? I’m not going to bring that into your space. I’m not gonna let you realize that again.” There’s drool and tears and snot mixing over his face. Heat in his cheeks. A tremor in his hands. Quietly, “My life is nothing but a black smudge. I don’t think I know who I am without all the…the alcohol and weed and cigarettes and mindless, dumb sex. I don’t know who I am without being awful. I shouldn’t be here like this…I shouldn’t be here. A part of me feels like I should’ve died down”—

Without saying anything, just a sharp scrape of his chair, Eddie gets up from his spot at the table.

This is it, Steve thinks, he’s gonna grab me by my neck and toss me to the curb.

He’ll slice Steve open and let him be flayed for the whole world to see—his stupid stained lungs and his gnarly liver and his constantly bloated insides; the hairline cracks along his heart and the purple bruising surrounding it; how much of him is missing, what parts remain diseased. He’s a decaying corpse, really. Molding and marbling right at Eddie’s table.

There’s heat along his left side. Not touching him, but something close.

Eddie crouches down, knees popping with the effort. Hushed, “Stevie, can you look at me?” He doesn’t know how to stop listening to this voice, but he knows how to obey. It’s a different sort of seeing when Eddie looks at him—not the bare naked kind, more so like he’s worthy, like he doesn’t have to die to be realized. “There you are,” Eddie breathes. “I want to give you a hug, is that okay?”

Instead of answering, Steve leans himself into Eddie’s chest. Right where he used to cozy up. Lets himself fall. And Eddie catches him. One hand in his hair. An arm thrown across his back. It’s the only embrace he’s felt in what seems like eons. It’s the warmest thing he’s had aside from the alcohol in his system.

He doesn’t know what else to do but sob. Cry and cry and choke and choke and choke and give in. Lean into the wailing, the exerting, the marking. Give himself over to full temptation: the art of letting go.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Eddie whispers, stroking Steve’s hair, “we’re gonna eat our breakfast and I’ll wash your clothes and we’ll divvy out the blankets for your bed. And if you need anything—anything at all”—he chokes at this part, voice warbling again, tears wetting the top of Steve’s head—“you can come find me. And I promise you, Steve, I’m not gonna be mad and I’m not gonna take anything out on you and I will just let you be.

“‘m right here. And so are you.

“And we’re gonna…shit…we’re gonna get you through this. No matter how long it takes.”

Over Eddie’s heart, where it still beats against Steve’s lips like it did under his clumsy hands, he asks, “And if it takes forever?”

“Then we’ll take forever.

“You’re gonna get to where you need to be.

“And you’re gonna be you again.” Eddie swallows. The sound vibrating through Steve’s skull. His heart, his pulse, the wheezing of his breath. His steady hold. The warmth in his palms. All of it embraces him. As if it’s factual, Eddie goes on to state, “You are a good person, Steve. You’re just gonna take some time to realize that. And that’s okay.” A promise, “You’re gonna be you.”

The end is so far away. His greatness. This conceived idea of him.

He doesn’t know what’s to come.

But he takes the first step.

Steve breathes deep, no longer tasting bile, no longer choking on words, no longer crying.

He breathes out and lets go.

💔—————💔

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #angst #hurt/comfort #read all content warnings

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ravenstargames · 6 months ago

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does homophobia exist in limbo? why or why not? not being weird this is just very important for my gay cécile fic and if you think you know who this is, no u don't

👁️👁️💧

Oh I know exactly who this is!

So, CW just in case: mentions of homophobia

✦ Does homophobia exist in Limbo?

Short answer: homophobia doesn't exist in Limbo.

Long answer: Same gender couples are very usual and discrimination against them doesn't exist. As to why—there's no institutionalized / systemic or religious homophobia. There hasn't been a reason for it to exist.

From a creator point of view, I just don't see the need for it.

From a story point of view, it doesn't make sense as there are no such things as, idk, religious homophobic teachings, or the idea of a nuclear family. The Sovereigns and other types of elite in Limbo have been / are in same-sex relationships, have more than one partner, have children without being married / bonded, have children and families with more than one partner, etc.

There are some people who think not "renovating the essence cycle" (meaning, not conceiving children to replace those who die) affects the balance, but these thoughts are uncommon and aren't only targeted to same-sex couples, but also to those who don't want / can't have children. And they have no "scientific" base in Limbo. That's the only thing I could see being related to our world's homophobia. It's like people who think the Earth is flat—they exist, but, you know.

So no homophobia in our fantasy game :^}

#lost in limbo #visual novel #otome #indiedev #about limbo

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irrealisms · 8 months ago

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svsss and sexual violence pt. 1: shen yuan's realization of himself as a target

it's been a while (read: two months) since my last Big Meta so it's time for another one! this one is about my reading of svsss as in large part About sexual violence but it's gonna be in multiple parts; this one is about 1k, with a lot of quotes from canon, and is focused on Shen Yuan realizing that he has been put in a position where he is a target for sexual violence.

standard disclaimer at the beginning: i am not saying that this is the Only thing svsss is about, or that other readings are invalid; i am not intending to character-bash most of the characters here (while i will freely admit to thinking e.g. old palace master or qiu jianluo are pretty one-dimensionally shitty, lots--probably most--of the characters in this series who i mention as perpetrating SA are characters who do have depths & who i in fact like a lot! despite this meta, or perhaps because of it, my second-favorite character is luo binghe, and i am in fact a bingqiu shipper!); and, obviously, huge fucking CW for sexual abuse and adjacent topics.

(also: shoutout to @rooses40stepskincareroutine for motivating me to actually write all this out haha)

TABLE OF CONTENTS pt 1: shen yuan's realization of himself as a target (you are here) pt 2: gender and homophobia pt 3: non-bingqiu sexual violence pt 4: shen qingqiu's body pt 5: we live in a society

When we first meet Shen Yuan, he's oblivious to the idea of himself as a sexual object. He's attracted to others and at times has to deliberately be respectful and not stare, but he never considers the possibility that others might be attracted to him--much less that men would be attracted to him, and certainly not that he would be a target of sexual violence due to this desire. I could get quotes/proof on this but honestly I think this is pretty uncontroversial.

The first point at which this becomes interesting to me in the context of sexual violence is when Luo Binghe returns from the abyss. here's how the choking scene goes:

“During the day, Shizun was so intimate and gentle with Gongyi Xiao, and this evening you lit a lantern, waiting for Liu-shishu until late into the night. What sincere affection. Why, then, are you so distant when it comes to this disciple?” [...] Under the streaming moonlight, Luo Binghe looked even more peerlessly beautiful, as if his silhouette had been carved from ice and jade. He pressed very close, and he spoke with slow deliberation. “After so many years of separation, we meet amidst golden wind and jade dew, yet Shizun incessantly calls someone else’s name. That truly saddens this disciple a little.”

Luo Binghe is jealous of Shen Qingqiu talking about other people, so he "pressed very close" and starts choking Shen Qingqiu out. This is not explicitly sexual--yet--but it has some overtones. And I don't think this is accidentally sexually charged-- bingqiu is in fact our primary ship, which we are supposed to be reading as sexually charged! It becomes more and more explicit that Luo Binghe is jealous of SQQ's relationships with others not just in general but also on a specifically romantic/sexual level! And later in the same scene we get this line:

Luo Binghe looked at him, then said pityingly, “Shizun, that would require someone to believe you.”

I'll be talking more later about what svsss has to say about sexual violence being allowed and supported by society but right now I just want to really emphatically gesture at the above quote.

