#did the existence/concept of men allow you to get hurt or was it the way society overvalues “being a man”

[genderqueerdykes]

is it bad that i hate when people take my posts about trans issues and make trans women the center of them. my posts always say “trans people” when i talk generally about the violence and transphobia because i mean that. all trans people, not only one kind. but every time the comments turn it into a discussion revolving around trans women.

i’m not against talking about specific demographics! but it’s very frustrating when people take trans men and non-binary people out of the picture when i intentionally included them by NOT specifying a specific gender of trans people.

it’s honestly very disappointing and disheartening that trans men aren’t included in any type of discussion when it comes to trans issues. at least not that i see, i don’t know.

additionally, when (mainly perisex cis)people claim their supposed allyship to trans people, they only talk about how they include trans women in their feminism and women’s spaces. no mention of trans men. and when we ARE talked about, it’s “i hate trans men because they’re just like cis men :)” or “no i don’t want trans men in WOMENS spaces because they’re men”.

i don’t know… maybe i’m too sensitive, but it’s something i don’t like. we should definitely bring awareness to trans women’s issues but not completely forget about the existence of trans men.

i think it's okay to feel that way. i don't care for when people do that to me, either. this discussion is long overdue and so few people want to have it, but this is an issue. yes, trans women are allowed to talk about our issues, we are. i'm not saying we should never speak. what i'm saying is we can't take posts that are made for everyone and make them about us and us alone.

we need to stop making conversations about transmasculine people about us. not all nonbinary people are transfeminine, other intersex, multigender, nonbinary, genderqueer, gendervast, gnc, etc people need a chance to speak. like i'm serious, it's okay to talk about one's own experience. but if it is explicitly to point out why people should not listen to other people when they are talking about their own issues, and that they should listen to you instead, you are controlling the narratives, and shifting the goalposts.

it's one thing to say "here's what i experience" but if someone takes your post and goes. hey actually. trans women have it the worst. they're the one leaving other people out of the picture in that situation. whenever you try to point this out on this website, people foam at the mouth to try to kill you and it's ridiculous. when, well, with so many people bringing it up:

it's an issue.

there's been a specific group of people who identify as transradfems and people who identify with their politics even if they don't know the name for it. they are pushing people to be quiet and not speak about their own experiences because somehow that silences trans women, as if we can only be about one type of queer person at once. it's gotten old. like can we seriously just have this conversation already and be done with?

i feel like i have to say the thing that most people are afraid of, because this conversation is way overdue.

can disenfranchised dysphoric trans women stop attacking men & mascs because you don't like being seen as one? can disenfranchised trans women who have been hurt by men stop attacking men who haven't hurt you?

enough. men & mascs are not your personal punching bag. manhood isn't what hurt you. being forced to be a man or masc is what hurt you. the general concept of manhood and men did not hurt you. let go. i understand it's painful to get misgendered and treated as a man for life. it sucks. you don't deserve that. no trans woman does. nobody deserves to be misgendered. you don't deserve to be dehumanized because people refuse to see you for who you are. it's okay to acknowledge that you're in pain. but you gotta let the fuck go of your irrational hatred, because it will never help you accept or love yourself

you will never experience true trans joy if you spend all of your time hating on other people. hate solves nothing. if that's the only thing you see, that's the only thing you feel. if hate has nowhere else to go, it rapidly turns inward. you will not be seen as a woman by more people if you attack men. you will not be accepted by cis radfems if you attack men and parrot their politics. this isn't helping you, or anyone else.

we need to break down these walls and talk to each other. trans women and trans men can have conversations about our experiences at the exact same time. conversations involve multiple points of input. if we're only allowing one type of person to speak and one type of person to speak only: that is a lecture. that is not a discussion. if you never listen or give other people a chance to speak, you are lecturing them.

[girl-lostconnection]

OMG I love the 141 concept you did a lil bit ago 😭😭😭

Since I am, ✨✨ just a girl✨✨ have you thought abt a part 2 a angst/comfort where reader isn’t dead and comes back all wounded and 141 goes overdrive

But I understand sometimes angst fics are awesome (guilty pleasures lol)

Thank youuuuu have a great day/night

So, I did in fact thought about it because practically every person that read the angst snippet was crying screaming throwing up and trying to find my address. But I also don’t really want to write a part with Reader returning.

I understand why so many people wanted it but I honestly didn’t plan to revive Reader. Because for me personally it felt like that would sway the focus point from them to 141 and how they were sort of “punished” for not noticing or for being not as observant as they maybe should have. And for me that defeats the purpose of my intention whilst writing the snippet.

Guilt and grief do not wash away the mistakes of the past. Sometimes death is death, sometimes things are finite in the most unfair fucking way and you don’t get a say in that.

I understand that probably many people would be thrilled to see a continuation of sorts about it. But I don’t want there to be one. In a way it was my letter to other versions of 141 I am writing.

You always feel like you have so much time, that you are destiny, that no matter what happens you will come back together. Sometimes it doesn’t happen.

Sometimes it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just happens and you have to accept that it does.

But also, as someone who for a long time was reading 141 fics with a “well, I’d be a third wheel or fifth leg in this setting” mindset — No.

You and I are everything and more than these fictional men could dream of. Than real people could dream of. We exist to live for the pleasures we can partake in, experiences we can learn and excitement we get to feel.

Our value is not defined by someone realising that we were important only when we are gone.

We define our value. Not men, not relationships, not even stuff we do for other people. We deserve adoration, we deserve devotion, we deserve love.

I enjoy writing these things because it allows me to dig maybe a little deeper than I would have voluntarily gone in real life while keeping me safe distance away from it all. I do like angst and hurt comfort pieces. It’s just that this specific one for me was just *shrugs* a way to work through what I felt.

Honestly, I never expected it to blow up.

And thank you so much for your ask, the answer is a little longer and a little messier than I planned but I hope I answered your question in full! You have a good one too🌟

[grison-in-space]

Reading Men Who Hate Women (Laura Bates, 2020) at the moment. She's talking about the manosphere: the massive online communities of men who congregate to talk misogyny, ranging from PUAs to MRAs, incels and MGTOW. These aren't new topics to me—I've been following this off and on since watching Gamergate kick off—but Bates handles them well and I think this book could serve as an introduction if this is a movement with which you're not familar. By the way, it's been a decade since Gamergate this year. Isn't that a kicker?

(Incidentally, I first ran into the concept of incels way before I think many people did: when I was still on AVEN, c. 2006-2007ish, I remember a few occasions where users ran into incel communities and brought them to our forums to ask: is this like what we're doing? Is this like us? Consensus quickly solidified on the direction of "no," each time, not least because asexuality dialog at the time was extremely clear about divorcing desire from action, and it was very clear that the desires centered in that community were very different than the ones people in asexuality spaces were untangling.)

Bates handles the topic with grace, compassion, and a deep understanding that I really wish more writing on radicalization or terroristic networks used: people in real pain, who are struggling in pitiable circumstances to do their best and clearly need more support, can also in their pain be truly dangerous to others. Hurt people hurt people. Compassion for pain suffered is important—you can't understand recruitment without understanding that—but you also have to understand that pain, fermented in darkness, can create deadly poisons. Pain isn't essentially holy or cleansing or cauterizing. It doesn't accomplish anything good by existing. If we can relieve it, we should—but we should follow harm reduction principles as we do so, lest pain be allowed to multiply and fester.

What gets me is that in 2017, in the wake of the Google bro "manifesto," I spent a feverish week writing what wound up being a 20,000 word rebuttal studded with what eventually totaled 100+ peer reviewed citations. It got quite a bit of reach and covered ground ranging from effects of testosterone on behavior, the concept of effect size in sex differences, basic statistics, the ways that humans treat people differently based on their perception of gender, intersex trauma, and whether feminists care about men's problems (yeah, actually, and they should).

I released that piece, changed up my name and fannish presence—my long time pseud was tangled all over the piece's genesis—and hunkered down for the reprisals. I expected harassment and vitriol. It never really came: I ignored the comments on the post, after a bit, and I held boundaries on what I was willing to pay attention to. But by and large, I had no direct consequences from the Manosphere.

Perhaps the piece was too long (although I got many comments from people who read it and found it useful, and I included an index). Perhaps it was simply that I included a headshot of myself, with uncharacteristic red lipstick and characteristically buzzed hair, and cheerfully discussed throughout that I was butch and queer: sometimes I confuse people who are very focused on bioessentialist sex differences, because I don't fit their paradigms in the slightest.

About six months later, James Damore attempted to frame his incredibly poor decisions in light of his Asperger's, and I did get a couple dudes on social media presenting me with this information apparently in the hope that it would shock or embarrass me. I immediately pointed out, acerbically, that I'm equally autistic and that he was making us look bad, and they melted away again into the background. It wasn't really the well of terrifying anger and obliterative fury I was expecting.

I find myself reading these stories in Bates' book and thinking about the internet I grew up on: AVEN by 2005, WrongPlanet the same year, listening to people on the margins talk about their fears and hopes and dreams and theories about themselves. I find myself thinking about narratives and meaning, the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and why.

I'm certainly not the first person to worry about radicalization of young autistic people, especially autistic men. Not even close. Paradoxically, it's a group of people for whom an understanding of intersectionality is crucial: young disabled men often alienated deliberately from conceptualizing themselves as disabled, without the tools to understand why life is hard and painful and never seems to reflect their experiences, trying to construct understanding beyond one's singular, isolated defective wrongness—which is what's left, if you take community off the table.

(Have I mentioned how grateful I am that so many autistics are trans spectrum? Imagine if we weren't, and if I didn't have so many transfeminine sisters funneled along those same currents and drifting closely enough alongside to understand. My sisters, so many of whom are out there living and modeling better ways to understand and participate in gender as a social activity: by figuring out what is most comfortable for you, understanding that comfort for one might be agony for another, and taking steps to shape your own life into a fashion that wells forth the most peace and joy. It's a message we all need to hear, but that is a group of people I hear singing so loudly from my place in a different wing of the choir, and I love them for it.)

I don't have answers. As is, so often, the case these days, I have only grief and love, and the determination to build better structures where my own hands reach. I had intended to direct my career, once, to undermining the entire concept of "good genes" models of evolution and explaining how their convoluted connections to natural phenomena are better explained by other, more direct motives. Since 2020, I've been moving in a new direction—but what precisely it is, I'm not sure.

Sex differences is certainly a piece of it, though. Even if I find myself often enough writing that it's not enough to know a sex difference in one species to assume that another will reflect a similar relationship: we should study sex differences in animals, but we really shouldn't assume that humans will have the same ones or work the same way. I suspect this won't be the first time I tangle with that community. I suppose it depends how much authority I can accrue as protection first.

[cryscendo]

Hi, how about an abrupt,  heated kiss during the middle of a fight for Klaine?

i bet you didn’t think i would ever respond to this!! well i will say that i kinda ran away with this plot a bit. does it fit the prompt? only vaguely. BUT it’s another thrilling installment to my angel/demon au with a bit more lore thrown in. dedicating it to you as well as @porcelainvino for their various art pieces for this au <3 hope you love it and sorry for the wait!!

Paring: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson

Word Count: 2030

Rating: T

AU: Angel/Demon AU

fic can be read under the cut <3

There were a lot of things that turned out to be just as unpleasant about falling, not including the actual falling part.

For one, he was weaker than he used to be. He did suspect that would happen, but it still hurt his ego a bit. He used to have so much power that he often didn’t even know what all to do with it. Not that he really could do much with it anyway; the big men upstairs never allowed much fun to be had. More time was spent existing as a militant entity than was spent actually basking in the alleged splendor that was heaven.

If given the option between going back to that or experiencing the pain of falling all over again, Kurt would choose to fall every damn day.

Besides, angels don’t get to play with humans like they’re Barbie dolls. And that’s way more fun.

The man before him, unsuspecting and ignorant, saw Kurt at a bar and thought he’d be an easy target. Kurt knew he perfectly looked the part of a young man getting his first drink at a bar as a twenty-one year old. Aging was such an earthly concept and Kurt was not burdened with it. But to an older man, the illusion of wide-eyed innocence was all too compelling.

Kurt claimed he ‘knew a spot’, which was just as cliché as it sounded, but it was effective nonetheless. Apparently intelligence didn’t always come with age.

It wasn’t long after he got the man to the abandoned storage facility that he knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. Not soon enough, though, for Kurt had already made quick work of knocking the man out and handcuffing him to a chair. When he came to once more, it was in a fit of panic.

“Look, I didn’t sign up for this kind of crazy! So just let me go, okay?” The man pleaded with Kurt and it was charming if nothing else. Kurt leaned over him, one knee braced against the chair in a way that could be seen as provocative in any other circumstance.

“What, am I too old for you?” Kurt asked in a mocking whine. “I swear, I’m only twenty, maybe thirty centuries old!”

“Whatever game you’re playing here, kid, I’m not interested so just let me-”

“Let him go, Kurt,” a voice spoke up behind him. Kurt grinned as he straightened up. Of course he would show up. It was impossible for him to stay away. He made a bit of a show of turning around to face the new arrival — his favorite little angel.

He turned towards the voice, maintaining his flirty tone. “Just can’t stay away from me, can you?”

“You could say that,” Blaine replied and that’s when Kurt saw it — the glint of a blade held discreetly in his palm. He recognized the weapon, as it was a piece from Heaven’s arsenal. See, a regular knife couldn’t kill Kurt.

But that one could.

Kurt’s grin dropped as he backed away from the man strapped to the chair, and subsequently also away from Blaine. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”

“You attract too much attention to yourself.”

“Well, I can’t help but pull focus,” Kurt responded in a rather clipped manner. The man in the chair began to panic even more upon being approached by Blaine.

“Listen, man,” the guy began quickly, “you don’t need to kill him or anything! Just let me go and I’ll be on my way!”

Blaine’s eyes flickered down to the stranger, eerily calm. “You don’t need to see this,” he said simply and before the man could even begin to reply, Blaine rested his palm to his forehead, immediately knocking him out. Putting a human to sleep rather than killing them; that was so painfully just like Blaine to do.

“Why do you have that thing?” Kurt interrogated the second that the man was unconscious.

Blaine turned the knife a bit in his hand as if observing it. “Come on, Kurt, you know exactly what this is.”

Kurt maintained a semi-safe distance. “Why do you need that thing to kill me? You’ve never needed that for a demon before.” It was true. Blaine could take down a demon easily. It made them cruelly unmatched. Blaine had never threatened to kill him before, but it would be undoubtedly easy for him to do so should he want to. For Blaine, a demon is an easy target. He was an easy target.

Unless…

Kurt’s grin returned. “You can’t kill me, can you?” He asked coyly.

Blaine remained serious, but Kurt could see a crack in his expression letting on that he was nervous. Kurt seemed to always have that effect on him. “Not at my rank, no,” he said simply, but Kurt knew what he meant. He wasn’t strong enough to take out Kurt. An ordinary demon, he’d have no problem. But as luck would have it, Kurt wasn’t an ordinary demon.

Kurt took a risk. He moved a few steps towards Blaine and the weapon he possessed. “You’re not going to kill me.”

“I could.”

A few more steps. “But you won’t.”

“I might.”

“But you won’t.” Kurt was directly in front of him now. He knew it was a dangerous game, but he had a point to prove. “Because if you were going to, you would’ve done it already. So tell me angel, was this a direct order from one of your bossmen, or are you just simply that obsessed with me?”

“Don’t push your luck, Kurt,” Blaine spoke, gravely serious.

“Or what?” Kurt challenged. He could feel Blaine’s steady breaths from just how close they were. Blaine’s gaze met his evenly. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it. I’m wide open.” Kurt tilted his head a fraction, his eyes alight with the rush that comes with toying with Blaine. His tone shifted into something devilishly flirtatious as he spoke again. “So, y’know, take me, I’m yours and all that.”

It was then that Blaine sprung into action. With quick work, he managed to securely grip onto the collar of Kurt’s shirt, using his strength over the other to force Kurt backwards. There was a time where Kurt may have been stronger than him. But Kurt gave all that up, and he still refused to regret it.

That didn’t mean he loved Blaine constantly using that fact against him.

Blaine got him against a wall with one particularly rough push. Kurt felt the brittle wall crack slightly behind him. Fuck, Blaine was strong.

Blaine was strong.

Once Blaine has Kurt pinned defenseless against the wall, he brings the blade down. Kurt doesn’t know whether it was thanks to adrenaline, or his own sense of speed in the face of self-preservation, but he reached up and circled his fingers around Blaine’s wrist before he could manage to connect the weapon.

