#facts don’t care about your classism

[acespoliticalwaffles]

Finally got a call back from the autism assessment people. And what do you know? They said that insurance wouldn’t cover it so if we want to actually get me in to get tested it’ll be 4,000 US$ out of pocket. My parents said we can’t afford that right now.

This is what we mean when we say diagnosis is a privilege. Because in the US, it literally costs thousands of dollars for them to even look at you. And even if you can afford that, or your insurance will pay for it (most probably won’t), you still have to deal with doctors who have a very narrow view of what autism looks like, both in how it presents itself symptom-wise, and in how the people who have it look physically. If you do not fit the stereotype of Smart, but Socially Awkward White Boy, there is a chance they will reject you outright.

“Diagnosis is a privilege” doesn’t mean that only privileged people get diagnosed, or that your life must have been easy and perfect if you yourself were able to get one. It means that not everyone with certain conditions/disorders/neurodivergencies is able to get diagnosed with them for a variety of reasons that don’t include “they’re faking it”. And that is literally just a fact.

Like, seriously, what do people who think diagnosis isn’t a privilege think getting diagnosed is like? Like, with some disorders it’s much easier. I was diagnosed with depression the first day I saw my first psychiatrist. But most of the disorders they always claim people are faking (autism, adhd, did) are actually very difficult to get diagnosed with just because it takes so long and can often be very expensive. Like, I’ve literally been waiting to get diagnosed for almost half a year. And now they say they won’t even try unless we fork over $4,000. People who are against self-diagnosis are so fucking dense. Like, what do you want me to do? Say I don’t have autism because I couldn’t pay them to check??? Cause only rich people can have autism I guess./s

Knowing that I’m autistic has helped me understand a lot about myself that I didn’t before. It has helped me realize that some of my weak points (not being able to work with vague instructions, being very sensitive to criticism, etc.) have a reason behind them and other people experience them in similar ways. I am autistic. I do not have any doubts about being autistic. And I do not have to prove to strangers on the internet that I am autistic before I get to talk about my experiences with it without being relentlessly scrutinized.

Edit: Been seeing some ppl talk about this phrase in a way I hadn’t before and I want to clarify: getting diagnosed is not always actually good, especially when you’re very young and you don’t get to decide whether you want it or not. What I meant in this post is that access to diagnosis is a privilege. Hope that clears things up if you had questions. This was mainly meant to demonstrate that ppl who are against self-dx need to get their facts straight. I’m not actually here to talk about the privilege aspect very much either (I didn’t realize there was discourse there), but in short: it’s complicated, but it is often a result of some privilege that ppl are able to get diagnosed, especially later in life. I also want to make it clear that it’s very valid to not want a dx. I actually went back and forth on it myself bc of all the fucked up laws and discrimination and stuff. (Which is yet another reason self-dx is valid and sometimes the best option) So yeah. Idk, just wanted to make it clear what I’m trying to say.

[persephoneflouwers]

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[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 17: Alone

Summary: Your pack has left on their first deployment since you joined them, leaving you alone on base.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,866

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, nightmares, PTSD, trauma, just super depressing overall.

A/N: I'm so ready for these next two chapters, you have no idea. Things are happening, things are gonna happen, it's just...so good. You'll see 🤭. They're pretty heavy chapters emotionally, but don't worry fluff will be coming very soon. I won't leave you hanging too much for too long.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“We'll only be gone for a few days. A week at most. Dr. Keller will take you to and from meals and anywhere else you may need to go. If you need anything, contact Kate. We'll call when we can.” 

He leaves you with a kiss to your forehead. You’re forced to stand there and watch his back as he boards the plane, the ramp closing and sealing you off from them. They all looked guilty, as if it was their fault they had to leave, as if they were suffering as much as you at the idea of parting, even just for a short period of time.

You don't sleep that night. You lay in your bed and stare at the ceiling until far too late when you decide to abandon it for John's room instead. You slip under the covers, disrupting the immaculately made bed as you surround yourself with his scent. You’re on edge, the barracks far too quiet, far too empty. Every little sound has you tensing, holding your breath. The door is locked, yet it’s not the same without your pack there to protect you. If you scream, no one will hear you now. 

You manage to fall asleep at some point in the early hours, your mind plagued with horrible nightmares of monsters devouring and tearing you apart. 

You wake with the sun, dragging your feet back to your room. You miss the quiet sounds of your boys getting ready in the morning after their workouts, taking extra care not to be too loud. Now you wish for it. You want them to be loud and wake you, because then they’d be here with you. The hallway feels too empty, the barracks too large. You’ve spent plenty of time alone in the barracks, but it’s never felt like this. They’re not just across base from you, they’re probably in an entirely different country. 

You stare at their closed doors, all four of them feeling like voids knowing the rooms behind them are empty. Even Ghost’s closed door feels particularly empty. 

You shuffle into your room, locking the door behind you as you get ready for the day. You’re not quite sure what you’re going to do, now that you don’t have them around. You suppose you could just go about your day as you usually do while they’re at training, except you won’t have their inevitable return to fetch you for meals to look forward to. 

It’ll be days before you see them again. 

If you see them again. 