And then in their next interaction, in the water prison, the system (we will be talking more about the system's role in all of this later) progresses the scene by causing LBH to physically tear SQQ's robes, and we get this section:

That doesn’t mean you should tear my clothes! Shen Qingqiu clutched the remaining fabric tightly and indignantly said, “What are you doing?! Is this your only method of humiliating others?” “It was clearly Shizun who humiliated me first!” 【 Satisfaction points +50. 】 You can add points for that too?! Gross! Why does this feel so sick?!

But notably--even though Shen Qingqiu notices feeling sick and gross and humiliated about having his clothes ripped off--Shen Qingqiu, even here, does not yet recognize any threat of sexual abuse! Gongyi Xiao sees him and instantly assumes that Shen Qingqiu's been raped by Luo Binghe--the torn clothes, the panicked desire to get out and away from Luo Binghe--but Shen Qingqiu has no idea that this is the assumption being made; Shen Qingqiu is, in his narration, still primarily afraid of more physical threats from LBH, a la PIDW; he's trying to figure out why LBH isn't as good at getting wives as in PIDW, and a couple chapters later he's worrying that LBH is asexual. He's been flagged by the narrative (diegetically, even!) as a target of sexual violence--but he hasn't realized this yet.

this doesn't change for a while; while I have things to say about LBH and LQG fighting over SQQ's corpse under this framework, they're not relevant to my current point. SQQ becomes aware of his role as a sexual object when LBH sexually assaults him in the dream world--it's a kiss, so it's something that SQQ is unable to dismiss as a more platonic form of violence:

Shen Qingqiu’s worldview repeatedly collapsed and re-formed, collapsed and re-formed, cycling infinitely at the speed of light.

Suddenly, Shen Qingqiu is being made very, very aware that he is a target of sexual desire, and that people who desire him can force sexual violence on him. He tries to kick and push at Luo Binghe to get out of the kiss--he's described as "struggling with all his might"--but Luo Binghe, who is stronger than Shen Qingqiu and able to overpower him “even though their builds were similar”, keeps him trapped in the kiss. Shortly afterwards, we get this section, which is perhaps the most important section in the whole book for my reading of Shen Qingqiu's arc, which is SQQ interacting with ZZL:

That touch trailed downward until it was at Shen Qingqiu’s chest and abdomen. For some reason, the places he touched felt a bit better. Shen Qingqiu sucked in a breath, and he couldn’t help but say, “Eh, my friend, where…are you touching?” Even a few hours ago, he genuinely wouldn’t have cared where others (especially those of the same sex) touched him. They could touch wherever they liked, please go ahead. But ever since Luo Binghe had opened a series of gates to a new world for him, Shen Qingqiu’s worldview, which had been set for the past twenty-plus years, had suffered a heavy blow. From now on, he needed to look at this world with a new gaze and more sensitive attitude. Especially on the issue of befriending those of the same sex!

for twenty-plus years, shen qingqiu hadn't thought of himself as someone who could be sexually desired by men; for twenty-plus years, shen qingqiu hadn't thought of himself as someone who sexual violence can happen to. and for shen qingqiu, these realizations are the same. suddenly, he's looking at the world differently: he worries about (and imo is afraid of) being touched places where he is normally clothed, even touch that feels good. and specifically--he is touched in a way that he would have previously assumed was nonsexual due to being same-sex and he is no longer comfortable assuming that. which ties heavily into my later post in the series about gender & homophobia & how this interacts with his experiences here! but we'll tie this post up for now.

#svsss #scum villain's self-saving system #meta #my writing

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psiroller · 10 months ago

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My Boy (We Don't See Each Other Much)

a third fic request from unkat has reached me for some gamer au shenanigans. cool, i thought, nice low stakes goofin off fun time au. lets put some military industrial complex in there

cw: institutionalized homophobia, vague references to USAmerican military operations in the 2000's, gamer lingo

The raid was a resounding success by their guild's lax standards. Chilchuck managed to pull a rare light armor piece he'd been looking for, finally catching him up to the modern game; he was surprised by how much damage the standard grinding mobs were doing to him now, even if his defense was always going to be lower than the tanks and fighters he partied with. Laios landed the biggest critical hit he'd ever seen; the broadsword Chilchuck nabbed for him off the Auction House was working well for him. He was clearly still riding the high, humming the victory fanfare under his breath as he took inventory and milled about with Senshi, comparing the ingredients they’d collected, trading amongst themselves. It was late, though, close to Senshi’s prep hours. Marcille was fighting against the cozy lethargy that followed a glass of wine and swiftly losing. Falin had already logged out to take a shower and head to bed, stopping by Laios’ door for a hug goodnight.

Laios went right back to the desktop after he shut the door. He pulled his headset back on and heard the familiar sound of Chilchuck’s raspy inhale and then a long, satisfied exhale.

“Chilchuck!” Laios said, too eagerly. “You’re still up?”

“No, I’m fast asleep,” Chilchuck drawled. Laios snorted and threw a rock at Chilchuck’s head. It passed through harmlessly; neither of them wanted the hassle of dedicated PVP. Maybe Laios wasn’t as keen on roleplaying as Marcille and Falin were, but the roleplaying server had been a lot kinder to him than the standard ones he usually played on.

“You were right about the sword,” Laios tittered. “I really have to start doing the math instead of just looking at bigger numbers—uh, focusing on how sharp the blade is, I mean.”

Chilchuck coughed through a laugh, leaning away from the mic so that it didn’t blow Laios’ eardrums out. “I think some of the guides are a little out of date,” Chilchuck said, relaxed enough to drop character. Marcille was still nearby, though the AFK symbol appeared under her name; the elf she played nodded off, ears drooping. “Critical chance used to be calculated with this really convoluted system that also included timers, so there were only so many crits you could get in the span of a few minutes,” he went on. “They updated it recently so that you roll for a critical every hit.”

“Oh, thank God,” Laios said. “On a timer? How long did raids use to take?”

“Oh, upwards of four hours.” Chilchuck said casually. Laios sputtered. “I know, I know. I guess people had more free time back then… though with how people run multiple raids a night now, I guess it’s down to how committed you are.”

“So critical hit percentage is the thing I should focus on, then.”

“For your build, yeah.”

“Why does everyone recommend focusing on damage per second?”

“It’s a recent change, I think it got pushed out just before you signed up. They’ve tweaked it a lot, so people tend to get confused on how it works now, as it gets buffed and nerfed. Attack and attack speed used to be connected to the same value, so there are other ways you can focus on dealing damage instead of just right clicking the dragon and watching one of twelve timers tick down.” Chilchuck smiled and took another drag. “I think they’re trying to freshen things up a little. I like the changes.”

“Really? Everyone in the forums talks about how much they hate it.”

“If they’re old enough to be using the forums, they’re old enough to hate their favorite thing changing,” Chilchuck laughed.

“But not you,” said Laios. There was a warmth there that Chilchuck didn’t see a reason for.

“Eh.” Chilchuck’s ears burned under his headset. “Maybe a little bit. They don’t make shooters like they used to.” There was a pause. “Oh, right, you don’t like those.”

“Just the super hoo-rah military ones,” Laios breathed. “I can do Team Fortress 2. That one’s pretty fun.”

“Oh! I play that with—a friend, sometimes,” Chilchuck stammered. “Do you… I’m still kind of wired. I got a day off tomorrow. Do you—”

“Yeah!” His mic clipped. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Wait, you don’t have a test tomorrow or anything, do you?”

“… No.”

“I don’t like that hesitation.”

Laios huffed and puffed and logged out of Dungeon Divers with little warning, but usernames were exchanged and soon Laios’ avatar (a dragon, what else) popped up in Chilchuck’s scant friend list, nestled between Dan and May.

“I didn’t think you’d be cool enough to play TF2,” Laios teased.

“Cool people play TF2? I thought it was all screaming toddlers.”