The blade stilled, suspended in the air between them. Kurt imagined the scene was almost picturesque in a way — him pressed between Blaine’s firm body and the unforgiving wall, his long fingers locked around Blaine’s wrist. Angel and demon. Lovers. Enemies.

Blaine really was going to kill him.

Their shared breathing revealed the exhaustion that their overexertion had caused. Kurt knew, given his current position, he was fully at Blaine’s mercy. The mercy of an angel who just tried to kill him.

That gave Kurt little other choice. Slowly, he tugged at Blaine’s wrist until the blade was sitting just above his throat. He leveled Blaine with a steely look, deathly serious. “Well, go ahead, angel. Do what you gotta do.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Kurt,” Blaine clarified, but didn’t pull the blade away.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he bit out before he could even think to check his tone. This was, in large part, his own doing. He opened the door for Blaine to corner him, he really had no right to be upset about it actually occurring. Even in his current position, Kurt couldn’t refrain from looking down his nose at Blaine, hoping to properly demonstrate his distaste from his present circumstances. “I’m guessing you got assigned a job from one of the big men upstairs?”

“You’re lucky that it’s me and not someone else.”

“Oh yeah, I sure feel lucky.” Kurt’s fingers twitched around Blaine’s wrist as he continued to hold the blade close to Kurt’s throat. But hasn’t pressed in yet, and Kurt cannot fathom why. He has the perfect opportunity. Kurt is basically giving him a free pass, so why isn’t he going for it? “Well?”

Blaine’s grip on the weapon slacked just a bit. “Nothing is ever easy with you.”

“So why don’t you take care of the problem?”

Blaine said nothing, did nothing. He only stood and continued to watch Kurt in silence, and Kurt could practically see the flurry of thoughts swirl around in Blaine’s head. Kurt almost felt bad for the guy; he knew that he didn’t make Blaine’s job simple, and admittedly, does very little to combat that fact.

Eventually, though, Blaine shakes his head. “You’re right. I won’t do it.”

The sound of the metal blade clattering to the ground reverberated discordantly off the walls of the warehouse.

Kurt took no time to ponder Blaine’s decision to spare him. Instead, he kicked the weapon away from the two of them and then, in quick succession, flipped their two positions. Blaine didn’t put up any fight with being pushed up against the wall himself. He could break free if he really wanted to. He chose not to.

“Do you still love me, Blaine?” Kurt asked, not ready for the words to fall from his mouth before they did.

“Are demons even capable of love?”

Kurt wasn’t sure. Maybe demons who never experienced love aren’t. Love is formed from soul, grace, and humanity, of which demons have none.

But Kurt wasn’t always a demon, and he still didn’t really fit the mold of one. Fallen angels are different from regular demons. They still possess morality, at least to some extent. It was just like Kurt to never really fit in anywhere.

“Do you? Still love me?”

Honey colored eyes gazed at Kurt with something akin to sympathy, which would burn his blood if it weren’t for the fact that he so desperately needed a response.

Blaine nodded.

Kurt kissed him. He didn’t even hesitate. With Blaine pinned up against the wall, it was easy for him to leverage a searing, bruising kiss against soft lips. Blaine always tasted the same, like coffee, — such an earthly pleasure that he achieved no benefit from and only chose to indulge for its luxury — and something else a touch more divine. Kurt couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but it tasted vaguely familiar from the holy kingdom that he was no longer welcome to.

Kurt pulled away with a sigh. Blaine panted quietly, a faintly pink blush forming under tanned skin. Kurt was right about one thing, Blaine was an angel — in every sense of the word.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to disappear for your own safety?” Blaine eventually asked.

Kurt smiled. “Not a chance in hell.”

Blaine nodded in understanding, as if he already anticipated Kurt’s response. “You always were stubborn to a fault.”

Blaine wasn’t wrong. And as much as he would love to stand here with Blaine forever, it wasn’t wise to hang around angels for too long — even if the angel in question was Blaine.

He finally stepped away from Blaine, allowing the man some space. Kurt glanced over to the man tied to the chair. He had forgotten that guy was here. He was simply a means to an end, afterall.

“You may want to wipe that guy’s mind, angel. Or else he’s going to be a real problem when he wakes up.”

Kurt headed towards the exit of the building, but not before Blaine called out to him. “Suddenly not so keen on sticking around?”

Kurt grinned, if not mostly to himself. “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll find me again. And who knows? Maybe you’ll actually have it in you to kill me next time.”

[shini--chan]

Hi! Can I get some headcanons for Denmark and Sweden having feeling for the same darling?

For the short version: shit is gonna hit the fan. For the long version.

Yandere Sweden vs Denmark

This would be a scenario that would get the blood of both men boiling. The present day status of being EU countries would encourage them to remain cordial on the surface, that it wouldn’t solve the pre-existing problems, only freeze said dilemmas or make them resort to more covert methods. When they would both find out that they’re eyeing the same person, then matter could very well spiral out of control. They would be both be running high on emotions and their mutual unwillingness to share along with the emotional baggage both carry would mix together to be the most explosive cocktail.

There was a loud knock on the door, interrupting the awkward silence that had settled between Matthias and you. You were thankful for it, because you had already started to feel nervous under the intense stare of your surprisingly silent guest.

A key twisted in the hole and Matthias hissed: “Who did you give your spare key to?”

He was angry, (of course he was angry – you had just rejected his proposition to move into his house; it was simply too early) and he got even angrier when he saw who stepped in and neatly took off his shoes.

Berwald froze when he glimpsed your guest and you could feel your anxiety rise, making your heart hammer in your ears and making you feel oddly floaty. While the taller man was a calming presence with his stoic attitude, he was the last person you needed here. Matthias was hot-tempered and without somebody to respond with adequate empathy, his emotions would flare.

“What are you doing here?”, Berwald all but snarled. It shocked you, because it was the most emotion you had ever witness from the man. Your first guest narrowed his eyes at him, mirroring his anger.

Your “you know each other?” was promptly ignored, as Matthias stalked forward, seizing up the man he had deemed to be his opponent.

“Oh, you know – visiting. That you really have a concept of it, seeing how you barged in here unannounced. You own the place or something?”

“And what if I did? I bet your face is yearning to meet the pavement outside. Don’t worry – I’ll help you.”

These two would be antagonistic towards each other, right off the bat, especially considering that the circumstances where they would learn of their shared interest would leave little room for misinterpretation. It would lead to vicious plotting as they immediately contemplate ways to get rid of the competition.

Denmark balefully glared at the closed kitchen door. From where he was sitting at the table, he could hear your soft voice as well as the hideous low rumble of that ogre. He wished he could be in their instead of Sweden, to caution you against allowing that emotionally constipated mess of a man continue to see you.

Without the shadow of a doubt, Berwald was doing exactly what he intended to do, only that he warning you to stay away from him, good mood personified. That was an underhand thing that he couldn’t allow.

Seriously, they would probably devise schemes that would end with one in hospital and the other possibly in prison. Trying to reason with them wouldn’t work, blinded by their emotions as they would be. They both know of the others stubbornness and was aware of the full extent of the other’s feelings, they would know that they could never fully enjoy you as long as the other would be free and yearning for your touch.

There would be people hurt and eventually lives ruined, if their “disagreement” would go on for long enough. They would use this fact against one another, using it to point out how the other is so reckless and violent and inconsiderate. Could they possibly be a good husband to you if they are already like this before the deal is sealed? This would probably be a point that Sweden would bring, seeing as out of the two, he would be more in control of his emotions.

Sweden would try to attract you to him by presenting himself as the more put together option, as the man that would listen to all your worries and treat you like a princess in opposition to the stormy Denmark.

Denmark would try to present himself as the more open-minded option, as the guy that can understand the emotions of himself and others, of the fun guy that would ensure your happiness.

Both would do their best to depict the other as a monster that you would do your best to avoid, and they wouldn’t shy from hitting below the belt line here. Thus, sharing would absolutely be out of the question. They would dig up blackmail on the other, throw blocks in the road, drag up unresolved and resolved issues to fight over them all over again.

It would escalate into kidnapping which would then turn into a tug of war as you would be stolen and re-stolen and re-re-stolen. If anything, there would be a high chance that you would die in one of their scuffles. Or just end up hating both of them. Time to move to New Zealand!

The only way everybody would stay alive would be if they would decide to duel for your hand in marriage. A fair share of pride would force them to respect the outcome, especially if a ref would be there to rule out any foul play. And, by the way, your feelings wouldn’t be considered in all of this aside from how they can be used to manipulate you.

[dual-fantasy]

FANON SVETLANA. FROTHS AT THE MOUTH. can people please be for real for a Second. like mike shes actually kind of a bad person but cause shes a strong woman the mind of a total drama fan can only comprehend her being motherly. I think she should also be allowed to try and kill scott. shes equally as cool and awful as mike. if not more. in my dream post total drama au shes just worst because she deserves to be. I think vito is easily one of the funniest total drama characters hands down. everything about him even just in canon is fucking hilarious. the italian superstrength of course isn't realistic but it's the funniest thing to me. especially since most of the total drama fandom doesn't even question it hes just like that. he has a bunch of random skills nobody knows about. he probably doesnt either. anne marias car gets fucking wrecked like crumpled into a compact silver ball its shocking she made it out. he fixes it in 10 minutes with his hands and a plastic fork that survived the crash. hes completely and utterly stupid but only at common things to know. he cant do algebra but he can name every invasive insect species in history documented and otherwise. him and anne maria date for like a year after total drama but he leaves her for cars and men. he tries to help cameron work out once and it goes horribly wrong cameron gets hurt in ways nobodies ever been hurt before. doctors scientists priests etc are all dumbfounded. same thing happens when he brings cameron to literally just sit and watch him work at the mechanics. nobody even knows how he got hurt he just did. camerons not allowed within 50 feet of something metal anymore cause itll get him violently injured in a way that defies all science and god. anne maria is also underrated and so fucking funny. she records it every single time mike and scott fight. she encourages it. she bets at least ten dollars on mike. i think jomaria is so real but in ways nobody else understands. they show up to the Scike Fights together those are dates to them. svetmaria as well but in an awful gritty girlfailure way. my person headcanon(??) is that the reset button was completely made up. mike wanted off the show and it was the only way to get chris to leave them alone. once he was off the show he became so much cooler. but stereotypical cool bully kid in a movie kind of cool(think like... leather jacket) and nobody has the heart(and healthcare) to tell him that it doesn't actually look cool. most of his shirts are stained with Scott Blood. he acts like the type of guy to smoke but he tried it once and almost died. coughed and choked for at least an hour. the same with drinking he acts like he does but he needs emotional support to take a shot. when he actually gets drunk(after crying and gagging 10 times) hes just stupid and pathetic. he learns how to speak up for himself and he gets into fights but hes a loser boyfailure at heart. he rants to brick about a stupid pirated movie hes been watching while he washes the Scott Blood out from under his nails. he is the crywank and mccafferty boy ever but not in a sad way. just in a way you have to understand. Grave Dog

I have a lot of thoughts about the treatment of women in total drama. I'll probably make a whole post about it but it's actually kinda sickening that so many fans still treat women the way they do. fanon Svetlana is my 13th reason I stg. she should be worse. she should be strangling people. she should be biting and clawing and kicking. I love her. she deserves it.

Vito is literally the funniest total drama character I think. his entire existence is so funny to me. the Italian superstrength is an extra funny concept because the fandom doesn't question it, but also the contestants don't either. they all just accept that sometimes Vito can do stuff. randomly. he knows how to make like every poison ever and also he cannot fucking count. the car crash concept is so funny to me too. she brings it to him and it's fucking destroyed and they all look away and he's already fixed it. he does leave her for cars and men. he gives me grease (1978) energy but if grease was a little bit more faggoty and rocky horror picture show (1975). the Cameron concept made me burst out laughing. literally fucking incredible. Cameron gets hit by a car family-guy Brian-fucking-dies style while Vito is driving his dumbass convertible that's made out of cardboard, mod podge, and a tin can.

I also think that Manitoba smith is hilarious to me. it might just be the Australian in me but he means everything to me. he's canonically married? noone talks about that? he mentions his wife? when what who where why? and also I think he knows a lot about genuine Australian culture that noone should know unless they've been to Australia. he has literally never left Canada but he knows everything. he says "I'mgunna run down to wollies to snag lamingtons n a Bundaberg, wunna want?" and everyone stares at him like he's fucking insane. he warns everyone of dropbears. he calls them Zooper doopers. literally noone knows where he got this from.

I agree that the reset button was the only way to get Chris to leave him alone. noone wanted to get brought back so they decided that they would just. lie. and get off of the show. Chris didn't know it was fake he did literally no research whatsoever. chef knew it was fake but he didn't say anything because he understood the want to get off the show.

Anne Maria is soooo underrated it's insane. her elimination was actually iconic. even tho it's a fake diamond she could still sell it for a pretty decent price. it's a massive fucking jewel she could still scam someone with it. it's amazing actually. she means everything to me. jomaria so real they watch mike beat the shit out of Scott. Anne Maria is running bets and jo is charging admission to watch. they make so much money. also I believe in jo/Anne Maria/Svetlana. they beat up scott together. I love them.

mike is such a poser he's literally amazing. his shirts are all stained with blood (mainly Scott's) but if he ever tried to drink vodka he would shrivel up and die. he is the lightest weight ever. brick is holding his hair back while he's vomiting and threatening Scott (who hasn't been there for 10 minutes) after he took a singular shot. he is literally the worst and my personal favourite. Jo helps him wash blood out of his jeans while he's gossiping with Anne maria. I completely understand the McCafferty and crywank guy he's also the front bottoms and modern baseball. you're so real always

[selflessanatta]

The Heart of Evil, the Darkest of Dark, https://selflessanatta.com/the-heart-of-evil-the-darkest-of-dark/

New Post has been published on https://selflessanatta.com/the-heart-of-evil-the-darkest-of-dark/

The Heart of Evil, the Darkest of Dark

Hell is Real

Scholars, philosophers, and theologians enjoy debating the existence of Hell.

Religious people promote the idea. They believe it has utility for controlling people’s bad behavior.

People hurt each other for selfish reasons because they believe they can get away with it.

Most religions and cultures invent a Hell as a catch-all insurance policy against getting-away-with-it while you were alive, hoping perhaps this will motivate a few people to “be good” to avoid eternal damnation.

As a concept, it’s become so burdened by legalese, endless, pointless debates on dogma, and philosophical mental masturbation that it no longer has enough emotional impact to scare people straight, assuming it ever did.

But you don’t need to be religious to see that Hell exists, right now, today.

Have you ever watched true crime dramas?

Perhaps you’ve read about the Manson murders in Helter Skelter?

Manifestations of Hell abound. We see it in our nightly news.

Does anyone think the Palestinians in the Gaza Strip are living in Paradise?

Perhaps some astute commenter can share their victim narrative that justifies atrocities like that. It would reveal exactly how and why evil manifests.

See: How to Stop Violence in the Middle East

Wherever you see evil, Hell is manifest for the victims.

Of course, this doesn’t fit our religious sensibilities about hell; mostly, we see hapless victims being crushed under the jackboot of avarice, invisibly due to apathy and stone-cold indifference.

In many ways, that makes it worse. The evil that men do isn’t confined to those who deserve it.

Evil Lurks Inside Each of Us

When most people observe manifest evil in the world, they solace themselves with the delusion that says:

I would never do that.

It’s a comforting lie.

One that allows us to keep our self-image of a good person, Saintly even, for those with delusions of righteousness.

I’ve peered into the evil in my own heart.

I looked at my life circumstances and asked myself, “How bad could bad get?”

The answer is below.

Before you pat yourself on the back and think you are better than me, or that you are incapable of such terrible thoughts, please consider this:

YOU ARE LYING TO YOURSELF!

If you don’t face the evil in your own heart, you will never be a force for good in the world.

Trigger Alert

Here is where everything gets difficult.

Really difficult.

What you are about to read will tear at your heart.

Brace yourself for pain, evil, the darkest of Dark.

Absorb this next section with an open heart, and you earn an A+ in Compassion.

You’ve been trigger warned.

1 in 10,000

My son is diagnosed with autism.

I once sat in an Individualized Education Program meeting where I was given a report detailing my son’s cognitive ability.

It was measured as less than the <0.01% percentile.

Let that sink in.

If you are a parent with aspirations for your child, you should feel that one easily.

I felt the deepest, darkest black hole in the entire universe consume my soul in that moment.

There was little pleasure in it.

In fact, I recall no pleasure at all.

Have you ever experienced 100% pain in every fiber of your Being?