You force that thought back into the recesses of your mind. You won’t entertain it, not now while you’re still trying to process the fact that they’re gone. Even if it is a possibility. 

You’re sitting on your bed when the knock comes, clutching your phone in your hand. You don’t want to be without it, in case they call. You don’t want to miss a chance to talk to them, especially if it’s your only chance. Or a call from Kate telling you something happened.

You open the door, Dr. Keller standing in the hallway with a small smile on her face. It doesn’t feel strange having her in this space, even with the rest of your pack gone. She’s been here before, and you trust her. 

“How are you doing?” She asks as you step out of your room, closing the door behind you. 

“I don’t know.” You say, letting out a sigh. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” 

“I don’t blame you. Feels strange, being alone here, huh?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It’s too quiet. Too empty.” 

“I bet.” You follow her out of the barracks and into the cool morning air. “Let’s get some food in you and then you can take it easy for the rest of the day. I know this is a big adjustment, and it happened rather suddenly.” 

“Was gonna happen eventually, though.” You say. “For the three months I was with the CIA, they drilled it into my head that their job would always take priority over everything else. Still sucks.” 

“It does. Separation is hard for everyone in a pack, even if it’s short term. Add on the stress of their jobs and I can only imagine what it’s like.” 

“I’m trying not to think about that.” You say. 

“I think that’s the best thing you can do right now.” She squeezes your arm. “Come on, we’ll get the food to go and we’ll eat in my office. I usually do that anyway. It’s much quieter than the mess.” 

You get your breakfast, following Dr. Keller to the medical center. You are silently glad you won’t have to eat in the mess without the protection of your pack. The stares from the others might have been your tipping point, and without Ghost to scare them off, you’re sure it would have only been worse.  

“Make yourself at home.” Dr. Keller says, letting you into her office. “You can sit at the desk to eat, if that’s more comfortable. I don’t mind.” 

You take her up on the offer, sitting in the chair across from hers at the desk. She moves some papers out of the way before taking a seat herself. It feels almost strange, being so informal in her office, but then again, she’s always been more laid back with the formality between the two of you. 

“If there’s one thing I miss, it’s good diner food.” Dr. Keller says as the two of you begin to eat. 

You stare down at your porridge for a moment, having gotten used to the change in food over the last almost nine weeks. “I miss a lot of things.” 

“Would you ever want to go back and visit America?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You shrug. “I don’t know.” 

“I’m sure they’d take you, if you asked.” She smiles as you stare up at her in surprise. “I don’t think there’s much they wouldn’t do, if you asked. They care about you a lot.” 

“I’m starting to realize that.” You say. 

“Good. It’s reassuring to see such strong, natural bonds forming between all of you, despite how the situation came about. You’ve made a lot of good progress already, even with the few bumps in the road.” 

It falls silent between the two of you as you eat, finishing your breakfast. Your stomach churns with anxiety, hand closing around the phone in your pocket as if it might ring at any moment. It makes you sick, the thought of what they might be doing, what might be happening right at this very moment. 

“Can I ask you something?” You break the silence, needing to take your mind off your swirling thoughts. 

“Of course.” She says, looking up from the papers she’d been looking through. 

“Since I’m your only patient, what do you do all day?” You ask. 

She smiles. “I do a lot of things. After our sessions I log the notes I take and read over them, I make sure your medical chart is up to date, I read through a lot of studies and journals on new research and methods that may be helpful, I talk to colleagues all over the world, including here on base, and I sometimes go around the medical center and sit in on meetings and classes to keep my skills sharp.” 

“Do you ever feel like you’re wasting your skills here?” 

She shakes her head. “No. Before I took this job, I was caring for sometimes over one hundred omegas at various institutes. It was a high stress environment with long hours. While it was fulfilling work, there’s a high turnover rate for Omega Specialists in that field for a reason. Being a private doctor is a bit of a relief after that, and truthfully, the pay is considerably better.” She folds her arms on her desk, leaning forward. “It’s no less fulfilling than working at institutes. It’s nice to have the time to put together the best care plan for you and your needs.” 

“It is nice having an Omega Specialist to myself.” You say. “There were several at the institute, a lot of students doing their residency. They weren’t always...good at their jobs. A lot of them were just going through the motions, doing what the more experienced specialists told them to do.” 

“Unfortunately that’s rather common with residents.” She says. “Most of them don’t make it past residency. Like a lot of specialities in medicine, it takes a certain kind of personality to succeed as an Omega Specialist. Not everyone has it in them. I wish more schools and programs would take notice earlier before they get to their residencies and steer them down a different path.” She smiles at you. “Now my question for you. Would you rather hang out in here today, or would you prefer to go back to the barracks? You won’t hurt my feelings either way, nor will you be a bother.” 

You think about it for a moment. While your knee jerk answer is to go back to the barracks, what are you going to do? Sit alone in the silence and worry until it makes you sick? Sit in the rec room and watch TV alone and worry about your boys until the next meal time? As much as you want to be alone, you also don’t want to be alone. 

“I’d...like to stay here, if that’s okay?” You finally say, making your decision. 