“There are a few of those, yeah,” Laios admitted.

“I played the original game. It was a lot different. I don’t really keep up with it these days, but…”

“No worries,” Laios chirped. “I’ll take care of you.”

Chilchuck felt something zip down his spine. “I’m not that bad.”

They played three matches with the usual late night crowd, and it was a miracle if Chilchuck could stay alive for longer than a minute or two, let alone get a kill. Laios, on the other hand, clawed up every scoreboard and sat at the top. He started with Sniper; Chilchuck followed him while waiting for his respawn timer to run out, flicking between first and third person views. He watched as opponents’ heads would pop like grapes the moment they touched Laios’ reticle, faster than Chilchuck’s eyes could tell his brain to move his fingers.

“Okay, maybe I’m pretty bad,” Chilchuck admitted. “Compared to you.”

Laios missed a shot and sputtered. “I’m concentrating…!” A Spy knifed him, and Chilchuck could hear Laios whack his mouse against the table in frustration. Chilchuck laughed.

“Relax, that’s your first one this round,” he teased. “Your reflexes are crazy. Maybe I’m getting too old for twitchy games like this.”

“The mechanics have changed a lot and all the tryhards are on,” Laios conceded, breathing out the annoyance. “I’ll switch to Heavy. Wanna be my Medic? I can keep more of an eye on you.”

Chilchuck sniffed at his demotion to pocket healer, but then at least he’d be getting assist kills. “Alright, fine.”

Many assist kills were had, and all was well. It was fun to watch Laios’ brain work, bobbing and weaving and jumping around. He played like May did, hyperfocused on the movement mechanics; Chuck’s wrists weren’t any good for that anymore, so he usually hung back to support anyway.

“So why TF2 and not Call of Duty?” Chilchuck asked between matches, lighting another cigarette in search of the now-elusive nicotine buzz. “Seems like you’re really good. You could probably go pro if you wanted.”

Chuck heard a rustling against the mic. Sounded like Laios fiddling with the thing, maybe rubbing his face. He heard a scratch of stubble.

“Eh. I just—don’t like the military aesthetic very much, or something,” Laios mumbled. “I, uh. I served, and it’s a little…”

Chilchuck coughed. “You served? As in, served in the army?”

“Yeah.” There was a chuckle from the other line. “What? Is it that surprising?”

“Well, you just never…” Chuck scratched at the nape of his neck. “You never said anything that made me think… I don’t know what I thought. You didn’t seem like the type.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Laios snorted. “I was a good shot, but not a good soldier, if that makes any sense?”

Chuck wet his dry lips and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t lock into the next game, and the queue dumped them out. Laios didn’t reset it.

“So you objected? Conscientious objection? Is that what it’s called?”

“That’s what it’s called, but uh… it takes a while to get that done if you enlisted voluntarily. You have to plead your case for it. I thought about it, but I didn’t get the chance.”

Chilchuck swallowed dryly, then tapped some ash out into the ceramic tray Patty made for him many Father’s Days ago. “So you were kicked out?”

“Discharged, yeah,” Laios sighed. His chair creaked as he leaned back, too. “Other than honorable.”

Chuck winced. “What did you do?”

There was that rustling again. “I, um. If you don’t ask, I don’t have to tell you.”

“Oh, uh. Sorry, I”—Chilchuck’s eyes went wide—"ohhh.”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously? They booted you over a thing like that?”

Laios laughed weakly. “It’s in the regulations.”

“Still? When there’s, like, five wars going on?”

“Yep. I got a little pamphlet about it and everything. It’s rarer these days, and most people now get let off with an honorable, but…” Laios sighed. “My case was a whole thing. I didn’t fit in great with the rest of my platoon to begin with, and I maybe… I maybe misread some signals. You get bored out there, you know. Lonely. Got a little too close to my bunky…” Laios cleared his throat. “He let me down easy, but I guess he said something to somebody. I don’t think he’d go straight to the brass, he told me he wouldn’t, but someone must have overheard and that counts as credible evidence, so…”

Laios popped his lips with a click of his tongue. Chilchuck was frozen, ashes falling from the end of his cigarette into the crevices of his already dirty keyboard. The cigarette had almost burned down to the filter; money burning up in unsmoked nicotine. “I was probably going to leave anyway,” Laios said, to fill the silence. “I didn’t like being out there. If anything it kept me from being stupid and going AWOL. But if you talk to the VA—or my dad, heh—I might as well have.”

Laios wheezed. Chilchuck blinked some smoke out of his eyes and stubbed out his cigarette.

“Hang on, you were on active duty and they’re hassling you at the VA over healthcare?”

“Oh yeah. Anything less than a general discharge is going to get you some hassle. I’m still on general health insurance, lowest tier. I’m not on TRICARE.”

Chilchuck pinched the pressure point between his eyebrows. “There’s gotta be a way to appeal that.”

“There might be. But I’ve spent about 40 hours of my life on the phone with them since I got back, and I’m not keen on spending anymore.” Laios made a blech sort of noise, disgusted, a little childish. “I hate phone calls. Besides, they gave me some money for college, so it wasn’t a complete wash.”

“Small miracles,” Chilchuck mumbled.

“Yup,” Laios breathed. He drummed his fingers on his desk, loud enough to reach the mic. Then there were a couple rhythmic bongo slaps against the table, nervous. “Ready for another game?”

Chuck looked at his watch. It was 4:32 AM.

“Sure. Night’s still young,” he said, for lack of anything comforting to say. “Play Heavy again.”

“Okay,” Laios said, and there was a smile in his voice. So that was something.

#dungeon meshi #ficroller #fic preview #dunmesh gamer au #chilaios #laichil

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lastoneout · 7 months ago

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CW: Discussions of weight loss, fatphobia, eating disorders, and cancer.

I still cannot get over how when I dropped 30lbs in part because I had a massive IBS flare for like two months that was so bad I was going to get multiple tests to make sure I didn't have cancer and yet I could not and STILL can't even mention it to a doctor(or most people) without them congratulating me. Like there are a few things a doctor can say that piss me the fuck off but congratulating me for dropping 30lbs during a period of my life where I thought I might be DYING instantly makes me hate them. I'm STILL having to say "I got really sick and lost 30lbs" to make people shut the fuck up. I was getting skinny so fast it was scaring my family AND me but whatever I guess being skinny is SO great and I should be thankful I went through hell that permanently changed my body in a way that I genuinely don't like!

'Cuz that's the other thing, I don't like how I look now. I gained like ~8lbs when I was in bed with the blood clot and ngl I started actually liking the way my body looked again. I don't like how I look rn, my fiance does(he loves how I look 100% of the time and I appreciate that endlessly) but even he admits I looked happier and healthier when I weighed 160lbs and now I kinda just look like I'm exhausted. When I got up to 143lbs I was looking in the mirror like "oh, I almost look like myself again, I forgot what it felt like to be happy with my body" like I looked healthier!! But nah the weight is already falling off because 135lbs is my new baseline and there's nothing I can do about that. (Also I hated how I had to get new knee braces made because my old ones don't fit anymore and I had to buy new clothes because the ones I enjoyed don't fit anymore and augh the only thing that is making me like my body rn is dressing butch, if I didn't have that I'd be going insane.) And I still have to deal with people acting like this thing that has legit ruined years of body positivity work is a good thing. Because at least I'm skinnier.

Society is so sickeningly "skinny positive" it legit disgusts me. And like this isn't even a drop in the bucket compared to what fat people go through, and it's why I'm so fucking passionate about fat liberation, I've watched tons of people I love completely destroy themselves to look more like me and I have to sit here and not only feel awful because I love them and don't want them to have to go through this but also because I know even looking like me wont be enough. Doctors still tell me to lose weight because I'm like a couple of lbs outside of "healthy" on the BMI scale, which is insane I weigh less than 10lbs more than I did when I was SIXTEEN atm and I can't say anything because I know they won't listen if I explain that even just being this thin is making me hate myself and feel like shit.