It sucks.

Hard.

My son and I were the test subject for a cruel joke of an evil demon.

I was pissed off, and I wanted to do something about this mistake.

The Evil Demon

I chose to enter the black hole to confront the Evil Demon:

WHY THE FUCK DID YOU SEND ME A FUCKED-UP KID LIKE THAT?

I was decidedly unhappy.

The demon embraced his experiment with enthusiasm.

He felt my Qi transfer to him, sucking my life force for his consumption, like an emotional parasite, but worse.

Because he felt my presence an unexpected bonus, he told me what he did, believing it would be more painful that way — tastier, nourishing for him, but never fulfilling; that’s the demon’s paradox.

The evil of his intentions absorbed my anger and strengthened it. He was feeding on me.

Experiments to Maximize Suffering

He said,

“I created two Beings. I took the allocation of smarts for both of you, and for the lulz, I gave you all of it and left none for him.

Both conditions are rife with suffering, so both lives should generate enormous pain and rejection of life itself.

You will become a prideful and arrogant prick, in case you didn’t already notice that, and he will be toxically shamed believing his life isn’t worth living at all.

I have high hopes that you will turn completely evil.

I knew you would completely surrender life to me in a firestorm of anger and hate, and your Qi would feed me.

How do you feel about that?”

I was triggered.

The angry tirade of expletives from my anger and hatred burst forth, raging with intense searing fire.

That motherfucker was going to die, and I was going to kill him.

I was going to crush his soul — make him pay for doing this to ME.

I felt my Selfish Desire rise up, infused with heat and hate, and flood my Qi with power.

I took action.

I directed this fury toward him in a ferocious energy beam that would have melted an ice giant.

He absorbed my initial volley and laughed.

The Choice

He said,

That’s not good enough. I want more. Let me give you a choice.

I would prefer you live to continue to torturing yourself and your son.

You probably didn’t realize this, but when he looks at you, hoping to feel love, connection and warmth, instead he sees contempt in your eyes, it sends him the message he’s broken, defective, a complete reject unworthy of Life.

The world would be better off if he were gone.

It’s toxic shame, the worst, most painful sense of personal disgust imaginable.

He feels lower than low when you do that, and you do it hundreds of times a day.

Every day.

Day in, day out.

Torture, and toxic, searing pain.

I love it!

I absorb that pain, revel in it. It’s bliss, on steroids. And what’s better, the more you do it, the stronger I get, and the pain gets worse and worse.

The Power and the Glory are Mine!!!

Ahhh. That felt wonderful, just thinking about it, but I said I would offer you a choice, so here it is:

If you want, I can destroy your son, make it like he was never born. I can extinguish him from existence if you like. I can even remove the memories so it never even happened.

It would end your pain. That’s what you want, right?

That’s why you’re here!

With him gone, you won’t have anything to disturb your mind.

You will be able to leave this place in peace and have the life you were previously entitled to — you know, 2.4 kids and all.

What is your choice?

I thought about that.

In my angry state, it wasn’t a difficult choice.

Is my personal happiness more important than my son’s life?

I chose.

It was the right choice for ME.

I said, “Fuck yeah, take away this pain. Erase his defective ass and hit the fucking reset button.”

The demon dutifully complied, and my son, and everything he represents was gone.

The demon paused, and looked at me, and asked, “How do you feel?”

I checked my feelings and noted, “Good. Relieved, my burden is gone. Thank you.”

He said,

Congratulations! You just committed cold-blooded murder!

And you chose it!

You wanted him to die — and you got your wish.

Your heart is twisted with Selfish Desire, and you harnessed it to commit an egregious, unforgivable act.

You‘ve proven you’re an able apprentice.

I said, “Why can I still remember? You said you would erase the memories.”

He replied, “I erased everyone else’s memory of him, so he has no existence outside of your mind.

But I can’t remove the heart stain of Your Choices entirely, so you must live with it.”

I said, “If I’d known that was the deal, I wouldn’t have made that choice.”

He laughed,

You can’t lie to me. You would have made the same choice either way.

You’re just upset that your desires weren’t satiated.

And why would you trust a demon anyway?

Pray I don’t alter the deal further.

Feeling the betrayal, I exploded again.

This time, he was going down!

My adrenals opened, and every fiber of my being rose up for one final assault.

One decisive battle.

I sustained this hatred, beaming it intensely at him, channeling all my frustrations and waves of anger until it reached a fever pitch, and I could no longer do battle.

My Qi ran out.

He won.

He glowed with a red aura while he absorbed my Qi, bathing in it, reveling in the power I surrendered to him.

As I lay there spent, in crushed defeat, I thought, perhaps, it was over.

And end to suffering.

But no.

Then he gives me one more fact to chew on:

I’m trapped in Saṃsāra.

I need to go back and do it all over again in my next life.

And the next one, and the next one.

Endlessly.

Now, my failure was complete.

Hell is Inside, not Outside

When my heart felt the Evil Demon, I sensed his hotline to Hell.

In that moment, I realized Hell need not be a physical location.

True Hell — the worst place to exist — lies buried in the deepest region of the human heart, and you need not wait for death to experience it.

Cruelty of the Demon

Cruelty is an advanced achievement on the Dark path, synthesizing indifference (absence of love) and malice (evil intention).

I find the feeling so painful, so toxic, I know it only to know it; I never linger there.

I hope you don’t see it in your heart.

Evil lurks in the shadows.

Scrolls of the Dark Arts for Scholars

Dark Arts Instruction Manuals:

One: The Prince, by Niccolò Machiavelli. Amoral statecraft.

Two: The Art of War, by Sun Tzu, Statecraft and organized violence.

Three: The 48 Laws of Power, by Robert Greene, who probably thought this was good literature.

Read them for knowledge, not instruction.

Unless you read them as a “What-Not-to-Do-Manual.” Then, they become virtuous.

Funny how that works.

I don’t want to leave you feeling down and dark.

Relax a moment with this video. You will feel better.

~~wink~~

Anatta

[cinnamonest]

i feel like while both moms, childe's and diluc/kaeyas are staying with their sons because despite everything they have that motherly unconditional love for them

childe and his mamas relationship is a bit based on fear too. since lets be real that man is terrifying thus why theres more escape attempts and tries to persuade him not to fuck her like 4 times a day (he's also home less often)

on the other hand diluc and kaeyas mama is pretty much stuck with either one of her boys 24/7

so its like constant manipulation and gaslighting on their part. unlike childe they didn't kill their dad either (or they did and faked the incident but still mom believes crepus died by the dragon) so she has a little bit less resentment towards them

not only is mom stuck with one of them at all times but also probably locked in the winery with the employees bribed to not let her out. So mamas getting fucked like 12 times a day, might not even leave the bed on some days

either way i love them both 🥀

Oh yes, that unconditional motherly love is such a captivating concept to deal with in fiction, it's an all-powerful force and causes so much internal conflict. You can't even bring yourself to accept help because despite everything they've done, you don't want him to get hurt.

But also, can you blame Kaeya and Diluc for being vigilant? I mean if mom has recently tried to leave the winery and sneak out for a while like she does, it's not like they can just leave her alone!

Bc she definitely would. Like, they can't be there all the time, they're both very busy men! Some days Diluc has to go to meetings with business partners while Kaeya's still working, so mom is left alone... It's nice, really, alone time is something she gets very little of, time to herself to do whatever she wants! Maybe once a week or so it works out like that and she gets maybe a 9-5 workday to herself, or maybe just a few hours. Of course, the staff still watch her closely, come by to check on her every now and then.

And she makes the most of it, taking the time to catch up on much needed sleep without being groped, take nice long warm baths by herself that don't involve getting bent over the side of the tub or pulled into a lap and fucked in the water. It's heavenly.

But after a while she starts thinking... Wouldn't it be nice to spend that time... Outside? In town? It's been so so so long since she actually went to the actual city of Mondstadt. She misses it, the liveliness and all, you know? And she knows the layout of the estate better than even the employees, including little niches and doors and windows and the like they may not know about... Besides, she's allowed to roam the vineyards a bit, so if staff see her they'll think she's just on a walk, keep a close eye on her as instructed and... She disappeared... Oh no.

So mom finally gets her nice little stroll through the city... It's so good to be around, you know, normal sane people. It feels warm and exciting and real, like she's spent the past few months in a fog, a dream-like haze, a monotonous existence that all blends together and blurs and feels like a bad dream. It's like waking up, feeling energy and liveliness, pulled out of a haze to full clarity and awareness. That is, it makes her realize just how far gone she was, how her mind had begun to deteriorate, and that's... A little frightening.

Which justifies doing it again and again, taking little walks through the city, of course keeping a sharp eye out and being very, very cautious. Still, it's so fun, so enjoyable, brings her happiness.

And it makes her a little more... Spirited. To her sons it seems almost like... Regression. Odd, because it seemed like she was making progress, being so good, but now she's started talking back and giving an attitude every now and then, getting huffy and upset when things don't go her way rather than bowing her head and doing what she's told. She seems a little more energetic. It's odd, but they don't know exactly what could be causing this... But they also start to notice other things. One could swear mom almost smells like... Well, city smells. Smoke and savory scents that come out of restaurants, the earthy smell of stone walls and pavement, or like fresh, outside air. And she has a grass stain on her shoes... Why is she wearing shoes anyway? They normally just sit unused in an old closet... But she forgets to put them back and leaves them right outside the door.

Realistically, it's only a matter of time before it catches up to her. Maybe one returns home early and can't find mom, only for her to come sneaking back through the door while they're panicking. Or, even worse, running into one of them while in the city, leaving her wide eyed in horror and stumbling over her words. Worst of all, one of the winery staff notices her absence and reports it, leading them to set up a fake-out and pretend to leave, wait outside the door for her to come right out and freeze up when she realizes she's fucked up.

They'll definitely put two and two together and figure out that she's been doing this for a while, which just makes things worse since, in her panic, she definitely lies and pretends this was the only time.

She's watched like a hawk after that, they keep an eye out for her in the city, and undoubtedly catch her in the act of trying to sneak out, and that never goes over well. Leads to her getting chained up to the bed where she belongs.

Life is not daijoubu. Motherhood is a struggle, for some of us more than others.

[bigskydreaming]

So Gabe Summers is back as of today’s X-Men Red and I’m reminded all over again why I don’t consider myself a fan of the character, lmfao.

Like I’ll forever be a fan of his POTENTIAL and the character concept he BEGAN as but like.....’actual Vulcan fans’ are all like UGH I HATE WHEN THEY WRITE HIM LIKE STORM CAN ONE-HIT KO HIM and I’m like 10/10 can’t relate cuz I’m like UGH I HATE WHEN THEY WRITE HIM AS A MURDEROUS IMPERIALIST DICTATOR.

He’s like the perfect case study of a character who was literally DESIGNED to have a tragic backstory that made him incredibly sympathetic and let him debut with an established vendetta against both Xavier and the Shi’ar that was completely justifiable.....

And then by the end of his very first story arc he’d done such completely over-the-top terrible things to people who unlike Xavier or the specific Shi’ar he had gripes against HADN’T actually ever done anything to him....that there was no longer anything remotely sympathetic about his character or his grievances.

Its like.

From a narrative standpoint if nothing else.....

WHAT’S EVEN THE POINT OF THAT?

Yes, of COURSE its true that sympathetic backstories aren’t justification for doing terrible things, like just because you were hurt doesn’t mean you get to hurt others, but like....what, you really felt you needed to create a whole character who does nothing BUT embody that specific point?

Its one thing to make that point as part of their narrative, but they made that the ENTIRETY of his narrative, right out the gate, and its like.....I feel like Brubaker thought he was adding nuance to some conversation by being like ‘here’s a guy who yes bad things happened to him and yes he’s awful not because of that but because of the bad things he does’....but....that’s not any more nuanced a take than ‘if your childhood was shitty enough you should be allowed to do whatever you want, as a treat.’

Its just....ridiculously un-nuanced in the other direction, is all? You’ve simply swapped out one bad take for the opposite bad take without changing your actual altitude an inch. That’s a lateral move, my guy.

What if you just created him to be a character who does good things and bad things because of his fucked up and complicated backstory that left him fucked up and complicated, and as PART of his narrative, the point exists that yes, your childhood gets an F- but that doesn’t excuse paying that same energy forward, but that doesn’t have to eclipse literally everything you built into his backstory to MAKE him that way in ways only fictional characters can be designed because they’re not real people making their own real choices.

Because as is, its like....you wrote a story that introduced him as this guy who the Shi’ar and Xavier fucked over massively.....and that’s basically never come up again or gotten any focus SINCE his debut because ever since then, whenever he’s on the page everyone is too busy focusing on how terrible Vulcan is, look, he just murdered another puppy.

I just don’t get the POINT of that degree of...disconnect. Like, what are you even AFTER with this guy, what’s the appeal of even writing him? If you want him to be SO unjustifiable, why did you put so much intent into designing him to be so sympathetic only to then turn around and make him as unsympathetic as possible? If you want him to have at least SOME degree of tragedy, as in ‘he didn’t have to be this way’ (because like, no, he didn’t, there’s SO much more you could have done with his character), then why have you gone to such lengths to leave no room for focus on anything tragic about him because he’s just The Literal Worst?

Like, if you’re going to center a character like this, the framing and context of everything he does ALWAYS has to matter? Like, so, so much? Otherwise.....its just like. Well okay, so that’s a character, I guess. That’s a thing that character did, I guess. There’s never going to be anything deeper than that because its like you went and drained the pool of all possible depth immediately after filling it but still before anyone even had time to get in and splash around. 

You gotta have some kind of LINE with this kind of character, some point at which....oh holy crap, I think I just hit myself in the face with the realization this is the literal theme I’ve been building my entire Greek mythology space opera/Ekidna story around, lmfao how did I NOT put that together until just now, looooooooooool. 

hfalkhflahfklahfklhafklhfal

Can’t believe it took a random Gabe Summers rant to actually put my finger on the specific tentpole idea I’ve been dancing around with it on the tip of my tongue this whole damn time but unable to fully contextualize as being what interests or engages me most about the story and character arcs I’ve been building for this book. LOL why am I like this, science side of tumblr please explain me to me, I don’t get it.

[sokkagatekeeper]

what do you think sokka and katara would think of bakoda? i haven’t seen much thoughtful analysis of it and it always frustrates me bc they’re clearly somewhat resentful of their father for leaving in their own ways so for him to leave, at least in part or in sokka/katara’s young eyes, because of kya’s murder, and then come back in a relationship with a fellow warrior i feel like would be a lot and i can’t see them accepting that so easily

this is like a month old god bless. anyway!

assuming bato and hakoda enter a relationship somewhat during/recently after the war when the wound is still fresh, i do think katara would be resentful of it, like anon said, not bc bato is a man or anything but bc 1. katara is very attached to the memory of her mother, and often gets defensive when she feels the memory of her is being disrespected or dismissed, like when the gaang had been already acclimating to zuko where katara couldn’t separate the image of him from the man who killed her mother and took it as a personal offence bc to katara everything is personal, or when sokka, who lost the same mother the same way, didn’t want revenge the same desperate way katara thought she did, and 2. katara resents her father for leaving them and tells him so, even though she rationally knows leaving was something hakoda had to do given the circumstances, and that he did not leave them willingly, katara does feel betrayed.

for this, i think katara would indeed feel betrayed and hesitant to welcome bato into the family in that particular way rather than a close friend of her father’s, and i do believe she would feel as if the role of her mother was being dismissed once again. she rationally knows, this is not happening, but katara guides herself through her emotions, as u can see. i think she would try to find a shelter in sokka in that sense (bc sokka is dealing with this in his own way just bear with me) since sokka is keeping pretty quiet about the whole thing, and katara obviously feels more comfortable/at ease/confidant/whatever around sokka than hakoda.

she and bato & hakoda would go through a very turbulent period of adaptation for a few months perhaps? (since the situation with hakoda at the start of book three was more urgent and katara hadn’t seen her father in years, she did miss him and didn’t want to be angry at him for so long, this time around katara would feel more safe in her own anger. in my opinion) until katara is ready to open up about how she feels about the entire situation. after this, things do start to settle down in a sort of peace, although i believe bato would still have to work his way into katara’s trust the way she trusted him before for a couple of years.

and because katara and sokka are different people (which so many of you refuse to understand. for some reason??) i think sokka’s reaction would be somewhat different than katara’s in the sense that sokka would put the focus on bato, rather than kya. sokka looks up to hakoda an enormous deal; in sokka’s eyes, hakoda is the prime example of a man, a warrior and a leader, and everything sokka should aspire to be. while he does unlearn to compare every single thing he does to how hakoda would do them and learns to value his own personal qualities for what they are independant of the idea of his father, the idolization of his person will always sort of be there existing deep down in sokka’s brain.

sokka also deals with a bunch of internalized homophobia throughout the show given his previous belief that women couldn’t be strong and men couldn’t be weak and so anything that broke that norm was fundamentally flawed. the idea of hakoda, sokka’s picture perfect of a man and masculinity, is in love with and dating another man would indeed mess with sokka a little bit. i believe he would need some time to consider the situation and reconcile his idea of hakoda with the man that hakoda actually is, sokka’s own bisexuality with hakoda’s, the entire concept of masculinity itself again, just many dots to connect. he stays quiet about it, maybe cracks a few jokes, represses any conflicting feelings he could have about kya and bato. then again beyond the idolization of hakoda that sokka makes, he also feels more at ease with katara than with hakoda bc they basically raised each other, so he would also put a lot of focus on how katara feels about this entire thing, which hakoda & bato might misunderstand as sokka feeling the exact same way as katara which is. an issue.

sokka comes to his senses eventually, probably after a talk with hakoda about his relationship with bato and how he dealt with the entire thing, and moves on as if nothing had happened. while initially katara would be hurt and angry, sokka would be confused and conflicted. while katara grows more and more accepting and understanding with time, sokka... well!

sokka has a tendency to repress his negative emotions. while he does complain about trivial inconveniences, he never brings up the things that actually affect him. he doesn’t show any resentment towards hakoda for leaving, but he does have reasons to be resentful. sokka’s problem throughout the show is that he doesn’t understand that he’s a child and deserved to have a childhood. he puts all the responsibility he must on his shoulders and deals with it the way he can, he never gets angry about this burden of his like katara does, yknow, like any eldest sibling. it would take a long while before sokka is ready to understand that what he went through was unfair and that he’s allowed to grieve his mother and be angry at hakoda for leaving him in charge of an entire community at the age of 13. while i have my doubts on whether or not sokka would even allow himself to have this (as like, an eldest sibling myself) i do allow myself a little wishful thinking. so when that entire weight of those years of unfairness hit sokka, this might have an effect on his feelings & perspective on hakoda’s relationship w/ bato, but i can’t rlly imagine any specifics of this scenario, merely the reason why this would happen at all. then again this is just speculation, so who’s to say!!