Fatphobia is so fucking evil. It absolutely destroys people. I genuinely baffles me that most skinny people can't see it because it's being used against us too, just in an affirming way and to me that is genuinely repulsive. Every compliment on my weight loss makes me want to punch through a brick wall. Knowing my story is going to be used to bludgeon other people with my condition becuase I lost weight without doing anything so "everyone" should be able to makes me so angry I could cry. It actually makes me feel sick to be praised for this, to know I'm a "success" story, to be lumped in with people who hate the people I love for the way their bodies naturally are, who want my loved ones to destroy themselves, who think I'm better than them when I am absolutely not.

Fat liberation is what we need to work towards, not "skinny positivity" or whatever, this is a systemic issue just like sexism and racism and homophobia and ableism and it must be dismantled if we want to create a better world for us all.

#cw ED mention #cw fatphobia #ask to tag #vent #negative #cw diet culture #cw weight loss #cw weight #cw medical fatphobia #cw medical trauma

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lakesbian · 2 years ago

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ok Worm Bigotry Breakdown in more detail for @silverflyingpikachu

tl;dr: author is Cishet White Guy From Canada In 2011. he ostensibly thinks he is progressive. this does not change his proclivity for tossing his Cishet White Guy From Canada Biases into the books and then saying even more bigoted things in defense of those writing decisions on forums. wildbow is just some cunt on the forums with bad opinions on wildbow's writing. the book is 1.7 million words long but i believe in my ability 2 categorize this shit with decent accuracy. everyone who has ever said worm's CWs can't be categorized, including wildbow himself, is a lying ass bitch. this will include some vague spoilers, because i can't really go in-depth without a few examples, but i'll stay away from anything too plot-critical.

racism:

- worm is fundamentally a book abt systems of power and the ways in which they suck. some of the critiques worm issues--e.g, its depiction of how school systems enable bullying, inspired by wildbow's own experiences w/ the school systems as a deaf kid--are viscerally accurate and incredibly compelling. but wildbow fundamentally doesn't understand how certain systems of oppression work--e.g policing--and subsequently, his attempts at depicting them occasionally fall flat onto their face and land in racist territory. this gets particularly nasty when combined w/ the White Guy Author propensity for racist stereotypes--for example, his chosen face of police brutality is a black girl portrayed as predatory & animalistic.

- who is also one of the only black people in the book overall, alongside--for example--an addict portrayed as having less interiority & being less deserving of empathy than A Literal Fucking Nazi. also, the main characters have to team up with the nazis "for the greater good" (defeating the mean asian villains) at one point. it is a mercy to the readers when this part of the story ends. - there are two black characters in the main cast. for the first, wildbow just Straight Up Forgot to include the most compelling aspect of their background + characterization in the text (it was provided via WoG instead, which i provide to all wormreaders like a fuckin' DLC patch when they get to where it's relevant) & entirely forgets they exist towards where the end of their character arc should have been. the second is introduced w/ the most misogynoiristic description on the planet but blessedly has a largely compelling and well-written arc as the book goes on. - depiction of china is just like. fox news level sinophobic "it's all a brainwashed indistinguishable evil cult" shit. not relevant for very long relatively speaking but insufferable to read. asian characters are also like. we got Brutal Yet Honorable Asian Man. we got Fiery Asian Girl With Blue Eyes. it fucking blows it's not good

- oh yeah forgot this one someone mentioned in the tags. #it's an insignificant paragraph and nobody talks about it but the part where it goes #“yeah literally EVERY cape in South America is with a cartel and the heroes are barely distinguishable from the villains” #fuck you #not that the others aren't bad the fatphobia gets really gross but nobody mentions this and that one got me so yeah typical Insufferable Awful Imperial Core Author Understanding Of What Other Countries Are Like - i could make this section one million bulletpoints long but the gist is summarized i think--wildbow's varied racist biases leak fucking everywhere, into character design, into narrative assumptions about who's deserving of interiority/empathy or not, into attempts at Saying Anything About Society, into which characters he prioritizes, into who he offers validity via the narrative, etc etc etc.

homophobia: - theres a girl named amy dallon in it and she is the worst lesbophobic stereotype ever known to man. no other Problematic Lesbian™ you can think of has anything on this girl. the worst part is that she genuinely has a decently compelling character concept and arc, which her being awful is integral to, so you might accidentally find her interesting anyway and then she'll move into your brain - wildbow kept accidentally writing characters that scan as massive dykes and then got really mad about f/f ships for the book being popular in the fandom. he responded by making a deranged forum post involving the phrase "pandering is pandering" insisting everyone (but the bisexual "hedonist") is straight and writing a scene into the book where one of the characters literally turns to the camera and tells the readers "not to get the wrong idea" about her hugging her friend. - over the course of 1.7 million words he finds excuses to loudly inform you that all of the relevant female characters are straight and it's sooo shoehorned in you can always tell when he's doing it - basically worm is like if naruto was about homoerotic teenage girls who do violent terrible things, in terms of levels of unintentional homoeroticism, and the author responds to ppl going "lmao gay" about the unintentional homoeroticism with poorly restrained seething rage

fatphobia: - generic brand of fatphobia you'll see in p much all mainstream media where only side/bg characters are fat and it's obliquely used as a descriptor to indicate that someone has negative personality traits or should be viewed as sort of gross

anti-addict shit: - wildbow generally likes writing about how social circumstances--i.e neglect from society, oppression, failure on behalf of systems--causes crime. he generally likes demonstrating the ways in which the villainous main characters are traumatized teenagers failed by society fumbling to keep existing & holding each other up through The Horrors. unfortunately all of this intelligent writing flies out the nearest window when addicts are involved. there is a gang comprised entirely of addicts, all of whom are portrayed as disgusting, violent, dangerous, and of course often racially stereotyped. it is a mercy to the readers when they're no longer relevant to the story. - on a more subtle level, characters are every so often just like. a little more anti-drug than they would realistically be and you can tell it's wildbow's opinions leaking into their characterization. this is largely what the anti-addict writing is kept to after The Addict Villains leave the story iirc.

if youre wondering wellwhy does anyone read this book then. to that i would say that unfortunately despite it all it'sa fucking excellent book. so we all carry on reading the parts that suck and thinking about how they suck and then reading the parts that fuck and going "ouuugh my god" and rolling down 20 flights of stairs about how hard they fuck.

#sorry if i missed anything this entire post was written while so tired #parahumans #apparenty people lke this one so ill maintag it in case anyone finds it useful its very slapdash though

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odetodilfs · 2 years ago

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I know that I shouldn't... but I love you.

A/N: woohoo, this fic was cut in half by a massive writer's block, but alas, here it is, I hope y'all enjoy this one, it's definitely stepping up my game other than just shameless smut or a short fic.

Pairing: Javier Peña x top!m!reader

CWs: Reader speaks spanish (translations in fic), mentions of vomit (not sexual), smoking, period typical homophobia, conflicted Javier, cumming inside, praising, sub!Javier.

Word count: 3.3k

Please reblog if you enjoyed!

Javier Peña, the manwhore who could fuck a woman almost every night and with ease. He had a reputation for that, but there was a reason on why he did it so often and more often than not ended up getting ever so slightly depressed the morning after realizing that what he and the women he had slept with that night didn’t even know each other, there was no love, there was no nothing, just a shallow fuck. The reason he had one night stands so often was to distract himself from all his troubles: drug lords and another issue, much more personal…

His love for another man.

The truth is, even the manwhore craved love, just not a love society would be supportive of. It all started one day at a bar where he just wanted to get some alcohol into his system to alleviate the stress of the day until he saw a person that caught his eye. Only this time, it was you, a bartender who seemed to be coming at him. The first line between you and Javier ever said was from him: “Hello sir, what do you want to order?” He ordered Vodka that day, he remembered it vividly as you two engaged in a conversation which would lead to a pretty strong friendship and Javier frequenting the bar.

Javier had frequented the bar ever since, looking to spend more time with you as well as drinks. There was an undeniable chemistry between you two since the start, one that Javier was fearful would turn into feelings of love. You talked about teleseries, movies, politics, the situation with Escobar, you both had similar opinions on many matters, so conversations between you flowed nicely. He also talked about last night’s hookup, what he did with the woman that was lucky enough to be approached by him… but with time, you started to feel jealous of these women. Javier was a very attractive man indeed, the mustache and flirty attitude certainly drew anyone close to him. But again, you two had a good friendship, one that neither of you wanted to ruin.

With each night that Javier spent with you, he started to fall for you, and he knew this wasn’t right, well, he thought it wasn’t right. You were a man, so was he, you were supposed to be into women and so was he. He started to have even more hookups than before, now that he was aware of his feelings for you, maybe fucking enough women will make his feelings for you go away but… no.. they only grew stronger.

Then, one night when the bar was quiet and it was just a few people, Javier and you were chatting until he was hit with the most devastating news ever, “Well, I have to go now, I got myself a date” you winked at him as you left, leaving Javier stunned.. he felt like he wanted to vomit, he felt dizzy and felt the urgency to throw up. He almost ran towards the toilet as he vomited into the bowl as soon as he got there. Now his throat was burning and it hurt like fuck, but that wasn’t the pain he was finding unbearable… it was the burning in his heart, you were on a date with someone else..? The thought made Javier feel like throwing up again. This thought was hellish, he knew it wasn’t right, you two wouldn’t ever be something…

Javier couldn’t hold it back anymore, it had been months of falling in love with you and to hear you were going on a date with someone else felt like a shot to the heart. He didn’t hook up with anyone that night, instead, he spent an hour crying on the bathroom floor, for the wrongness of his love, for the fact that he’d never have it, for how beautiful your face looked when you smiled and how he wanted to make you smile every day, but then again, he would never ever be able to. All these thoughts combined with the strong acidic taste from the vomit in Javier’s mouth were making him feel too weak to stand up, so he had to take some not very pleasurable deep breaths, filled with the pungent smell of a public bathroom and he was finally able to unsteadily stand up.

He walked home with tears in his eyes that night as he had another crying session in his bed, the smell of last night’s hookup still faintly in the sheets, which altogether made him cry even more, “Mierda, mi vida es un jodido desastre” [Shit, my life is a fucking mess] he whispered to himself, as he tried to get to sleep.. he looked at one of his pillows, the discarded one next to him “I can feed into my delusions for once… this is a dark night” he said to himself, grabbing this pillow and cuddling it, thinking it was you as he sobbed into it, finally falling asleep.

This was a cycle that repeated itself for months on end, until Javier stopped telling you and about hookups, becoming distant and your conversations growing shallower. You realized this and decided to confront him about it, that he could come to you for help. “Javier, ¿qué te pasa? You’ve been so shallow lately, and so dull” [what's wrong?] you said as you faced him, he was staring at nothing as he had been doing that a lot lately, “No me pasa nada, it’s just work” [Nothing] he lied, but you could see right through him “Come on, sé que no es verdad, ahora dime” [I know that's not true, now tell me] you got more serious now, “You’ll hate me for it, I’d rather not” he replied, “Javier, eres mi amigo, what could possibly make me hate you?” [Javier, you’re my friend…] the space between you filled with an uncomfortable silence, you decided you weren’t getting anything from him, so you tried to lighten the mood. “Anyway… I uh… it didn’t work out with my last partner… it’s kind of sad, but hey, it was fun while it lasted,” Javier still kept quiet, “Anyway… I have to go and serve some customers.. sorry for the inconvenience” you went to serve the people on the other side with the bar with a lump in your throat.

Javier’s brain echoed your words over and over “it didn’t work out with my last partner”, Javier thought to himself.. he had to take a shot with you, the way he yearned you was starting to seep into his work life.. he needed to put an end to it, even if that meant rejection. He stood up as he left the bar and went to his house, conscious that he needed a full night of sleep, so no fucking around once again, the truth is.. he didn’t enjoy fucking a woman he met minutes ago anymore, sure, he could fuck her good and then she’d leave.. but what he really wanted was to please you, forever, he wanted to distract himself from you but he just couldn’t. Another reason he also needed a full night of sleep was to prepare himself for tomorrow… where he would call you and invite you to his house, it was better to confess in private and in person, just to not be publicly ridiculed for his love for another man, in case you didn’t even accept him.

He woke up the next day, looking at the telephone with a feeling of fear… “Solo es una invitación, no es nada… raro” [It’s just an invitation, it’s nothing… weird] he said to himself, which was true, there was nothing weird about inviting your friend to his house, it was a common practice in South America. After getting some coffee into his system, he sighed and picked up the telephone and dialed your number, your voice was heard a few seconds later, “Hello? Who is this?” you asked, “Hey, it’s me, Javier” “Ahh, hey there, what’s going on?” Javier thought about what to say.. he decided apologizing for being a dick yesterday was probably a good move, “I wanted to apologize.. about yesterday.. for being such a dick” he swallowed hard, as for you… you’d decided to forgive him, maybe it really was work, “It’s fine, I was just being too insistent too..” you accepted, the silence remained on both sides, “Can you- do you wanna come to my house? Whenever you wish” Javier asked, you were shocked at the proposal but accepted, “Sure… is tonight good?” you asked, you had a free night shift today, “Perfect actually, see you here then at 9pm?” “Yup, have a good day, Javier” you wished before you hung up.

The day went at a snail’s pace for Javier at work, constantly tapping his shoe, watching the time, even Steve picked up on it, “What’s going on?” he asked as Javier constantly got distracted looking at the clock, “Nothing, just supposed to get some calls from my family that I haven’t got yet” Javier lied,

“Ah okay” he replied absentmindedly as he went back to his papers. The day went significantly slower for you, but definitely not as much as it did for Javier.

At about 20:30 you knocked on Javier’s door, hoping it was the right apartment, the door opened and it was Javier… and he looked absolutely majestic, if that was even possible, the truth was your dates and short lasting relationships never worked out because well… the man you loved was right in front of you, you convinced yourself Javier wasn’t into you so you kept trying to forget him…

“Hey” Javier said, clearly wanting to do more than just an unserious conversation,

“How are you?” you asked, trying to make the situation more comfortable,

“Not bad, you?” “Good too,” you replied as Javier invited you to sit down, he swallowed, “I need to talk to you about something… please for the love of god don’t tell anyone..” Javier looked at you with a desperation rarely ever seen from him. You knew it was serious then. “I won’t, tell me”

“You know that lately I’ve been… weird, distant, lost some of my old habits with you” he started, talking about no longer speaking about his conquests with women with you, no longer being so physical with you… “Yeah, I’ve noticed” “Yesterday.. yesterday you just touched a nerve, it’s… listen.. I might hook up pretty often but I don’t enjoy it anymore.. I really fucking don’t” he continued, “So.. you’re a sex addict?” you asked, really not knowing why he chose to tell you out of everyone he knew, “Carajo…” Javier whispered to himself “I think I’m in love” he said at long last, your eyes jumped, lucky person whoever that was, “¿En serio Javier, eso era todo?” [Seriously Javier? That was all?] you asked with an amused look,

“No” he responded, getting you even more curious “it’s someone I shouldn’t be in love with, someone who’s already taken.. well until recently, but.. that’s not why I shouldn’t be in love with them anyway” he confessed, you were confused, “What do you mean?” you asked the man, Javier sighed,

“I’m…” he started, looking around getting all red in the face, “Eres tú” [it’s you] he said, the room went quiet.