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

i saw your post about Charles and what his personality past and part in the story line so i was wondering if u could do the same for vlad? :)

Ah, well, I can at least let you know what I’ve seen so far? I haven’t delved too far into Vlad, and some of his general impressions can be confusing, so I’ll do my best to make it sensible and unbiased! Here you go lovely <33333

Fair warning, there will be mentions of a lot of JPN app content since Vlad and his boys aren’t around much in the ENG app yet.

My general sense of Vlad is basically discount vampire Sasuke Uchiha.

What I mean by this is to say–according to what I’ve read so far–his clan/family were murdered by vampire hunters in cold blood when he was just a young boy. Presumably as a result of that traumatic event, he harbors a sizable enmity towards humanity and kind of lashes out on them in weirdly specific moments of violence. Another aspect of his motivation is something that’s mentioned within Comte’s route; which is that Vlad went through the timespace door on his own one day and allegedly saw a devastated future, where nothing remains of life on earth more or less.

I guess the reason I find him to be so perplexing is that he speaks about his actions in terms of efficiency, while most of the things he does just feel like unhappy outbursts (v often a product of unresolved trauma symptoms, I’d wager.) I also say this because he appears to have no larger pattern to his fury beyond the original event of his loss. Most of the human beings he attacks aren’t much of a threat to him and hurting them really doesn’t bring him any dividends beyond revenge.

For instance, he insists his disdain for humanity and insistence on controlling them is for the sake of ensuring they do not destroy the future–the horrifying wasteland he witnessed when he traveled through the timespace door. However, I’m not really sure how his current movements really speak to that goal? I mean sure, maybe he’s relying on Faust to create an immortal human so that humans will be forced to care because it will be their future too, but he doesn’t allow Faust to draw his pureblood blood for experimenting. (One can most certainly argue this was more about a lack of trust, and perhaps for plenty reason: Faust is vindictive enough to try to turn the tables and exert control over Vlad, or act on his own whims with his findings.) But if that’s the solution he’s waiting on, turning the rivals of the men in the mansion doesn’t really bring him any closer to that vision either? I mean, what good does it do to bring back Gilles de Rais–a prominent French serial killer? How would unleashing him on the populace help humanity “realize the error of it’s short-sighted and wasteful ways” and move to a brighter future?

Can’t help it, I ask these questions as I read.

In Comte’s main story, Comte hammers home that Vlad is not somebody to be taken lightly. One day when MC goes out to buy flowers, Vlad poses as a human florist to sell them to her–which is how Comte finds out he’s in France, and that he’s made contact with MC. When prompted, Comte describes him in a very particular way; and I think people really overlook this when they talk about their relationship. He says that Vlad is frighteningly pure in terms of the way he thinks and acts. The way I understood his description (given what I’ve seen of Vlad) is that Comte really does mean it point blank: Vlad is very simple in terms of why and how he does things. The issue with this is that nuance and context are lost on Vlad as well–and that’s where the problems start to flood in. Vlad is angry at humanity for what they’ve done to him. Baseline? That’s fair, they killed his damn family. However, Vlad thinks that by extension he has the right to decimate the general public and attack people completely uninvolved in his hurt.

And that isn’t right either–it’s ignoring so many factors here. He’s ignoring how much vampires use and toy with humans as pawns, it’s ignoring the massive power imbalance between him and his victims (this really isn’t a case of self-defense most of the time, nobody but Comte/Leo is a sizable threat to him), and he’s ignoring whether or not a person even did anything to deserve his retributive violence. While murder is never okay, it is perhaps more understandable when we see Jeanne’s frenzied and violent belligerence in response to a man who murders a boy’s mother for the sake of his own amusement/convenience. Vlad literally sees almost every single one of the rivals he created begin to heal/improve and murders them in cold blood because they are no longer of any use to him. That’s uh……..that’s a little messed, not gonna lie to you chief.

While part of me understands the efficiency here–he doesn’t want to leave any traces of his involvement, he doesn’t want any loose ends–it’s also just kind of foolish and cruel ultimately. From my understanding of the narrative, all the people he turned had some visible sign that indicated their origin to Comte. So even if he claims it was for the sake of concealment, it was more likely about his personal convenience. Which…..also yikes.

[Comte clearly does not trust Vlad to be reasonable, and I think there’s plenty of good reason enumerated above, but I actually don’t sense quite so much hatred? I think he’s just given up on the idea of Vlad growing up, even if he doesn’t like giving up on people. And considering Vlad’s behavior, I think it’s overkill to say that Comte just abandons him because he doesn’t care lmao. Even when Comte expresses real anger at the end of his own route, it was more because Vlad was fine with endangering MC’s life just to get back at him. I think Comte’s unhappiness with Vlad has more to do with Vlad’s treatment of human life as meaningless and worthless. It’s fascinating but also kind of sad? Vlad’s traumatic experience results in behavior that is a direct exacerbation of Comte’s trauma, and as such--no matter their potentially fond history--they can’t stomach each other.]

In Comte’s route, Vlad also has Shakespeare abduct MC and take her to the cathedral. Later on in the castle, we see an immediate display of Vlad’s shocking powers: he has the ability to manipulate people’s desires/thoughts. I’m not exactly sure how this works, but he is able to give MC visions of the mansion and Comte coming on to her–which shocks her into realizing it’s all just a dream. It’s not reality; it’s all manufactured by Vlad.

After that...weird introductory note...Vlad gives MC the rundown on his life together with Comte, which as always is subject to a question of bias. My assumption is that he did not lie, only because he was trying to convince MC that he was “right.” Furthermore, he does not omit the most damning evidence of his erroneous judgement, which suggests a continued inability for him to see where he went wrong.

We get a series of three flashbacks. The first is them as young kids. I don’t know if Vlad had already experienced the horrors of his family being destroyed, but this particular flashback focuses on Comte. His parents, in an effort to teach him that vampires and humans have no ability to co-exist, send away all of his teachers/mentors/nannies/the servants--pretty much everyone and anyone he was closely bonded to. Think about it this way: we can see that Comte is very sociable and affectionate by nature. He was living in a house full of people, all of whom cared about him and looked after him in their own way. Now the house is entirely empty. Naturally Comte is very very upset, and Vlad appears to try to cheer him up with little success. 

[When I look back on this scene I don’t think I initially registered the sheer dissonance of Vlad’s reaction, versus Comte’s catatonic misery. There was a very solemn feeling to that memory, and the correct choice in terms of extending comfort is to hold his hand believe it or not. There is a sense that he feels very alone. When young boy Vlad enters one can argue that it was the proper thing to do; he was trying to cheer up his playmate and friend. But at the same time, I think I need to double check. Because I’m beginning to wonder if I was wrong. What if Vlad was happy to see someone as alone as him, and that joy is accordingly dissonant for that reason? He can’t see what Comte needs or how he’s hurting because he’s so glad he isn’t alone anymore in a way.]

The second flashback is the war nurse scene that I have spoken at length about. The important thing to focus on here is Vlad’s surprise that Comte would opt out of turning her out of respect for her wishes. The way Vlad frames the situation is starkly different from Comte’s. Comte sees himself as an outsider, somebody who invaded her life as a result of the timespace door and therefore has no right to suddenly change the course of her fate. He had no idea if she even wanted to live (considering the horrors she’d have to cope with and remember) or leave that time period at all, for that matter (considering the only thing keeping her going was helping the wounded/victims). Comte really was listening to everything she had to say, and he was taking her concerns and motivations seriously. 

Vlad simply says: if you want her, take her. It’s as simple as that for him. And in one way that’s not entirely wrong--assuming Comte would have every intention of looking after her and actually cares a lot about her. But what’s being ignored here is her agency and the fact that they really don’t know each other that well? Something like that could begin and be rocky, if it doesn’t end in complete disaster. Worse, I get the feeling Vlad is perfectly fine with the notion of turning her and if things don’t work out, just kill her or get rid of her. Again, the simplistic thinking comes into play here: it ultimately comes down to Vlad being self-centered. He’s thinking only in terms of satisfying his needs, he doesn’t seem to have any concept of a larger pair or group feeling. There’s an inability to bend/be flexible for the sake of maintaining a greater harmonious feeling. 

[For the record, I don’t think this makes him irredeemable? Only that it makes it very hard to live with him or love him, probably. There’s an inability to live at a joint pace? It’s always answering to what he wants without room for anything else most of the time, which to me is not living and it’s not love ;;;;]

Following their escape back to their own time, Vlad explains how he wants to use the door to turn geniuses and control humanity. He eventually wants to create a surveillance state, which would mean everyone is forced to move with his explicit approval, more or less. (He almost reminds me of Louis XIV, can’t tell if that’s what they were going for.) I have my doubts that his abilities could extend that far, but human history shows us that we are plenty susceptible to fascist and totalitarian rhetoric. In a shocking display of anger, Comte draws the line at controlling humanity and forcing them into a regime in which, and this is Vlad’s description not mine, “we (purebloods) would be like kings.” There’s definitely a concept of evolutionary superiority at play here, which echoes what I mentioned earlier; vampires seem to have this awareness that they’re apex predators in a sense, and enjoy the power that comes with that. Unfortunately, that probably makes for a fairly toxic/uncomfortable larger species culture, which is exactly what Comte and Leo hate lmao.

Vlad does not seem to find any issue with this sort of outlook, and asks MC to decide which of them--Vlad or Comte--is right. Who is more realistic, who best understands the future? As expected the MC replies that it's Comte, and Vlad goes from beseeching to big mad at record speed. He's p much that gif of the teddy bear that smacks its head down on the tables and then has the angry eyebrows.

This is where Comte intervenes, firing a warning shot that grazes Vlad's cheek and demanding he let MC go. In response, Vlad shoves MC into the turbulent timespace door--p much guaranteeing MC's death. (Essentially timespace is a void of sorts, a human being could never survive in that environment for long. Vlad fully knew this, and yeeted her anyway.)

So uh, yeah. Disagreement? Death. Moving on? Death. Nuanced approach to reality? Death. Beginning to think he doesn't really have a lot of patience or open-mindedness or any other kind of problem-solving approach. 

He raises flowers and gardens like a fiend, and he openly plucks any single flower with a blemished leaf. Even if a single petal is slightly damaged, it will be removed and destroyed. So one could argue his extremism reflects a kind of perfectionism as well. No room for errors or troublesome dissent. No ugliness of any kind. I mean in all of his interactions with Faust and Charles this is the overt undertone. Don't ask more of me than I'm willing to give. Behave like good children, mommy's busy. Is that insubordination? boss music begins

One thing I actually don't understand very well is his decision making in Dazai's route. Dazai finds out about what Vlad's doing in a nanosecond when he senses MC is in danger, and yet Vlad makes absolutely no move to eliminate Dazai? He just watches from the shadows. Even when Dazai grills Charles about his loyalty to Vlad, no retribution.

My best guess for this specific situation is that Vlad does derive some level of satisfaction thwarting the future of human beings/former humans. Dazai--being somebody with no great desire to live, no rivals to speak of as far as we can tell, and no larger aspirations--is a life that is easily extinguished. There's no satisfaction in it. When Vlad's clan was murdered and he saw the future decimated, it could be that he felt humans had invaded and eradicated every potentiality that was important to him. Where he might have lived happily with his family, that future was ripped from his grasp. Where he might enjoy his flowers and the creation of an immortal for the rest of conceivable time, that too was ripped from his grasp with a desolate future. 

So much about who Vlad is is about control, so it's very possible his lashing out is an extension of that. Dazai does not awaken any of the disdain he feels, and he does not succeed in overthrowing Vlad's control over Charles, so Vlad simply lurks in silence.

And last but not least, I've seen the preview to Vlad's newest birthday event story. The contents are incredibly revealing, in that MC wishing him a happy birthday and offering him a gift has him saying that it was "the best birthday ever." Granted idk if that’s sweet or just...beyond sad, but here we are. It’s only compounding my curiosity about the wound on his chest--I really do wonder if he was attacked and locked away by vampire hunters or hostile human beings or something. I say that only because that line speaks to a lot of isolation, and given how little he seems to care about turning people/subjecting them to his whims it feels odd. Why the isolation or lack of people who care about him? Is it a perceived lack where his actions alienated all the people who wanted to be close to him, or is it a more involuntary lack?

When she says let’s celebrate again next year, he seems a pleasantly shocked by the notion, and remarks “Ah yes, it’s a promise c:”. The preview was also mega horny: “You make me feel so loved, I don’t think I can be gentle with you tonight. If you enjoy it so much, then I won’t stop. I want to see you completely lost for me. I’ll teach your body what it means to be loved by a pureblood.” Aaaaaand pretty sure the CG was alluding to him licking the good stuff from her basement, though not entirely sure given it was only the preview. 

The brief POV they give us is also very revealing:

“You always keep your promises, and I think I underestimate all the time how much you saved me. You are good, only you are good in this world.”

“Will we continue to make promises to each other in the future? Well in that case--you will always, always be mine, my vampire.”

Tbh he’s...v sweet? In his own way? Honestly he feels like a crabapple that is just so sick of the world and wants softe wife to take comfort in. While granted that’s not really my thing, I know a fanbase appeal exists for these types--so if that’s your thing, have at it!

So now that we have reached the end of my ridiculously long analysis (when am I ever brief, I’m so sorry. If you made it all the way here you deserve a cookie at the very least, if not the right to chase me with a bat) perhaps it’s more clear why I said discount vampire Sasuke Uchiha? “My clan is gone, every other second I’m going to be in retraumatization insanity, when I’m not I’ll be seeking power/hobbies, planning the demise of people who wanted the best for me, building a team to my advantage and unquestioned control, and eventually settling for a lifelong love who sees the best in me despite my more difficult moments and perceived hollowing loneliness. Not the most ideal comparison, but I will say if Vlad was not already named the historical figure, would have pointed and yelled Uchiha.

That’s all from me folks, hopefully this was a fun way to get introduced to him? And again, hope I didn’t alienate--I fully respect what people do and don’t enjoy o7

[inknopewetrust]

In Another Universe Part 3 (Marcus Moreno x Reader)

Summary: You are trying to normalize a world without Marcus, months after you snapped back to Earth. But in that other universe, an accident occurs in their mission to bring you back.