After a few seconds of you being astonished he just got up roughly and said “I knew this was a terrible idea”, you simply were quiet because you were amused at your feelings being returned, “Wait! Javier!” you screamed as you ran to catch up to him, grabbing his sides, “Yo también… I’m in love with you as well.. and I know I shouldn’t be but… but who says we shouldn’t be?” Javier was struggling to take in everything you just said.

“I’m a DEA agent, I’d be imprisoned and you could be killed, and I’d hate to live in a world without you” you looked at him, moved by what he just said. “No one has to know, Javier, we can keep it a secret, we can be friends to the world and lovers to ourselves” you tried to convince him, you seriously loved this man and you weren’t letting him go, not again, not without fighting for him. He thought about this for a second, “I guess I already live a risky life, what’s so bad about some more?” the agent asked with a smile as your lips finally met after months of tension, he tasted very faintly of tobacco, as well as alcohol, but you didn’t mind, you fell in love with the taste in fact.

Your kissing got rougher and more desperate “¿Quieres hacer algo más, Javier?” [Wanna do something more, Javier?], you looked into his dark brown eyes, “Si.. por favor..” he whispered, letting a more submissive side of him show, you were getting ready to get on your back and spread your legs for Javier, assuming he’d want to top on his first time with another man, when suddenly you felt him fall onto the bed on his back, wrapping his legs around you, “Javier.. you wanna be the bottom?” “I’ve dreamt so many nights about you inside me..” he confessed, looking at you with lust filled eyes. “Then let’s make your dreams come true” you whispered to him as you looked for lube in his nightstand, fidgeting with his things until you found it, you put it next to you as you removed your clothes, Javier hungrily removing yours too, he was about to start kissing you all over, but you stopped him, “No, lo haré yo” [No, I’ll do it] you assured him as your lips danced around his torso, worshiping every inch of the beautiful man that returned his feelings of love for you.

You kissed around his nipples, his biceps, his shoulder blades, sucking a hickey or two onto his naked body, it was definitely uncommon for Javier to be this vulnerable. The man moaned and breathed heavily as the kisses on his abdomen didn’t cease. You slowly kissed all the way down to his now rock hard dick, leaking with pre-cum, “Por favor.. do something.. anything” he whined, desperate. You kissed the head of his dick which had him wincing and hissing in pleasure. You then took the leaking tip of his cock into your mouth, Javier let out a desperate moan, he tasted good, salty with a tinge of sweetness and ever so slightly bitter. “You taste so good, Javier..” you mumbled against his tip, kissing it again, “G-gracias-” he managed to sob out, he’d never had his body worshiped like this. You even licked and sucked on his balls, making him go drunk with pleasure.

You licked down his taint and put your tongue against his hole, he tasted good, mostly a faint sweet, he’s probably showered not long ago. You immediately heard him moan loudly as your tongue licked the bundle of nerves in his ass. You started to get more into it, licking the man out, hearing how his moans and grunts slowly but surely started to turn into whimpers. You put your hand on his cock and started to stroke it slowly, making him moan lowly and whimper as you gave the man of being on the receiving end of rimming for the first time. He had done it to a few women who were into it before, but now he understood why they were into it, it felt heavenly, he wouldn’t mind you doing this for the rest of his life..

You stopped after a few minutes and you grabbed the lube and put some on your fingers, Javier was tingling all over with anticipation and fear.. “Javier, do you want to?” you asked him one last time, you could stick to just eating him out and sucking him, “Yes, I do” he answered, you slowly started pushing your index into him, he grabbed the sheets at the intense feeling, your middle finger started to follow, “Ahhh!!” Javier moaned, but you weren’t sure what it was for, was he in pain? You pulled your fingers out, “Javier, are you sure you want this?” you asked, concerned for him, “Yes, I do.. let’s try again” he pleaded, “Alright” you said, putting your finger back into his tight hole, letting him get used to one finger a little longer, you held his right hand with your left one, which was free.

He moaned a little when you put in your second finger, you started to search around for his prostate to start giving him some real pleasure. You knew you had found his spot when he let out a wail of pleasure, “Fuck- more- more” he begged, now needy of that same pleasure. You started fingering him, hitting his prostate with each thrust, feeling his tight hole around your fingers, “Y/n..” Javier breathed out as you slowly started slipping a third finger inside him. You did this for a few minutes as well, pumping them in and out of him.

You pulled your fingers out of his hole slowly as you started to lube up your dick.. until you realized- no condoms, “Shit.. there’s no condoms.. you negative?” you asked Javier, knowing he’d not lie about things like these, “Yes, you?” he asked, “Same here” you smiled at each other, knowing you could proceed. You lined your dick to his hole as you slowly started to sink into him, “Fuck.. yes.. yes..” Javier moaned as he felt you slowly going deeper and deeper. His walls had a vice grip on you as he let out whimper after whimper when you slid inside him slowly. Once you managed to get balls deep, he sobbed in pleasure, digging his fingers into your back.

“Shit..” Javier moaned as you started to thrust into his hole, making him sob in pleasure too… “Javier..” you moaned his name as his soft walls clenched on you, making it feel like heaven. “Is that okay? Can I go harder?” you asked, still mindful that it was his first time, “Por favor…” he begged again as your thrusts sped up, he was in absolute heaven. His nails digged into your back and it hurt, but in a good way. Javier’s tight hole kept clenching around you, clearly you both weren’t gonna last much longer. His eyes were looking directly at yours, he looked so fragile like this, his eyes looking into yours, nails that would leave red scars on your back next morning, this was all so perfect. Each thrust felt magical and made Javier feel like he was on top of the world. “Sí.. justo así..” [Yes, just like that…] you whispered to him, going to his neck and attacking it, leaving a red mark on his collarbone, “Te amo..” [I love you] you whispered to him and those 3 words made him lose it.. you loved him.. “I- I do t-too..” Javier whimpered as he came all over his and your stomach. His already tight hole tightened even more as you were pushed over the edge and spilled your cum deep inside him, you both held each other, overridden by pleasure.

You pulled out and took his face into your hand as you kissed him softly, he moaned at the feeling of emptiness from not having your dick inside him any more, “God, you’re beautiful” you said while you went to kiss his chin, which caused him to moan loudly, “We should go shower…” you chuckled at him, but he shook his head

“No.. tomorrow let’s just wake up early.. I’m too tired” you smiled and roped him into a cuddle, “Okay, fine” you agreed as you played with his hair till he fell asleep on your chest.

You weren’t sure how you and Javier could live as lovers in a world that would hate you for it, but you were hard pressed to try, he was the right one for you.

#javier peña #javier peña x male reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal characters #narcos fanfiction #narcos #top male reader #x male reader

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syscultureis · 1 year ago

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plural culture is your parents disowning you cause they found out you're queer and have online friends and wow hahaha i am dissociating so hard rn i cannot feel anything but apathy

I'm so sorry :(

#endos dni #osdd #did #pdid #did system #pdid system #osddid #actually did #traumagenic #actually dissociative #plural culture is #tw homophobia #cw homophobia #tw queerphobia #cw queerphobia #tw disownment #cw disownment

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dotthings · 11 months ago

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The denialism and revisionist history going on pushing the fairy tale that Nexstar CW is the only CW era with problems that required calling out, and the invalidation towards any criticism of the pre-Nexstar eras, have gone completely off the rails.