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader (We Can Be Heroes/MCU Crossover)

Word Count: 2.08k

Warnings: Nothing, just some language. 

A/N: So... it’s embarrassing how long this part took to be published. If you’ll except an apology, I’ll be the first to beg for forgiveness. On the other hand... here’s part 3! Part 4 will be the conclusion of this miniseries so thank you for reading thus far and stay tuned for that. Right now requests are CLOSED but I am going to open them again soon when I get through the ones I have waiting and I’ll be adding L&O:SVU characters to the list. :)

Pain is a difficult concept to understand. 

There are infinite reasons to feel a certain kind of pain or to be in a specific kind of pain, but no one can truly understand it until it happens to them. Which in the case of you, is no one. 

At some point during the last five months, you had made a move to Clint’s farm. James thought it would be better for you to not be in the city where your closest friends were gone and weren’t returning. It was the constant memories of Natasha holding your hand when things got rough or Tony obnoxiously slapping you on the shoulder in a message of congratulations. 

There were so many memories that simply seeped through the walls, both physically and metaphorically, but it wasn’t as if a move was going to change that. All you wanted was to move, home, to Marcus and Missy and the life you had built in what James had called ‘Earth 2.’ 

Earth 2. 

Earth 2 was the only Earth that mattered to you and his deflection of it being secondary to the one that only caused pain was hurtful. But it wasn’t like he was going to understand that. So, you took up the offer to move to Clint’s farm and the second you landed and walked off the jet, you regretted the decision. 

Clint was surrounded by love. His wife, his daughter, his sons. They were everything and nothing to you at the same time. Clint had his own problems to deal with upon meeting a young woman who took up skills like his own and often left you with Laura and his children. 

Laura kept you occupied with small projects as they were renovating the barn and their basement, but it was just as mundane as the topics of conversation she tried to engage in. But with even the slightest mention of Nat, or Steve, or Tony, or the world you left behind, you shut down. 

It was intentional, but it wasn’t avoidable. Pain wasn’t avoidable when it was buried so deep. 

But there were the occasional good days. Like today. 

Laura had taken the boys to soccer practice and promised Lila a day out at the aquarium. She extended the offer to you but she never thought you would accept. When you did, she was pleasantly surprised and also promised she would pay for lunch too. It was rare that you would pass up the opportunity to snag a free lunch because you obliged and allowed her to plan the day. 

‘Maybe a day out would be good.’ You thought to yourself as you readied everything to go. For the first time in months you put effort into your appearance. A bit of makeup, nicer clothes, and shoes that weren’t scuffed or covered in dirt from the non-existent basement floor. 

And for what it was worth, the day was good. You allowed yourself to just enjoy, learn, and watch a mother interact with her daughter and in turn, the daughter made you feel like the aunt Clint had always told her you were. Lila saw the effort and wanted to make you feel as welcome and as loved as possible. 

And as the cracks of a broken soul begin to slowly merge together–where time would surely heal it to properly function again, a wrench is thrown to stop it. 

James Rhodes wasn’t sure how it exactly happened.

He had been standing against a lab table, watching Clint (the only other resident at the compound at the moment) work on his bow. The two were making small conversation about their day to day lives since everything had gone down just a few months ago. While Clint had just finished installing a replacement valve on the base of the basket that held his arrows. It hadn’t been turning properly and the only place that would have the parts was Tony’s former playground. Then an earthquake occurred... or what they could equate to an earthquake.

Neither of them had ever been a witness to one, but the ground shook violently, quickly, with little give. Parts fell off tables and the two men grabbed at whatever they could to remain steady. By the time they had steadied themselves, the movement stopped. It was followed then, only then, by a loud crashing noise about a floor below and glass breaking. Clint was the first to reach for his bow and James grabbed the closest gun he could find. Neither of them thought anything other than “my god, what Thanos level shit is it now.”

Like the sleuth heroes they were, they managed to silently exit the lab and descend the stairs without so much as a creek. The living space that was located on the third floor was relatively untouched but the sound had echoed from the room. As soon as they turned around from the steps, they realized their suspicions were correct but it didn’t look like a Thanos level threat.

Behind the couch, the broken lamp that had no bulb laid on the ground beside a man. A man dressed in black tactical gear and swords sheathed on his back. He had other small weapons on his clothes but none of them were drawn and from the reflection of the glass window, Clint could see a perplexed look on his seemingly worn face. Although he didn’t feel the man was particularly threatening, Clint drew up his bow and held it steady from his position before calling out to him.

“Put your hands where I can see them.”

Cheesy, he knew it was but he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know where the hell this guy came from and he could easily be a sorcerer or God even though he looked like a regular Joe.

“Sir, I need you to show us your hands!” James was more assertive from behind Clint but didn’t move from his position. Ever since the accident years ago, James took a step back whenever he didn’t have his armor on.

The man had flinched a bit upon hearing their voices. He slowly raised his hands as asked and turned around to meet the eyes of two men who he had never met. Their weapons drawn on him but not unfamiliar to other situations he had been in before. This time, it was just more human.

“Who are you?” The one with short hair, a bow, asked him with a hesitant, gruff voice.

“Where am I?”

The man spoke their language—maybe not an alien.

“I asked you first who are you?”

“Where am I? Where is-“

“I do not want to have to shoot you, who are you?” James was aggravated, perhaps a little scared but he wouldn’t shoot unless the man made any aggressive moments toward them.

“M-Marcus. My name is Marcus.” Marcus’ voice was firm but scared. He didn’t know where he was. It was all an accident. One minute he was testing the machine and the next he was moving through a kaleidoscope of colors until he saw a blinding light and landed on a lamp in the middle of a futuristic looking living room.

There was a moment of realization in the bow-wielders face that gave Marcus a second of hope. Had this really worked? Was this your world?

“Alright Marcus, I am going to need you to tell me where you came from and how you got here.” The one with the gun in Marcus’ eyes began to move around the one with bow. He held out his hand calmly, signaling to Marcus that he wasn’t a threat but was protecting himself and his friend out of precaution. Marcus did not move his hands but nodded in agreement. What did he have to hide when he was now in an unfamiliar land with weapons pointed at his chest? 

“I don’t know how I got here. I work for a team and we were trying to get someone back. I was working on it but something went wrong.” 

“Do you know where you are?” 

“No.” 

“Who are you looking for?” 

“Our teammate.” 

Clint knew it was him. This had to have been the man you talked about with him and James was getting that sense as well. He was exactly as you spoke, handsome with a slight carelessness to his appearance. He had a mustache and his name was literally Marcus. It couldn’t have been anyone else, though they had no idea how in the universe he found his way to the middle of the Avengers living room. 

“Marcus, I am going to ask you a series of questions I need you to be honest with me.” Clint put down his bow this time and James looked at him with wide eyes but continued to hold his stance. 

“Does your world look like this one?” 

Marcus took a second to let his eyes drift out the windows around them. The world looked similar, almost an exact copy. He had remembered your startled realization that his world was just as similar to your own even though it wasn’t the same one. It was a strange concept that was hard to grapple with. 

“Yes.” 

“Do you have a daughter, Marcus?” 

“What?” This absolutely terrified him. As much as he wanted to be hopeful to find you, a mention of his daughter in a new world was not what he wanted. Now the question if he even escaped his own world and found himself in a new one was wavering. These people couldn’t possibly know he had a daughter unless they were familiar with the Heroics. 

“Do you have a daughter? I need you to answer this so I can-” 

“Yes. Yes, I have a daughter.” 

“Missy?” 

Marcus nodded his head and Clint looked at James who lowered his gun now. This was that Marcus. This was your Marcus and he was here to find you. 

“And what can you tell me about Y/n?” 

His heart leapt out of his chest with a fury at the mention of your name. 

“She’s my-my she’s-” 

Clint nodded his head and officially dropped his bow before extending his hand for Marcus to shake. 

“My name is Clint Barton, maybe she mentioned me, I don’t know. But she’s talked plenty about you.” 

“She’s here?” It came out just above a whisper as he met Clint’s hand. 

“Y/n is with my wife at our farm. I can take you to her.” 

It was like that final stretch of battle you had described to him before. This was his endgame, his chance for peace with you and the friends you left behind for years are willing to help make that come true. Much to his word, Clint prepared a jet to set off to the farm and James kept Marcus from stirring alone in his thoughts. It wasn’t as if the reunion would be soured because the relationship ended, no, quite the opposite, but the idea that maybe you would rather stay with the people who you had always been around was an invasive thought. James had eased those thoughts with stories of your return and subsequent difficultly to adapt to this life. That wasn’t an easy thing to hear, but it meant that somewhere inside you, you believed that life was better with Missy and himself. 

James reassured him that you were very much in love with him. You had told the two of them about your “other” life, about the team, Missy, Mrs. Moreno, and everyone else who made that other world home. 

Home. 

By the time James had gotten around to recalling the moment you had realized you loved Marcus, Clint had come back, gathered his own bags and motioned to the jet. 

“Looks like he’s ready to go.” James said and gave Marcus a friendly pat on the shoulder. 

“She deserves to be happy and I know with you she’ll have that. It’s what they would have wanted.” 

“Thank you for your help. I don’t think I would have found her otherwise.” Marcus chuckled but couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face. It was a contagious one because the two men couldn’t help but feel the love the radiated off the man. They were happy for you and if leaving this world for another meant you would finally be at peace, then that is what it meant. 

“Go get her, Marcus.” 

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

Tag list for series: 

@pasckles @jupitersmooneuropa @agingerindenial @karnita-mexicana @mcueveryday @shadowolf993 @computeringturtle @roxypeanut​

[the-last-cuddlebender]

Blood In A Blacklight

Katara has a criminal empire to run, a family to protect, and plenty of shadows from the past who want to tear it all down.

Part 1: The Wind Howls (1/2) - She has him back, and everything should be perfect now, but it’s not. She’s more worried than ever. And she hasn’t slept in days.

********************************

A/N: Mafiosa!Katara and Gaang™ gang because I want it and am willing it into existence. Basically took “Sokka and I, we’re your family now” and made my take on a bending-mafia-families AU lmao

Words: 1,748

********************************

Katara punished her book for the weather and nearly tore it when she flipped the page. The words blurred again. She glared, hoping to become a firebender and burn a hole through the damn thing.

The door opened without a knock, and the frame of her vision shook, bordering on crimson. Mercy was still a foreign concept, and nearly ninety-six hours awake had mutilated her ‘moral code’ into watery dough. A few twitches of her fingers closed her hand around veins and arteries, but her bending recognized her intruder’s old blood and fresh wounds before she could register why her power wasn’t listening. It was worse than a tranquilizer. Worse than chloroform in a black alley. Aang’s heartbeat pinned her to her seat and ripped out her fangs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Katara remembered that time was a thing that would still pass whether or not she kept breathing. Fresh rain met the wall of windows behind her. Her thumb dragged over the ear of the page. She crawled into the dull thump of his heartbeat and sank into her chair, hiding in his rhythm like it was a cave.

The soft click of the door startled her like it was a strike of lightning, stuttering her breath and rallying her instincts to probe for the nearest skein of water. She shifted, impatient for him to be closer, waiting for enemies to burst from the shadows.

She re-read the same paragraph until he limped — badly, on the left side — to her desk. He paused, thinned Katara’s sanity, and sat in one of the leather chairs across from her. His silence filled the room with static. The full moon taunted her with power for all the wrong problems. The storm put a distance of hisses and low rumbles between them, bleating her pulse against the drums of her ears.

“What are you doing?” Aang gently asked.

Katara propped her head on her fist, her voice like paint peeling from the side of an old ship. “I’m reading.”

“You’ve been staring at that page for seven minutes.”

“I’m reading slowly.”

“You’re sulking.”

She almost looked up. “I am not sulking.”

“And now you’re lying.”

Something made a spark, and Katara slammed her book, still open, on her desk. “I am not lying.”

Her almost-shout did things that the thunder could only dream of, but before Katara could retreat, Aang leaned forward, onto her desk, mirroring her posture and leaving inches between their faces. It brought the smell of the wind in his clothes, and his element tickled her frayed hair from her cheek. His presence was warm. In every way. Warm hues, warm feelings, warm heartbeat, warm memories—

It took longer for the crimson to leave her vision this time. The thin wound wasn’t the worst, but it was the most noticeable, crawling across his face and over the bridge of his nose like a comet touching from beneath one eye to under the other. It was a bleach-white horizon that his eyes sat just above, but what he leveled her with didn’t allow her the freedom to consider her to-kill list in detail.

Katara had been shot, captured, tortured, ransomed, and used as a bartering chip far more times than she dared to remember, but even oceans would part for the look that Aang gave her when she tried to dance around the truth with him and win. She scowled, not that it helped her. Intensity clouded his eyes in a smokescreen, and grey irises darted in short, sharp glances that wouldn’t have been noticeable if he was any further away.

Katara’s finger itched to turn the page. Aang’s breathing had been steady, but when he exhaled again, closing his eyes, it took the strength out of his shoulders and kicked her in the chest.

“You promised you would stop looking into this.”

Katara snapped the book shut and set it aside. “I told you to stay away from the hospital.”

“I had to see her. And you went there, too.”

He didn’t mention a name, but still, Katara’s nails dug into her hands and threatened to draw blood. She seethed, but her fire didn’t phase him. Always him. Only him. Even in her office she was powerless.

Lips pulled into a tight line, she took a calming breath and held it, waiting for it to start working. Aang didn’t look away. His smokescreen was looking more like a storm and shone lightning like steel blades clashing.

She knew what her glare did to good men, and she knew it didn’t work on him, but she looked away all the same. Her eyes found the book, and the pins and needles from her held breath suddenly became the cold gasps of a child who couldn’t run fast enough. She saw the splintering of ancient wooden doors and the darkness that spilled from them. She felt the ice of new irons and the strain they put on growing bones.

And the screams. There should have been screams…

Katara blinked and was back in her office, greeted by the sheets of bullets on her windows and the warm heat of Aang’s attention. She looked at him. He was the same as her gaze had left him.

She didn’t mean to sound so defeated, but she was so tired of losing. “What were you thinking, Aang?”

“Katara, you’re scared and angry and hurt and I get it, but you don’t have to save me anymore. I’m right here.”

“I can’t sit by and do nothing. If I don’t fight for you, then no one will.”

She had seen men recoil from a bullet through the heart, but Aang caught himself just before the stage of crumpling to the ground. His gaze dropped, staggering to her necklace and then to her desk. “…I guess you’re right.”

Katara scrambled to pick up his pieces. “That’s not what I—”

“I know.” He splayed his palm, pretending to read the lines. “You didn’t mean it.”

Lightning lit up the room, like a picture being taken. Katara combed back her hair, fiddling with her low ponytail, and gave up trying to keep her empty hands occupied. “Can you just—” She grabbed the air like she could hold onto the problem. “Can you just promise me that you won’t do something like that again? Please?”

It was the closest she had ever — ever — come to begging, but Aang kept his eyes on his palm. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m not one of your goons to boss around,” he said, still without looking up, though his brow furrowed with a small crease.

“At least they know their limits. None of this would have happened if you had just let me handle it. This is my family, and that includes you, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t belong to you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because you need me, too,” he said, with a soft voice that could shake a stadium. “And I might just be a speedbump to knock you on your ass and make you think twice before you do it anyways, but you’re my family too.”

The silence yawned, hissing with a thick but fine sheet of rain. If it weren’t for her desk, Katara would have hugged him. Probably. Doubt opened a pit in her belly, and her throat threatened to seal shut. Instinct and intuition went to war and left her with the sinking feeling that touching him would just prove how far away he was.

Aang still didn’t look up from his hand. Katara tried to find the right words and, more importantly, how to say them, but all she could manage after so many years of lying was a tender inflection of his name. “Aang…”

“They made me forget your face,” he said, deflating like saying it out loud finally made the scars real. His voice was watery, broken on the last vowel, and took a sledgehammer to Katara’s chest. “And now you…” He gestured. “Now you’re there and I’m here and…” The word died. He paused, then dragged his eyes up to hers. “You think of them when you look at me, so I see them, too. They scare me. And now you scare me. And I don’t want to be scared of you because I don’t want to stop looking at you. But it scares me. A lot.”

“I…Aang, I’m sorry—”

“I know. I know,” he said as he stood. His eyes roamed her empty desk, trying to find something of hers and settling on the book, which broke what was left of him. “…You didn’t mean it.”

Katara stood, but the desk was still in the way. “Aang, wait—”

“I'm going to take a walk to…,” he trailed, more in his own thoughts than in her office. “…I’ll get Zuko so you don’t worry.”

She should have gone after him. She should have done something, but her legs were pillars of cement. The door bled fluorescent yellow light into her twilight and took him, in his red and orange robes from across the world, with it.

Something cold crawled out of the old attic of where her heart was supposed to be. It cracked, weaving thin white scars — like his — in a web across her vision. She braced herself on the desk. There was nowhere to hide. No heartbeat. Not even a wound to distract her with its pain. She closed her eyes and bared her teeth and wished she had the strength to cry without him. Just this once, without him. She was so full and so empty and on the verge of combustion—

Something broke, something small, like a cornerstone, and Katara plopped into her chair. She breathed just like he taught her and eventually rubbed her face. Her bones ached. Everything ached. She was so tired of losing. She just wanted to sleep without knowing that she would wake up, still stuck in her worst nightmare.

Thunder growled above the city. Katara picked up the book. It was blurry, no matter how much she blinked. She dragged her nail over the scuff marks, feeling the minute pilling of old leather like a topographic map of the past.

Aang’s absence reminded her why she was reading, but she wasn’t sure if she could anymore. The book took on the weight of a planet, her arms even moreso.

Realization dawned slowly, like a dog attack in slow motion. The thought was a shadow bleeding out of the tall grass to fill her stomach with ice.

She peeled open the pages, praying to whoever would answer.

It burned. It burned like fire never could. It ate her away from the inside out, like cinders consuming a dry leaf in the time it took to blink.

The raindrops became smaller, like a mist, and gently brushed the windows. Standing was a miracle, but Katara dragged her feet around her desk, falling into Aang’s chair.

It was warm, like his shadow always was. She crawled into the footprint his life left behind, imagining his heartbeat in the hug of plush leather and the smell of salt and sand that reminded her where home was. Katara told herself to breathe and sank into the reasons why. Her legs curled beneath her, like when she was a girl, back when she wore her mother’s dresses to imagine herself a hero and not in three-piece suits to mask bloodstains.

She read the book slowly, from the beginning again, trying to love even the words that hurt. When lightning struck, she held it closer, trying to protect it, even though she knew that she couldn’t.

********************************

.

.

Don’t know if I described it well enough, but Aang’s ‘scar’ (quotes because it eventually seals up into a thin line) is supposed to be like the bottom arch of the Yu Yan archers’ tattoos.

[all-my-love-for-harry]

Dirty computer.

summary: in order to clean the world, humans need to be cleaned too.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: angst, fluff, use of needles.

a/n: this concept is heavily inspired by Janelle Monae's Dirty Cumputer. Which means, I do not take credit of the idea at all, i just thought it would be an interesting context to write my first AU. Hope you like it, please let me know what you think! 

italics mean flashbacks.

you can find the rest of my masterlist here

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

They start calling human beings computers, and people started vanishing and with that, the cleaning began. If you were different, you were dirty. If you refused to live the way they dictated, you were dirty. And if you were dirty… it was just only a matter of time until they find you.

No one knew how they did it, one day you’d only disappear without leaving any trace that you were once there.

Y/N felt the cold metal she was laying on before she saw it, her eyes feeling too sensitive to flutter open, despite her tries. She felt how the table started moving, placing her in a vertical position, and that’s when she finally opened her eyes.

A person dressed in a white bodysuit and a gas mask covers their face was in front of her, looking at her in the eye while they placed some sort of helmet on her head. She was too scared and disorientated to protest, so she limited herself to observe how the same person backed off after putting the helmet on her.

She wanted to ask where was she, who and why they took her, but before any sort of noise could leave her mouth, a voice was heard in the room.

“You will repeat after me. Your name is Y/N 57821.” The voice sounded… emotionless. Almost robotic.

“My name is… Y/N 57821.” She repeated, confusion adorning her features.

“I am a dirty computer.” Y/N furrowed. A what?

Despite her confusion and growing desperation, she repeated. “I am a dirty computer.”

“I am ready to be cleaned.”

“I…I” She hesitated.

“I am ready to be cleaned.” The voice said again, forcing her to repeat the words. However, Y/N stayed quiet. “Unfortunately, my dear. Cleaners please initiate the nevermind.” She commanded.

Y/N wasn’t able to see it, but behind the glass on the wall there were two people watching from a monitor, waiting for the order to begin with the cleaning. One of them pushed a button and suddenly there was gas coming out of holes in the wall. Her pulse raised as she tried to move, but failed. Y/N could feel how the gas was entering her nostrils and she began panicking.

The men behind the glass scrolled through what looked like a compilation of memories that only existed in her head, lurking through her memory data until they clicked one.

83 DAYS AGO.

[MEMORY 293297]

        PLAY MEMORY?

YES.                             NO.

The music coming out from the speakers was loud, and the destination of their ride wasn’t clear yet. What was clear was the tight grip Harry had on Y/N’s hand, occasionally bringing it up to his lips to place little kisses on her knuckles.

She’d giggle every time, allowing herself to close her eyes and enjoy the moment she was living with her lover. Driving down the coast, the breeze of the ocean made her hair fly everywhere and at Harry’s eyes, there’s nothing more beautiful than the woman next to him.

“Have you ever wanted to get… lost?” she asked, turning to look at him.

Harry turned his head towards her for a second before looking back at the road. “Have you?”

“Sometimes, yeah.” She admitted. “But I wouldn’t disappear without telling you.”

“We can always disappear together.”

A big smile formed on her face as she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders the best she could considering the angle. Y/N attacked Harry’s face with dozens of little kisses, making him chuckle and try to kiss her back every time her lips would land on his.

“Just me and you, baby.”

“Mmm, I like how that sounds.” He grinned. “Me and you.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Letting go of the steering wheel for a second, Harry cupped his lover’s face and stamped his lips on hers in a passionate kiss.

At plain sight they were just two young souls waiting to spend eternity together, it was them against the world. Forever.

       DELETE MEMORY?

YES.                                NO.

MEMORY DELETED.

One single tear rolled down her eye before once again falling unconscious on the cold, metal table. Alone.

Y/N didn’t notice when they carried her outside of the room, getting her into a new one. Two guards stood by the door, protecting it from whoever that wanted to come in, or out.

The door opened and revealed a tall man dressed in a similar white bodysuit she was wearing. He stopped his tracks when he was in front of her, and extended his arm to touch her hand gently.

“Good morning, Y/N.” he tried to wake her up from her slumber but received no response. “Y/N.” he tried again, this time making her open her eyes slowly.

It took her a moment to adjust to the lighting in the room before she turned her head to the voice that was responsible for waking her from her sleep. The man smiled warmly to her, trying to appear as friendly as possible. “My name is Haribo53. I’m here to escort you from the darkness into the light.” He spoke again, pulling from her hand to lift her into a sitting position.

“Harry.” She whispered in disbelief, tears forming in her eyes.

“You won’t be able to move your legs for a while.” He said, turning her towards him. A small frown appears on his face the longer he stared at her, but he tried to shake it off.

“I didn’t… I thought I’d never see you again.” She said, trying to reach for his hand but he turned around, ignoring her words. Harry grabbed what looked like a tablet from the wall, starting to type away. “Did they hurt you?” Her voice was trembling and barely above a whisper, afraid of the answer.

“Is it okay if I call you Y/N?” he asked, once again ignoring her questions.

“What?”

“Is what we have in your file, right?” he explained softly, grabbing a small flashlight. He started exanimating her, and her eyes closed when he pointed the light to her face. Nonetheless, she nodded. “If there’s anything else you’d rather be called, you just let me know.” No matter how much he tried to soften his voice, it still sounded robotic, as if what he was saying was something he was told to repeat rather than something he wanted to say. “I’m here to make your experience sweet as honey.”

“Why are you talking to me like you don’t know me, Harry?” her voice broke, feeling hurt.

“As I said, my name is Haribo53 and I don’t know you… at least not yet. But what I do know, is that we are here to get you clean.” Although he was smiling at her, said smile never reached his eyes.

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to not cry. She didn’t understand a single thing that was happening right now, and seeing Harry again for the first time in a long time has made her feel so many emotions at once that she wasn’t sure her body would be able to handle it. She wasn’t sure if she could handle having him in front of him and wanting to kiss him when he doesn’t even remember her name.

Harry took her to the room she was in at first, asking her to lay down in the same metal table she was before. And this time she did it on her own because Harry told her to. She tried to take deep breaths to calm herself down while he put the helmet back on her head. He stepped aside and the same robotic voice sounded loud in the room.

“You will repeat after me.”

“I will repeat after you.”

“Your name is Y/N 57821.” Y/N repeated the words. “I am a dirty computer.” Sighing, she repeated. “I am ready to be cleaned.”

Y/N closed her eyes, afraid of what was going to happen once she repeated those last words. The whole thing felt and seemed surreal and the anxiety started to grow in her. “I am ready to be cleaned.”

“Ready for cleaning.”

“She’s ready for cleaning.” The same two men remained on their seats behind the glass, ready to keep scrolling through Y/N’s collection of memories.

“Which memory exactly?”

“Any memory you see.”

272 DAYS AGO.

[MEMORY 310620]

        PLAY MEMORY?

YES.                             NO.

Y/N wasn’t sure how her friend convinced her to pierce her nipples, but here they were, entering the shop in the middle of the night after leaving the bar they spent hours drinking at.

“Didn’t read the sign? We’re closed, sweetness.” Both girls turned towards the source of the voice. A black-haired man with numerous tattoos on his arms stood behind them.

“Do you pierce nipples?” Zoey, Y/N’s friend asked, trying to maintain balance by grabbing Y/N’s shoulder.

“Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you.” he smirked.

“I’ll take care of them, Mitch.” A new voice was heard and a brunette man walked in, turning on the lights. Even in her drunken state, Y/N was sure she’s never seen someone as attractive as him. His curls sat on top of his head, green eyes suddenly looking directly at her. A smirk formed on his face as he noticed her stare. “I’m Harry. Didn’t catch your name, beautiful.”

“Because I haven’t told you.” She smirked back at him. “I’m Y/N.”

“Alright, Y/N. You said you and your friend wanted to get your… nipples?” She nodded. “Your nipples pierced.”

“That’s right. Can you do it?” Y/N asked, feeling more confident with the alcohol running through her system. She bit her lip, waiting patiently for Harry to answer.

“Christ, just do it, H. I’ll handle the friend.”

Harry breathed a laugh as he saw his friend and coworker take Zoey to a different room, hearing how the girl tried to make conversation but resulted in just drunken thoughts and nonsense. “I think you and your friend are a little too drunk to decide to pierce ya nipples, love.”

Y/N could swear her panties were soaked just by hearing the thick British accent he had. The way he called her love sent shivers down her spine, but she shrugged it off, trying to look sure of her decision. “Wouldn’t be the first time you see someone doing something stupid while being drunk.”

They looked at each other for a second, holding eye contact. “You got me there. I still need you to sign some papers, though.”

She try to not stumble too much while walking towards him, signing whatever he told her to, feeling too eager to get this done. Harry led her to a private room, where he told her to take her shirt off and lay down.

He tried to not look as Y/N undressed herself, remaining himself she was intoxicated and wasn’t on her five senses.

Y/N didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the fact that she looked at Harry’s face the entire time, but it actually didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. Sure, the second one hurt like a bitch because she was already expecting it, but looking at him concentrated, slightly poking his tongue out of his mouth, made it all more bearable.

“Would I see you again?” He dared to ask after she paid for her new additions.

“It depends. Will I have a shirt on?” she raised an eyebrow, clearly teasing him.

“Only if I can take it off.”

       DELETE MEMORY?

YES.                                NO.

MEMORY DELETED.

42 DAYS AGO.

[MEMORY 310620]

        PLAY MEMORY?

YES.                             NO.

Today was the day, Y/N and Harry were leaving to start a new life and leave behind the town that has always been too small for their big dreams. Away from the old, boring life and away from her parents who tried to do everything to separate them.

Y/N woke up as soon as the sun came out, too excited to stay in bed, she made her bags and dropped them by the door. She wasn’t sure where they’d be going, but she didn’t care as long as it was with Harry.

She waited in her living room, bouncing her leg up and down due to her nerves. Her parents weren’t supposed to come back until night, but she was still alert in case they decided to change their plans. A part of her felt bad for leaving without saying goodbye, but it was for the best. Y/N didn’t want to be here anymore.

Watching through the window, she saw how Harry’s car parked right in front of her house and she ran towards the door and threw herself at him as soon as she opened the door. “Someone’s excited.” Harry chuckled, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. “Ready, love?”

“Sooo ready. Let’s leave already.”

They hurried to get her bags in the trunk of the convertible, and Y/N looked back at her house for a moment before returning her gaze to Harry. She took a deep breath before getting into the passenger seat of the car. As he pulled away from the driveway, Harry placed one of his hands on her thigh.

“We just have to stop by the shop and say goodbye to Mitch, babe.” He said.

“Is he going to be okay by himself?”

“Yeah, he’s been wanting to do his own thing for a while now.”

The drive from her house to the tattoo shop wasn’t a long one, and soon they found themselves crossing the door of the building they spent hours and hours in. Mitch was sitting behind the desk on the front, looking through a magazine. He looked up when he heard the bell ring and a big grin appeared on his face when he saw his friends.

“And who do we have here? The lovebirds!”

“Hi, Mitch.” Y/N smiled at him.

“We’re here to say goodbye, mate.” Harry said.

Although Mitch was sad they were leaving, he also couldn’t be happier for his friends. He knew they’d stay in contact, and he could always go visit them wherever they went. The trio hugged, Y/N being in the middle of them. She has grown pretty close to the long-haired man ever since she started dating Harry, which was great considering how closed off Mitch could be.

“I hate to admit it but I’m going to miss you two.”

“You need to visit us soon.”

“I will, please stay out of trouble." Mitch chuckled.

All of a sudden, the windows shattered into a million pieces, making a thunderous noise. They dropped to the floor, trying to shield themselves from the glass.

"What the hell is happening?!" Y/N exclaimed out of desperation. Her hair had pieces of crystal and there was a small cut on Mitch's left cheek. "Is someone coming?"

"I think so. Dammit." Harry cursed under his breath. "Mitch, take Y/N to the back of the store."

"No!" She interjected rapidly. "Harry, don't."

"Fuck, just do it, baby." Breathing through his nose, Harry got up from the floor. "I'll see you there, I promise."

Mitch pulled from Y/N, having to almost carry her to the back of the store to hide from whoever was coming. Tears rolled down her eyes as they hide behind some boxes, trying to keep it quiet but fearing for Harry. Mitch held Y/N in his arms to keep her from running.

It sounded like there was a fight out there, things were thrown making all kinds of noises.

"Let go of me!" Harry yelled when two different men grabbed him from the arms, immobilizing him. They started to carry him out of the shop, and Y/N started to try to free herself from Mitch's hold. "Where the fuck are you taking me?"

"Y/N, stop." He tried. "For fuck's sake, stop it."

"Harry's in trouble! Mitch, we have to help."

"You're going to get yourself hurt if you go out."

"I can't leave him."

With a sudden move, she freed herself from Mitch and ran to the front of the shop again. She was met with all kinds of broken objects and no sight of Harry.

"He's gone. They took him."

       DELETE MEMORY?

YES.                                 NO.

MEMORY DELETED.

They called this place "The House of the New Dawn". This place where they drained us of our dirt and all the things that made us special, and just when you thought you could remember something, just when you thought you could see the past clearly... They would hit you with nevermind.

This gas would take over and then you were lost... sleeping. And you didn't remember anything at all.

Y/N had lost track of how many days had passed since her arrival, the only thing she'd remember was the trip from her room to the chamber where they'd put her to sleep to erase her memories and everything that made her... her.

They would erase everything they came across with. From the happiest memories she treasured the most to the ones she once would have given anything to forget.

She'd no longer protest, she'd no longer put on a fight. She'd see how Harry treated her like a stranger, his touch suddenly feeling colder and unfamiliar as time went by. Y/N would try to force her brain to remember, to remember she was a person, that what they were doing to her was not cleaning her. But every day it became harder, and harder... and she gave up.

63 DAYS AGO.

[MEMORY 972942]

        PLAY MEMORY?

YES.                             NO.

"Where were you last night?" Y/N's father, Jonathan, grabbed her by her arm, stopping her from going upstairs without talking to him first.

"I told you I'd be out."

"Were you with that man again? Don't lie to me, Y/N." He said sternly.

"His name is Harry, and yes." Y/N didn't see any point at lying, they lived in a small town and sooner or later her father would know the truth.

"I have told you, I do not trust him."