Perpetuating these fairy tales and the erasure of CW Network's long-running history of issues helps enable the broken system people claim they care about denouncing.

The reality of CW Network history: Racism, homophobia, poor set practices, toxic abusive showrunners, systemic failure to support actors especially in marginalized groups, and fan base after fan base used for engagement and then treated badly.

These are systemic industry issues, not confined to any one network. CW became a lightning rod for it because it was unusually concentrated from one platform, so it stuck out and CW earned a terrible reputation, long before the sale.

To combat the revisionist history and denialism, behind the cut is a timeline with a few of the egregoius systemic problems that have plagued the CW historically and reflect severe enabling and lack of oversight on the part of the network.

Nexstar Media era acquired the CW on October 3, 2022.

The harm starts at the very beginning, though. On January 24, 2006, The CW was born. In its founding, The CW destroyed an entire slate of Black-led series on UPN and the resulting network was extremely white.

Candice Patton, in EW, reflecting on the early seasons of The Flash and how she had to speak up and advocate for herself and for Iris West (date of article May 23, 2023, but refers to pre-Nexstar CW) “The scariest thing is speaking up, and I had a hard time talking about it for such a long time because you're so afraid of being seen as problematic," she says. "That's a word that no actor wants to have follow them around. But I think we're learning that speaking up and speaking out is the only way for change. And it's not about blaming people or canceling people, it's about just really being able to have a conversation so that the industry changes for the better. And I hope that whatever struggles I may have had, doing that has made it even the smallest amount easier for the next crop of actors coming up who feel like they need to be heard and seen and accommodated for."

July 8, 2022, EW. Candice Patton reveals how she considered quitting The Flash in S2 due to racist fans and The CW and WB didn’t give her the support she needed, and reflects on how she was treated differently than her co-stars:

"Even with the companies I was working with, The CW and WB, that was their way of handling it. We know better now that it's not okay to treat your talent that way, and to let them go through this abuse and harassment. But for me in 2014, there were no support systems. No one was looking out for that. It was just free range to get abused every single day. There were no social media protocols in place to protect me, so they just let all that stuff sit there….It's just not enough to make me your lead female and say, 'Look at us, we're so progressive, we checked the box.' It's great, but you've put me in the ocean alone around sharks. It's great to be in the ocean, but I can get eaten alive out here…It was more about the protocols in place and the things I see happening for my white counterparts that's not happening to me. Seeing how I was treated differently than other people, seeing how I'm not protected by the network and the studio, those were the things that not necessarily hurt me but frustrated me."

January 28, 2022, Sunstroke Magazine - Looking Back On Kat Graham's Racist and Anti-Semitic Experience on 'The Vampire Diaries’ A summary: * Kat Graham endured racist and antisemitic comments from a co-worker. * The show forced her to wear a wig when she recommended using her natural hair for Bonnie * Ian Somerhalder had to step up to protect Kat, threatening to quit the show if Bonnie was killed off or written out * Showrunners shot down the idea of Bonnie being queer and was patronizing to Bonnie fans * Here’s a compilation of Kat Graham and her character Bonnie being mistreated during the run of TVD:

youtube

October 2021, EW and THR - Ruby Rose accuses CW and WBTV of bad set practices and that they were forced to keep filming 10 days after major surgery she had to undergo after being injured doing a stunt and called out bad practices that harmed crew and endangered everyone on set. CW and WBTV denied everything

June 7, 2021, Hypebae, Candice Patton speaking on issues concerning how PoC are treated at CW and systemically in the TV industry

November 22, 2020, Popsugar - The all-black cast of the superhero series Black Lightning have to find out from social media that the show is cancelled and are given no advance warning. China Anne McClain reveals she was going to quit the show even if it had continued: “For different reasons, that, to be honest, I don't want to go into. I just want y'all to trust me on it."

November 9, 2020, Slashfilm - 'Superman & Lois' Writer Nadria Tucker Says She Was Fired After Raising Issues With CW Show's Sexism And Racism

San Diego Comic Con 2017: the cast of Supergirl singing a song to mock a predominantly queer fanbase for the Supercorp ship

youtube

March 14, 2016, Variety - “What TV Can Learn From ‘The 100’ Mess” in the wake of The 100 killing off Lexa, an openly queer character.

April 6, 2016, EW - The 100: Ricky Whittle says showrunner 'abused' him off the show May 6, 2015 - Season 10, episode 21 of SPN "Dark Dynasty" airs, killing the show's only recurring openly queer character at that point, Charlie Bradbury.

It’s common knowledge Daman Salvatore is bi in The Vampire Diaries books. The character on the show, one of “classic CW”’s biggest hits, was straightwashed.

2013: Misha Collins at NJ Con comments on how women are treated on SPN:

2024: Misha Collins at Purcon 8 shades the CW for placing representation caps on queer rep at SPN

The fact CW had other queer rep does not preclude the existence of pinkwashing, queer erasure, or queer censorship)

November 2020: in the wake of Castiel's romantic love confession to Dean Winchester and in the immediate aftermath of the end of SPN, the nature of the confession was ommitted in all official promotional material and Misha Collins hinted he was told he couldn't talk about Cas's pov. Eventually, Misha Collins was able to speak openly that the writer intention and the story and everyone who worked on the scene intended it as a romantic love confession and that Cas is queer and in love with Dean.

---

Love the shows. Support the shows. Support the creatives who were trying to make things better from within the system.

The megacorporation does not love you.

Stop bootlicking for the megacorporation.

#CW Network #dot trolls the media #representation matters

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g1deonthefirst · 1 year ago

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cw for reproductive coercion and violence: i feel like we should talk more about the implications surrounding reproductive coercion re the heirs: in a no lyctor trials au, i feel like pal & ianthe & maybe harrow would really be pushed into having kids to keep those necromantic lines going

(i say ianthe and not coronabeth here b/c it's probably less likely that corona would have a necromantic child/she needs to run ida, which a pregnancy would make much harder) but we know that there are at least a few ppl on the sixth who pal is genetically compatible with

YES ANON!! ugh this is SUCH a good point. my thing is like, i don't understand how people can argue that the nine houses are post-sexism, post-homophobia, post-gender roles, etc. when you have seven of eight houses relying on a hereditary system of governance that by definition values heirs based on their reproductive capacity. the scene where harrow uses her father's corpse to shoot down the suggestion that she marry and have kids with ortus is honestly horrifying. regardless of whether she's even attracted to men (something nobody seems to care about), she's a child in that scene and already the adults around her are discussing her reproductive capacity. not to mention ortus is, what, eighteen? years older than her. in a world where harrow's parents killed 200 children for one necromantic heir, there is no way all the scions aren't being forced to reproduce whether they like it or not. considering how the themes of the horror of pregnancy/birth and reproductive violence come up again and again, i can't see this detail as anything but intentional, either.

#asks #anon #tlt #harrow #reproductive violence cw #sv analysis

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fkinkindagauche · 4 months ago

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As Is Chapter 4

"It's Gonna Be a Beautiful Day"

Final chapter up now on AO3! See below for a snippet.

Rating: Explicit | WC: 28K total, 9,610 for this chapter | CW: child abuse, period-typical homophobia include use of the "f" word by Neil Hargrove, internalized homophobia, medical professionals being absolute dicks | Tags: angst with a happy ending, secret relationship, omegaverse, alpha Steve, omega Billy, top/bottom versatile Steve and Billy, post-S3, Billy lives, Billy needs a hug, Billy Hargrove used to be a piece of shit; people can change

Summary: Billy gets put in a very difficult position. Max meddles.

Excerpt below.

Billy paid a lot more attention around the shop after he found out that Lewis was gay. He watched Lewis, and the way customers interacted with him. Apparently, it was relatively well-known around town that Lewis and Carl were a couple. They lived together, and didn't hide the romantic nature of their relationship. It didn't seem to cause any problems for him professionally. People treated him the same way they did Billy, Doug, and Dennis. The most bigoted people probably just avoided the shop entirely, but they weren't hurting for business at all.

Billy started to wonder if maybe his time with only Neil as a male role model had warped his idea of what it would be like to be a gay man. He started to wonder if maybe he'd made a huge fucking mistake ending things with Steve before they could even really start.

Max came over one night mid-summer. They were watching a shitty horror movie and eating pizza. During a lull in the movie, Max turned to him.

"So. I'm having my birthday party next weekend." She sounded nervous. "The one for people I actually like, not the one my mom's throwing for me."

"Oh?" Billy prompted, wondering where this was going.

"I want you to come," Max said.

"Yeah, sure." Billy was more pleased than he would have expected at being asked. "I can handle your dweeb friends for a day."

She still looked nervous. "The thing is." She paused, grabbing her Coke and taking a long sip. "The thing is. It's at Steve's house. It's a pool party." Billy hadn't told her anything about him and Steve, but she was a nosy, curious little shit, and had figured out that something had gone down between the two of them. She just didn't know what.

"Oh," Billy huffed. "Don't think I can come then, Red."

"Really?" Max looked hurt. "You're gonna miss my birthday because of your weird rivalry with Steve?"

Billy sighed. He hated knowing he was the cause of that look on her face. "Look. If it were just up to me, I'd come." Probably. Maybe. "But I really don't think Steve's gonna be okay with me being there."

Max let out an exasperated groan. "What did you do to him, Billy? He's been moping around for months, nobody can snap him out of it."

That little fact made Billy feel simultaneously excited and very guilty. Steve cared about him enough to still be upset about what had happened between them.

"Ugh, fine, don't tell me," she muttered as the silence dragged on. "How about this - if I can get Steve to agree to you coming, you have to show up."

Steve definitely wasn't gonna agree to that. Billy could use this as an out, and then he wouldn't be the bad guy in Max's eyes. "Yeah," Billy said. "Okay."

"Why him?" Steve asked, voice cracking.

Max put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "He's my brother, Steve."

"Didn't you used to tell anyone who would listen that you and Billy were, and I quote 'not related, not even a little bit'?"

Max rolled her eyes. "Things change. We're close now."

"Well, I don't care. I don't want him here," Steve snapped. He couldn't have Billy in his house again. More than three months on, and he wasn't even remotely over the man. He'd tried so hard. Gone on countless dates and had an unhealthy amount of meaningless sex, but none of it managed to get Billy out of his system.

Max pouted. Gave him her best puppy dog eyes. He was pretty sure she'd learned that from him. "Steve, it's my birthday. This would mean so much to me. You don't even have to talk to him at all!"

Steve wrapped his arms around his chest. How was he supposed to resist Max's puppy dog eyes? She was right, Steve wouldn't have to talk to him. He could assign Robin interference duty.

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeease?" Max's bottom lip gave a little wobble and Steve was toast.

"Okay, fuck, fine," he said with a huff, running his hands through his hair. "But I reserve the right to kick him out if he even looks at me wrong. Make sure he knows that."

Max grinned wide and threw her arms around Steve's waist. "I will, I will!"

Steve sighed, wishing he were someone who wouldn't do literally anything for these fucking kids.

As Steve suffered through the party, constantly aware of Billy's presence, he was reassured by the realization that Billy looked even more uncomfortable than Steve himself felt. Steve was at least friends with everyone at the party, excepting Billy. The only person Billy was on good terms with here was Max. The rest of the group shot him frequent suspicious glances and poorly concealed glares.

"How you holding up?" Robin whispered to Steve when she caught him by the grill.

"I'm fine," Steve mumbled. "Just peachy."

Robin gave him a sympathetic grimace. "You're a saint, Steve. I would've just told her no."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Robin kept telling him how nice he was for letting Max invite Billy. She probably thought it would make him feel better, but it just made him feel like a huge pushover. Maybe he should've told Max no.

He heard a few shouts from the opposite end of the patio, and glanced over. Steve panicked for a moment as he saw a huge red splotch spread over Billy's chest, showing up bright against his off-white shirt. He was about to throw himself over to administer first aid when he saw the plate hanging from Dustin's hand, hot dog on the ground. It was ketchup.

"Oops," Dustin said, with absolutely no hint of contrition in his voice. Steve shifted, ready to intervene on Dustin's behalf if needed.

Billy looked like he was ready to lose it, glaring down at the mess on his shirt. But then he surprised Steve. Billy looked over at Max, and visibly deflated. He let out an exaggerated sigh, then walked away from Dustin toward the house.

"I'm just gonna go wash this off," he said. He let himself in through the sliding glass door. The patio was silent in his wake, everyone staring at the door he'd just exited through.

"I thought you were gonna get killed, Dustin," Mike whispered. The rest of the kids clustered around Dustin, all talking at once.

Steve thought about Billy walking around alone in his house, unsupervised. Getting his fake scent all over the place. He didn't like the thought.

"I'm gonna make sure he doesn't fuck with anything," Steve said to Robin, walking toward the house.

Robin grabbed his arm. "You sure that's a good idea?"

Steve shook her off. "I just don't want him wandering around alone in there. Makes me feel weird."

"I could go shadow him," Robin offered.

"No, Robs. This is fine, I swear," Steve insisted.

"Alright," she said with a sigh, stepping back.

Steve followed the sounds of running water into the kitchen and found Billy at the sink. His back was to Steve, and his shirt was off and in his hands. Steve took a moment to admire the sight of blond hair shifting over the muscles of Billy's upper back.

Billy turned, his nostrils flaring. Steve had been careful not to make any noise, but Billy had noticed him by his smell.

He looked thinner, like he'd lost some of the weight he had put on while they'd been doing… whatever it was they'd been doing. Steve hated that the fact affected him, that he still felt concerned for Billy. What a fucking joke.

"Making sure I don't steal any of your expensive shit, Harrington?" Billy asked with a smirk. He put his hands on the counter behind him and leaned back, huge scar on full display.

"No," Steve snapped. "I just…" He trailed off. Why had he followed Billy inside? Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Nevermind."

Steve was about to turn away, but Billy pushed himself forward and stepped into Steve's space. He smelled like that stupid fake alpha scent. Steve hated it. He wanted to smell Billy again, Billy's real scent.

"Why'd you really come in, Steve?" Billy whispered, face way too close to Steve's. His bare chest was pressed against Steve's. Steve could feel his warmth bleeding through his own T-shirt. "Miss me?"

Steve wanted to grab Billy and pull him in for a bruising kiss. He wanted to taste him, to fuck him, to mark him. The intensity of his desire terrified him. He'd known he still wasn't over Billy, but hadn't known quite how bad it still was.

He shoved Billy away. "No, I didn't miss you," Steve snarled. "You think I'm gonna let you just waltz into my life to fuck with me again, only to run away when shit gets intense?"

Billy threw up his hands. "Calm down, Harrington. 'M not trying to get in your pants. God, you've got an ego the size of Texas."

"Oh, fuck you, Billy," Steve growled. "Just leave me alone." He turned to go back outside.

"You're the one who followed me inside," Billy called to him as he left.

Read the full fic on AO3.

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#my fics #harringrove #harringrove fanfic #harringrove fic #billy hargrove #steve x billy #omega billy hargrove #alpha steve harrington #steve harrington #stranger things fanfic #stranger things

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