"Well, I do." She crossed her arms across her chest, challenging him.

"You can't trust someone who goes out looking like that."

"Like what? A normal person?" Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Just because he has tattoos it means he's a criminal, you know?"

"People like him will only bring trouble to your life. Do you think he loves you? He'll only use you, and I will now allow that."

"This would be shocking to you, but he does love me. And guess what?! I do too!" She got out of his hold.

"You will not see him again, I forbid it!"

"You can't do that!"

"For as long as you live under my roof, you'll live under my orders. And believe me when I say you will not see him again."

"I guess I'll fucking leave then!"

She ran upstairs and towards her bedroom, hearing how her father called her full name repeatedly, growing angrier each time. Y/N couldn't understand why he hated Harry so much, why he was so against the idea of her being happy with him. In her sight, there was anything wrong with him. Harry was sweet, caring, attentive. He was everything anyone would want as a partner, and she didn't care if her dad didn't like him. She loved Harry, and she planned on staying with him for the rest of her life.

       DELETE MEMORY?

YES.                                NO.

MEMORY DELETED.

173 DAYS AGO.

[MEMORY 862037]

        PLAY MEMORY?

YES.                              NO.

"Can I color your tattoos?"

"All of them?" He chucked.

"Please?" She gave him her best puppy eyes.

"Be my guest, babe."

Harry laid back on the bed and put his hands under his head, adoring the view he had. Y/N was straddling his waist, trying to get a better angle of his butterfly tattoo. She'd ofter place little kisses on his belly, sending shivers down his spine. He smiled when Y/N poked her tongue out of her mouth, an habit she's learned from him.

"You're so pretty." Harry let out after a while of being in complete silence.

"So are you." She looked up and smiled at him. He thought his heart would explode from all the love and adoration he was feeling right now. Wearing nothing but his shirt, her messy hair everywhere, not a single drop of makeup on her face. She looked like an absolute angel.

"Have you considered having one?" He asked. "A tattoo, I mean."

"Sometimes, but I'm kinda afraid of needles." Her words made Harry giggle.

"Babe, you got your nipples pierced. Kinda hard to believe you're afraid of them." He teased her.

"Don't be mean, I was drunk. I don't think I would have the balls to do it sober."

"What if I do it?" He suggested. "It could be something small, in a place your folks wouldn't see."

"I don't know..."

"Then you can make one for me."

"Are you kidding?" She put her hands on his chest, forgetting the markers she was using to color his tattoos. He shocks his head, smiling widely at her. "I've never done that before."

"I'll teach you. I'll be fun, babe."

"What if I hurt you?"

"You won't, I trust you."

And that's how they ended up sitting in Harry's office, deciding their future tattoos together. Y/N decided to get Harry's name on her wrist in braille language, she could always wear some bracelets to hide it. She sat on Harry's left thigh, wanting to be as close as possible to him. She watched the process, feeling curious about the way the ink permanently entered her body. And it excited the thought of Harry's name being plastered on her body.

"What do you think? Do you like it?" He asked as he wiped her wrist carefully. She observed the tattoo with a dreamy smile on her face, it was simple but beautiful. The dots wouldn't mean anything to any other person, but it was okay as long as she knew what it meant.

"I love it, H. Thank you."

"You're welcome, love. Now, it's your turn." He offered his equipment, kissing her cheek in reassurance. "I'll guide you, it's fine."

Harry has chosen Y/N's name as well, but not in braille. He wanted it on his chest, right where his heart was. She had to turn on straddle his hips, trying to get comfortable. "I will like I'll stab you."

"Don't be a baby, just do it."

Slowly but surely, Y/N got his tattoo done. She had to stop her hand from shaking a little, but Harry didn't care if it was a little messy. It was her handwriting after all, and it was made by her. He'd never hate anything made by her.

"I love you." He whispered, hopelessly in love.

        DELETE MEMORY?

YES.                                   NO.

MEMORY DELETED.

Y/N was taken back to her room, where she spent what it felt like hours staring at the wall in front of her. She felt drained as if she didn't have any energy left.

She heard the door open behind her and soon enough Harry was in front of her, getting the bracelets they had put on her wrists off. He gently lifted the sleeve of her bodysuit, furrowing when he saw the dots on her wrist. Harry looked up at her in confusion, but Y/N kept her head down.

"They're taking everything away from me." She mumbled. "I don't even remember how we met anymore." Her voice broke. "I'm not sure if any of this actually happened."

Harry let go of her wrist and sat down next to her, taking a deep breath.

"Listen, thinking will only make it harder. It's best if you just... enjoy the process." he looked at her again. "Accept it. People used to work so hard to be free. But we're lucky here. All we have to do is forget."

"But I don't want to forget you." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a tear rolling down her eye.

They looked at each other's eyes before Harry finally spoke. "You don't have a choice."

He got up and exited the room, once again leaving her alone with her thoughts. Or what was left of them.

A woman dressed in a white long-sleeved dress was walking down the hallway, and Harry was quick to stop her way when he saw her.

"Mother Victoria? May I speak with you for a minute?"

"I hope this is important." She responded.

"It's about Y/N 57821."

"Go on." She said, continuing her way but with Harry following her this time.

"It's as if she remembers me. Really knows me. She tells me things about myself." A very small smile formed on his face. "About where I'm from. She says my name was Harry. And I made tattoos, played the guitar. And uh... she says that we were in love." He breathed a laugh.

"That's enough." She cut him off. "You know that's impossible. A dirty mind will do anything to survive. Right now she's dirty, tomorrow after the walk she'll be clean." She smiled. "And if she's lucky in a few days she'll be a torch just like you." She paused. "And we'll have all this nonsense behind us."

She kept walking, leaving him alone in the hallway. "Yes, mother."

Day by day, they kept erasing Y/N's memories. It all stopped to make sense in her head, the little pieces she held onto were falling apart. The holes in her mind were too big, too deep.

Harry would seat next to her on the bed, caressing the tattoo in her wrist, as if he was trying to make it make sense to him. As if he was trying to remember. His breathing started to raise, a permanent frown on his face.

"You remember..." She muttered.

He offered her the tiniest smile, shaking his head. "I'm sorry." His eyes were filled with tears, and so were hers. "It's too late."

[pathofcomet]

my honey, my daisy, my only

fandom: ikemen vampire

pairing: isaac/MC

summary: “Do not fall in love with anyone here,” Sebastian threatens, wiping a glass and carefully placing it to the side, to be moved to the cupboards a little bit down the hall.Written for Isaac week, day 4. Prompt: AU. Hanahaki AU. (AO3)

“Do not fall in love with anyone here,” Sebastian threatens, wiping a glass and carefully placing it to the side, to be moved to the cupboards a little bit down the hall.

She places her trembling hands in her lap: scared and her heart still throbbing in her chest. This place and this time suddenly don’t really feel like a dream anymore, the fear too real. Love is a concept that doesn’t fit in this image that she’s building of the inhabitants of Saint-Germain’s mansion, so his warning is hollow, empty.

“Why?” she still asks, dumbly.

Sebastian stops – and then slowly, he undoes his necktie and the first two buttons at the top of his shirt. With the downwards pull, she can see the small scar sitting at the base of his throat, nothing but a faint line, whiter than the rest of his skin. His finger is just delicately following the path of where there has once been a cut.

“You know what this is, right?”

She nods. It’s not proper to ask more about it, because what’s there left to be said, when you have given up all memories of a loved one for the chance to keep on living? When the flowers start growing in your chest alongside your love, there are only two choices, really: you’re either having your feelings reciprocated, or have them disappear forever, alongside your memories of the person you fell for. Sebastian chuckles, a dry little thing.

“This does not exist here yet.”

And now the warning sinks in, with its whole finality and strength. If you love, and you are not loved back – here the only choice left is to eventually choke on all those feelings. She can feel her throat constricting in painful memory, the ghost of something she will never be able to recall. She nods again, and Sebastian, pleased that he got to her, resumes his work.

***

Love is pain. Love on its own is pure death – it goes as simple as that. But love kills slowly and beautifully, for it is not entirely unkind.

For vampires, the suffering is doubled. Because while sex is the food, love is the appetite.

And Isaac is stuck in the middle, thirst clawing at him, knowing the pain long before the love arrives.

***

Is there a reason for what humans do? Isaac doesn’t feel like he became a vampire a long time ago, but the separation still comes to him naturally. Even more so ever since she joined this place and turned his world upside down.

Isaac opens his door to her small figure in the frame and no matter how much he scrambles for a reason why she’s here, he can find none. By all laws of logic, she should be afraid and hateful. Instead, she smiles and doesn’t pour all the contents of the tray in his lap, which is more than he’d expected.

And Isaac finds himself smile back. Mistake no. 1.

***

Saint-Germain drinks his coffee, watching the exchange between Isaac and his newest visitor, and he calculates inside his mind several possibilities and probabilities. In time travel, just as in love, there are no real certainties, not even for the best out there.  But there are more or less twenty days left for their young visitors – certainly not enough to develop any severe forms of the sickness, even if she is to catch it.

Saint-Germain thinks her better than that. But twenty days are more than enough to have her fall in love with a city instead. Cities don’t break hearts. So he clears his throat, passing his cup over to Sebastian, and creates an excuse.

Mistake no. 2 – Isaac didn’t do anything directly about this one, but he still considers himself guilty for it.

***

“Smiling suits you,” Isaac says, and her cheeks bloom red, like flowers.

He is smiling as well, and the two of them are on the side of the road, looking at each other, suddenly transfixed. When not frowning, when not teased, when at ease – Isaac looks like a man entirely enjoying the spring of his life. Full of playfulness and boyish charm.

It is gone in a moment, but she trusts her eyes more than the slip of her mind.

She doubts she’ll make Isaac admit to such a thing, especially when he still seems to have problems keeping his blush at bay even when they brush shoulders accidentally, on the more crowded streets, but… she thinks this might be a date. Or at least that’s how dates in movies look like, since she cannot remember her own ones.

But they walk and talk. He takes her to his favourite café, and she has the best baguette of her life. The coffee sticks to her throat.

***

She reaches out, too much and too willingly. Trusting too much, fearing too little – it drives Isaac a bit crazy. He doesn’t have the bloom to go by. He never experienced love in his past life, focused on his studies as he’s been, and vampires can judge only by their thirsts. But it feels like way more than anyone has tried to do for him in a while, ever since Napoleon, and suddenly Isaac isn’t sure if he wants to call her a friend.

Or something more.

Mistake no. 3. He spends two hours on the kitchen floor, Sebastian stepping gracefully around him, drinking bottle of rouge after bottle of rouge, his lips turning redder and redder, the clawing feeling at his throat not quite disappearing.

***

“Luv,” Arthur says, and she flutters her eyes open, slowly, to him pushing her hair behind her ear.

She went unfocused there for a bit.

“That expression doesn’t suit you,” he continues, sighing.

She tries to scold her features better and focus on the game of chess in-between the two of them in the library. Leonardo is napping on the floor in the corner, a blanket she brought from upstairs over his shoulders. It’s been harder to control the pain, flaring up at random times – and she’s sure it still shows on her face, no matter how much she wants to actually hide it. It’s nothing much but discomfort, thrumming from deep inside her chest, but only for now.

It’s a bit annoying that Arthur somehow already picked it up. She frowns at him, pushing her piece across the table. From his own expression, she can tell it was a bold but completely stupid move. It’s fine; she hasn’t played chess in a long time and she didn’t expect to win in the first place anyway.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“You know him better,” she closes her eyes again, turning her neck a bit – Arthur gets a bit distracted staring at the expanse of skin there. “What should I do?”

Arthur grins, his fangs sharp.

“I think you’ve been doing just fine.” He points a finger towards the clock on the wall, already several minutes past the time for Isaac’s meals.

She gets up, technically allowing him the win, leaving the room. Leonardo opens his eyes to peer up at the writer, and although they say nothing out loud, there’s some knowledge passing between the two of them regardless.

***

“Why did you stay until so late, then?” Sebastian asks, grateful that no matter how badly Isaac might need blood, he’s not just grabbing at his shirt and sinking his fangs in his skin, instead ripping from his hands a glass vial.

She’s away now, so his hunger is already slowly fading, as Isaac is trying to do calculus in his head, and more definitely not think about the time spent together, which just keeps adding up.

In the entrance hallway, she’s coughing, delicately trying to cover it up with her handkerchief. When Saint-Germain shows up, she gathers the two small flower buds that she coughed out in her handkerchief, and hides it in her pocket, smiling up at him instead.

The notion of having him as a dance partner staves off the pain, at least for a while, just a bit.

***

She gives and gives. Mistake no. 4: Isaac accepts. He doesn’t know how to say no, even when it hurts. He doesn’t know how to translate her own suffering, when he’s so happy to just have her near.

Isaac’s used with the thirst, nothing else he hasn’t experienced before. The trouble with love is that it feels fresh each and every time.

So while he thinks he has things under control, she most definitely doesn’t. When one chooses to pluck out the flowers growing in their chest, the memories disappear. The one who picks this path, will keep on making the same mistake, not recognizing the patterns, unable to grow with no roots grounding them in place.

So she falls, fast. When Isaac saves her, an upside down mirror of her first night here – not fear thrumming at her wrists this time around, but just the pleasure of having him near, she stumbles, and swears, and the words come out muffled.

She covers her mouth, looking up at Isaac like a deer caught by its hunter. He wants nothing else but – mistake no. 5. Isaac doesn’t stop: then and there, when the doubt starts coiling inside his stomach.

Instead, he offers himself as her company and gentlemanly ignores her when she asks for five minutes to freshen up. In the corner of the room in which she ducked to hide, Vincent pats her back, as petal after petal falls out from between her lips, until she’s left shivering.

And beautiful. Love is pain. Pain is beauty.

Maybe that’s why Isaac cannot look away, cannot keep away: because her cheeks blush with the prettiest of red each time he gets to close. He realizes he maybe pushed too hard simply because, in the fountain where before was only clear water, once he gets up – she’s surrounded by cherry blossoms.

The petals swim all around her, a child leans over to pick a few in her hands. An older lady tuts disappointingly at the two of them. Isaac reaches out a hand, fearful.

But what is he fearing? Why is he so afraid? If this is true –

No.

Mistake no. 6. Isaac cannot believe the obvious signs, because he doesn’t think he’s worthy of them. Men kill more hearts just by not trusting their own.

***

She shivers in the bathtub, the water getting colder, overflowing with flowers and petals. She’ll have to deal with that later – now she is busy counting up to 10, over and over again, trying to calm the thrumming of her heart, the desperate up and down of her chest: her hand pressed over the scar there.

She wonders: how long into these symptoms she got the removal done? How much did she think she could handle, before it all became too much?

Isaac, pushing at Napoleon’s shoulder, bites at his neck, fangs so painful that it makes the other man hiss.  The soldier grabs at Isaac’s hair, enough to make eye contact.

“Slowly,” he urges, and Isaac’s grip on him relaxes, though his gulps still ring too loud in his head.

It brings him no pleasure, but his friend calms: with the warmth of another person, the fresh blood, hunger easier to be sated. The tug turns into pets, and Isaac places a kiss where he pierced the skin, lapping at the blood spilling out.

Napoleon sighs. “You’re wet. Let’s change, shall we?”

***

“This room is getting stifling, Toshiko-san,” Dazai says, coming around to check on Isaac.

They’re vampires, they’re supposed to heal and recover fast. Dazai just wants the bragging rights, that he cares the most out of their friends group. And also, maybe, Dazai wants to check the one rumour he has heard, which proves itself quite true.

Isaac is still asleep. Around him, overflowing from his desk and shelves and windowsill: flowers upon flowers, fully bloomed. Dazai sighs. The smell is almost sickeningly sweet – and she looks quite pale.

“I figured I’d be bothering him more if I were to take them out each and every time…”

Each and every time she bends her body over and coughs out flowers in exchange for his love, is the sentence that she doesn’t finish. She is also quite right. And despite it all, she is still here, right next to him.

What a little fool, their Toshiko-san.

***

They dance together, in front of several pairs of eyes, carefully noting each and every small detail, change in them. Like how Isaac’s pupils get the slightest bit more dilated, his fangs sharper, grazing his lips even with his mouth closed. Like how she can’t quite keep her back straight, how she doesn’t really speak.

Sometimes what remains unsaid means more. It is unbearable to hold each other like this, would have been even more unbearable if they didn’t.

Isaac disappears as fast as he appeared, and she’s left on the spot, hands clawing at her throat. She hunches over, clasps her palms to her mouth as she’s trying her damn hardest to stop breathing, to stop feeling. To calm the wave of emotions threatening to spill over, past her lips and in her lap, like a sky decorated with cherry blossoms.

“I believe it is a bit late for that,” Saint-Germain says.

And then they’re out.

***

In the afternoon glow, filtering through the stained glass, she looks beautiful. And Isaac is filled with need: not for her blood, to be fed – but for her love, as a man. His touch against her cheek is tentative and tender and that of someone begging to be held and pushed away at the same time.

Isaac isn’t sure yet which scenario he’s wishing hardest for.

She meets his eyes, and something in him goes even softer. It melts away everything in her.

“W-what is-? Why are you crying…?”

And despite not being hurt, she keeps crying. The tears are just that, in the beginning, and Isaac’s thumb passes over her skin, catching each and every one. She finds she cannot stop, once the dam has been broken: the happiness is suddenly too much. Here he is: just him and her, and he is touching her, and he is caring for her.

Much more than she thought she deserved, much more than she thought she’d get. Way too little compared to how much she still wants. So the tears keep spilling, never stopping. Then they’re not just tears anymore, a petal falling as well each and every time.

Isaac’s hold gets just a bit gentler, and that’s how she knows something is not quite right, before the petals start falling in her lap. Against her cheek, he clenches and unclenches his hands. Slowly, awkwardly, searching her face all along, he reaches out… and pulls her into an embrace.

She sniffles in the material of his shirt, his arms closing around her. The petals are cascading now more rapidly, down his back, and her hands claw at him.

“It’s going to be all right… Please, don’t cry.”

Of course, he can say that because he’s not the one spilling his feelings from his guts, betrayed by his body to show his feelings. He can say that because he is not dying from loving. She trembles in his arms, knowing she doesn’t deserve the comforting, knowing he doesn’t want her.

“… I’m sorry,” she whispers, and her hold on him tightens, and her tears fall even more furiously, accompanied by her pained wailing.

Isaac holds her, gentle as ever, his palms soothingly rubbing down her back. If he were to count the bones he can feel through the thin material of her dress, the numbers would be higher than in a normal human body.

Love taking roots, love taking over.

If she were to see his expression, she would find it pained, his face buried at the crook of her neck. But even when they untangle, Isaac covers his face with his palm, the downward tug at his lips, making his fangs visible, hidden from her.

Mistake no. 7: Isaac cannot tell the truth. Even worse, Isaac hides the truth, even when he knows hers is so painfully obvious, even when that so obviously pains her.

“Do you intend to return home?”

***

“Don’t go back…” Isaac says, laid on his back, her just a bit further to the left.

And while she’s staring at the open night sky in front of her, he can’t stop looking at her.

She shifts, coming up, suddenly coughing up the now familiar flower petals. They’re falling in-between her fingers, overflowing her hold. Isaac’s heart squeezes in his chest at the sight.

“Does it bother you?” she asks, in-between gasps of breath.

He looks at her, taken aback.

“This,” she shakes her hands in the air, the pink flowers falling all around her. “Knowing it’s you.”

Isaac chokes on his next words, and changes the topic. He can hear her, trying to keep in a new wave of coughing. He has accidentally heard her complain to Sebastian about the chest pain, how her muscles are aching with how much she’s been heaving, how her insides don’t feel quite alright anymore.

Her body, so small and frail, holding the weight of her entire, spilling love.

***

Isaac doesn’t like the way he gets when he’s hungry – it’s been worse these days, what with the desperate need of her as well. Sometimes, something alike a fog washes over him.

When he comes back to himself, he’s in a bed made of blood and flowers: scene of an almost-crime. She’s still breathing, and that’s all that really matters, but his head is foggy and there’s nothing to do but wait and pray, and pray and wait – and hate himself for all of it.

Isaac has only words to rely on in this scenario, for his feelings. And words tend to fail him already, so much and so often. And he tends to fail words as well, so obliviously.

If he can hurt her even like this, why does she love him?

If he can hurt her even like this, how is he supposed to hold on to this last piece of his humanity while actually accepting that he loves her?

Mistake no. 8. Isaac pushes her away.

***

“Sebastian,” she whines, because it’s the fourth time he’s brought up to her rooms only a bowl of the blandest soup.

He pushes at her shoulder, gluing her back to the pillow again – as it should be. She’s paler now, weaker, and in the air all around her room, the sweetest of fragrance, the spring back in his home country. Bouquets of flowers sprang from place to place since his last visit, and… he is fearful she might not make it for the door.

“Sick patients don’t get to complain about the schedule of an overworked butler.”

She pouts, even as she picks up the spoon. It hangs in-between her fingers.

“Sebastian?”

A beat.

“Yes?”

“Just… why?”

He sighs. “I don’t think anyone knows, or remembers for that matter. I just think it’s just the heart thinking it doesn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“So you get a person or you get the flowers? They’re pretty, but they’re cruel.”

Sebastian eyes her cracked lips, the petals of her flowers – living and still image of each other.

“So is love.”

A beat.

“Did anyone tell you that you make a terrible emotional support?”

He grins at her, this time flicking her forehead.

“Might have heard it several times before.”

***

  “What do you think you’re doing, Newt?” Arthur asks, shoving his friend’s body against the wall, a bit too harshly, holding onto the collar of his shirt.

Isaac covers his hand in his, pushing. Arthur doesn’t let go, just lets out something that is between a growl and a sigh. Isaac, more or less, does the same.

“She’s bad,” Arthur says.

Isaac remains unfazed. “I know.”

“Worse, after all that blood loss.”

And only that – the guilt, makes Isaac actually realize that bad is not just the dull lull in her chest, but something more definite. Arthur would have never gone out of his way like this if that wasn’t the case. Only when the panic settles in, accompanied by a wave of anxiety so forceful Isaac almost feels like throwing up, does Arthur finally let go.

“You can lose her in two ways,” he says. “Pick the one you can live eternity with.”

***

She can’t really speak anymore – words too harsh on her throat, where buds are slowly crawling their way up. Someone comes by to prepare her a new cup of tea regularly, because it’s supposed to soothe the pain. She’s not sure it’s effective at all, but she also cannot complain much anymore, anyway.

Her coughing fits now can keep going for even half an hour at a time, and she cringes with each intake of air, because her muscles are aching so desperately for some kind of relief. She has nothing to give.

Theo comes and reads poetry to her, though she notices him skipping the love poems. Arthur plays chess with her again, though he’s not chiding her for taking too long this time around. Napoleon sits by her side, as they eat crepes together.

She misses a party, stuck in this waiting game, to see what comes first: her demise or her return. Isaac doesn’t – and in the span of a night, he makes a new friend in an old one and loses him too.

He doesn’t want to lose another person. Ever – if possible, or at least not in that way.

His hand trembles around the handle of the door, trying to gather his courage. The familiar scratching at his throat returns, stronger and stronger the longer he hovers.

He enters without knocking, and she looks up from a book she’s trying to read, startled. She immediately starts coughing at the sight of him; this time around, the petals fall freely all around her. Isaac shakes and trembles in the doorway.

“G-gods!” he says, and in two big steps, he’s closer to her bed. “You’re… this is… bad.”

She manages a weak smile at him.

“I know.”

His voice trembles. “How can you be so c-calm about this?”

She shrugs, though it’s just a tiny movement, barely there, so that she doesn’t trigger another coughing fit. She’s had so long to imagine herself at this point – just because it came faster than she expected, doesn’t mean she didn’t expect it at all.

He keeps his distance. Any closer and she’ll just explode in a bouquet of flowers.

“Y-you’ll soon get back and you can get help and-” Isaac is a blabbering mess and a stuttering fool, only for her.

“I won’t.”

“What?”

“Even if I return, I won’t.” She raises a hand to her chest, pressing it to a scar, that Isaac can notice from where her nightgown has slipped down her shoulder. “It would mean forgetting you.”

She raises her gaze, meets his. She’s begging, one last time. She’s telling him, in words this time. And Isaac stands there, stunned into silence, because if she is to have the same fate either way, what is he protecting her from in the first place?

“I love you,” he says, and for a long moment, there’s only silence stretching between them,

Then, he blushes, fidgeting on the spot, the words obviously out without having thought them. She struggles with her bedsheets, but is still fast enough, despite her weak body, to have gotten up on her own feet by the time Isaac is at her side, arms around her waist, to help her.

She licks her lips – chapped and pale things that they are, and looks up at him, exhausted and obviously pushing herself.

“Say it again. Say it and mean it,” her hands, fisted around the material of his shirt, eyes falling down with the request, too much and too late.

“I l-love you. I don’t…. Please don’t just disappear like that.”

His hold tightens around her body and she sighs.

“I love you too,” and she gets up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against him, nothing but a chase gesture.

Isaac closes his eyes, pulling her closer, opening his mouth, his tongue coaxing hers to follow suit. Which she does, so willingly and openly, and something in Isaac’s chest tightens, just the love he has for her. And something in her chest opens up, releasing, just the love she has for him.

When they part, all around them, branches of cherry blossoms surround them. It’s like her chest has been cut open, and everything fell over – and she is smiling, beautifully and honestly for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and Isaac buries his face at her neck, exhausted with the honesty, relieved at her health, so in love that it hurts – and maybe he understands her better than he wanted to admit, maybe he understood her all along.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

What is your opinion on straight passing privilege? I (bi) don’t think it exists, but a close (lesbian) friend of mine insists that it does bc “You can hold hands with your SO (nb cis passing man) in public without risking being the victim of a hate crime.” I have been researching but keep seeing this same argument coming up, and I’m unsure and don’t want to be making anyone upset if I’m being ignorant here.

I think that there's a lot of fucked up internet politics around who is and isn't allowed in the community. Which is ridiculous.

Gay, Lesbian, Bi, Pan, Poly, Ace, Aro, Trans, Intersex, etc.

The only people who shouldn't be in the community are cishets, and pedos, none of that 'it's a sexuality' nonsense, it's predation.

The concept of straight-passing is ridiculous, primarily because it's all based on assumptions. If you're in an m/f relationship, and you are both cis and heterosexual, it's straight.

But here's the catch, if you identify as any LGBPT+ then it's not straight.

Two trans people in an m/f relationship is not straight passing.

Two bi people in an m/f is not straight passing, it's queer babes, it's in the name. If you're bi and your partner is like, straight, it's still queer from your side of the fence.

It's the 'pick a side' argument from another direction, this straight passing nonsense. Where you are villified by the straights if you have a same-sex relationship (or fetishised, let's be real, every part of the acronymn has it's own p*rn category aimed at straight people with a kink), and if you have a relationship with the opposite gendered person, the queer community gets cranky.

Two things:

1) Is this friend between 13 and 25? Bc they could still be working this out or being mentored by t*rfs, or had some bad info. IT could be jealousy or fear of being open where you live. Perhaps you could question what makes her say that; has she had a bad experience, or did someone say this to her. where are you Are you in america? are there snake wielding jesus warriors near you? Blink SOS if you need an escape route, child

2) Who wins when everyone in the queer community is divided and policing one another? Telling everyone off for dating this person or that person or not at all

I didn't get an invite to the big queer conference to make these decisions, so like, they're not valid. It's some pocket of internet active idiots who think they can speak for everyone.

What we need to do is stop pulling this bullshit on one another and get back to asking just why the fuck it's not okay for people who are perceived as not-straight or cis etc to hold hands in public.

There's a problem for every facet of the acronym, babes and dudes and theys. Lesbians are heavily sexualised by straight cis dudes. Gays are heavly fetisihed by straight cis women. to the point where even saying 'I'm gay' is considered to be an obscene, sexual act that you should not let children be exposed to.

And there's always someone from the opposite gender who thinks they 'are confused' or 'haven't met the right (gender) person yet', or 'they could fix them with their magic genitals' or mumbled religious nonsense. There's such intense stereotypes that people can't stand women who look butch, but also you can't 'really' be a lesbian unless you are' or gay men can't just be, like, a normal dude, instead of some flamboyant in-your-face charicature.

Of course people who match the stereotype exist, too. And they get no respect for fitting into the stereptypes either, it's just another reason for disrespect. There's no winning.

Bi's can't talk to anyone without hearing a question of a threesome come up or being attacked from either side for coice of partner.

Pans, same, but also kitchenware jokes. Both Bi and Pan are considered sluts and whores and can't decide or are going to cheat, etc. Or the 'you're being special snowflakes', 'choose a side', 'you're secretly gay and won't admit / you're secretly straight and want attention' etc.

Ace/Aro - everyone under this banner gets the whole 'you just haen't found the right person' or 'when you're older/you're a late bloomer' or 'how do you know?' or 'maybe you're straight/gay and haven't worked it out yet?' invalidating them completely and trying to push sex onto them. The queer community has always let Ace and Aro in under the Bi banner, and they are welcome. But the internet community, usually young people, are tearing each other to shreds over it lmao.

Chill.

Non-binary, trans, intersex. They have been here for ages, but people from one community try to destroy their credibility, despite them existing since humanity has. It's big on p*rn and fetish sites too, lot of straight dudes think these things are hot and sexy, but would spit on trans people in the street. Hypocrites (I mean, every second low-brow comedy movie out there makes a thai-l*dyb*y joke, and how it 'doesn't count' like yikes).

Nb has only just been recognised, which is funny bc society literally made up gender and the rules and pretended that was how its encoded in DNA lmao.

Transpeople have it bad though. Between the cis straights, the cis queer community (primarily t*rfs and those who fall for misinformation) and the fetishists, and the medical community who treats them like an illness rather than people. Like, they are afforded respect if they 'pass', but even then it's still an EW factor.

Transwomen are seen as 'men in dresses who want to break into women's spaces' and treated horrifically; assaults are very high. Transmen are seen as butch women, and 'gender tr*itors' by the Crazy Motherfuckers we mentioned before; their assaults are high. They're not considered Real People unless they meet the ridiculously high standards for each gender; unless they perform Right.

I remember, but did not understand at the time bc I recall i was little, that there was a gameshpw bachelorette style and there was a big twist. You know what the twist was? That the bachelorette they'd been dating and trying to win over... was trans. I don't think that she knew it would be the big twist, either; of the two men remaining, bother were angry and one might have been sick. Might be on youtube.

But like, that's funny to the non-queer community. They put a huge fucking target on this woman's back, put her in danger of being hurt, abused, killed, by anyone who watched it. By the men who she had 'lied to' as they chose to frame it, of their weird white american families who could have sought revenge. Like yikes.

And intersex people (called h*rmaphrodites for a long time even by medical personnel) were also a p*rn category and/or medical curiosity for centuries. Not to mention all the cases of parents who just went with 'make them a (specific gender)' if there was mixed presentation, at birth, and got mad at the kids for being like "Hey so, you flipped the coin wrong and I'm ___" even thought the potential for this was always on the cards.

And the parents often make a big messa bout how their baby ___ is dead and gone, even if they DO accept the person/child as who they really are. It's like, I get it they have changed but you didn't mourn their first haircut or lost baby tooth like this and that was change too, chill.

-

Straight-passing is a projection and a weapon. Like, is it the people in the relationship's fault that society looks at the pair and decides they are m/f, straight and cis? Nah, it's what people are conditioned assume and that's on them.

We can't bring it into the queer spaces and keep perpetuating that shit, because it's nonsense. Queer people are dying in other countries and your friend wants to being smart-assed about the fact you hold hands with your nb datemate in public?

-

Nonsense. That's right up there with t*rfs and the gold-star bullshit that was going on for a few years there. Probs still is among the younger people lmaoooo.

'Passing priviledge' is a myth, and it is used to hurt people. Vulnerable people and those who need support / guidance and assistance from their queer communities more than ever. So try to talk to your friend or try The Whole Friend disposal services, either way, chill.

The real issue here is that any of us are at risk of a hate crime for daring to even show affection in public. That even in safe spaces, 'allies' and those wise enough not to be openly homo/trans/bi/pan/ace/aro/other phobic are still side-eyeing you and wanting to talk 'for you' without listening to the community itself.

We have bigger issues than this, and your friend (and some others on the internet) need to get a grip and prioritise.

[Insert strained analogy about being pro-child but childfree in a suburb where everyone got married out of high school and anticipates you and your partner will too, no matter how often you remind them No Thanks. But you babysat the other day and people thought you and your partner looked like 'naturals' when you took child to the park and played with them. And you remind them, hey, chill, we like kids too but it's not for us. And they get pissy and pushy.]

---------

I can only point it out from my perspective, I'm certain there other queer people from the above acronymn community who can present their thoughts on the matter to and what it means to them.

Thanks for the question, good-bi.