“More than okay.” She smiles. “Make yourself at home, do whatever you’d like. Watch YouTube videos, dig into some books, take a nap. You won’t bother me in the slightest. You’re always welcome to hang out in here.” 

You look over the titles on the bookshelf, picking one that looks interesting before settling on the couch. You spend the day with Dr. Keller, relaxing in her office and going to meals with her. It doesn’t calm the anxious thoughts by much, but at least the loneliness is abated a bit. 

You return to the barracks after dinner, debating whether you should sit in the rec room or just go to your room. The rec room feels too open, too exposed without the safety of your pack, so instead you choose to retreat into your room, locking the door behind you. 

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as tears gather in your eyes. Another night without them, another night without the safety and comfort of their presence around you. Another night knowing they’re not on the other side of the wall, a knock or a yell away. 

You fight the panic starting to bubble as you get ready for bed, your mind swirling with thoughts of something happening, someone breaking in, someone taking advantage of their absence to get to you. You know it’s an irrational fear. Most of the alphas on base ignore your existence, aside from the couple incidents you’ve had with them. The most they do is stare, though that’s to be expected as an omega. 

What if they’re holding back something more sinister, though? What if the only thing stopping them is your pack? This would be their opportune moment. 

You’re shaking, eyes wide in fear as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Sure, you’ve learned a few ways to defend yourself, but could you really utilize them? If the moment called for it, could you defend yourself enough to get away? Where would you go? Dr. Keller won’t be in her office all night. Could you run and seek protection from another medical professional that was still working? Could you find a different high ranking official on base and hope they’d help you? Could you go for the guards at the gate and hope they help you? 

Or would it be safer to run for the woods? Try to lose whichever alpha decided to attack you and hope you don’t get lost in the trees? You would just have to survive the night, and Dr. Keller would notice you missing come morning. What would she do, though? Call Kate? It’s not like the guys could just come home and help you. Would Kate even tell them something happened and put them at risk of getting distracted? What if something happened to them because of you? 

You turn the shower on as cold as it will go, stepping under the spray in your pajamas. You sink to the floor of the shower, letting the cold water snap you out of your panic and prevent you from distressing. No one’s coming through the door, no one’s going to try and hurt you. 

Your teeth are chattering by the time you reach up to turn the water off. Violent shivers rock your body, your hands and feet numb. You take deep breaths, feeling more awake and aware than you have since yesterday. 

The panic has dropped to almost nothing, your shaking now due to the fact you’re freezing. You strip out of your wet clothes, leaving them in the tub as you wrap a towel around yourself. You’re still shivering violently as you change into warmer pajamas, opting for one of John’s shirts and sweatpants. 

You slip under the covers of your bed, piling every blanket you own on top of the covers before tucking yourself against your giant bear. You won’t sleep, but at least you’re not panicking anymore. 

The days begin to blend together without the routine of your pack to keep you steady. Dr. Keller comes to get you at the same time as you expect for your breakfast, and then you spend all day with her, sitting in her office, keeping yourself occupied while you wait for an inevitable phone call. It will either be your pack calling to check on you, or it will be Kate with bad news. 

You’re not sure which is worse. The anticipation of a call from your pack letting you know they’re all alright, or the dread that it will be Kate telling you something happened to them. 

You’re still not sleeping well, the anxiety and the worry you might miss their call meshing with the nightmares that were already plaguing you before they left. You’re exhausted and strung out, the worry beginning to eat you alive. You’re constantly on edge, every little sound close to sending you spiraling. 

Your thoughts have slowly shifted from missing your pack to ruminating about the fact they might not be coming back. It’s a risk you’re well aware of. The kinds of things they do put them at risk, every deployment carries the risk of one, or all of them, dying. One thing goes wrong, one small freak accident and your entire pack could be taken from you. 

You’re not sure you’d survive that. 

Most omegas don’t. 

“Still nothing?” Dr. Keller asks as you sit there, staring at your phone for what must have been an hour at least. 

You shake your head. “Nothing.” 

“Sometimes no news is good news.” She says. “I know you’d prefer to have any news at all, though.” 

“I can’t stop thinking...what if something bad has happened?” You say, fingers trembling from gripping your phone so hard. 

“Kate promised she’d call if something happened, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“She’s a woman of her word, I can say that much. I’m sure they’re fine. They’re very capable soldiers. They wouldn’t be in Spec Ops if they weren’t, much less on a highly specialized team.” Dr. Keller stands up, moving to the closet. “It’s still hard, not knowing where they are or what they’re doing. I remember when my brother told our parents he was enlisting. Our mother cried for a week straight.” She pulls a pillow and a blanket out of the closet. “I still don’t think she’s completely forgiven him. It’s hard for omegas when someone leaves the pack, even temporarily, especially if you can’t have constant reassurance that they’re alright.” 

Your brows pinch in a frown at her words as she kneels on the floor beside the couch. “Your mom was an omega?” 

She nods. “And dad was a beta. Wound up with two beta children, though I don’t think mom complained much about that. We grew up in a big pack with lots of people around us. I think mom would have been worse off if it had just been her and dad.” She sets the pillow on the couch, gently prying the phone from your fingers. “Come on, lay down.” She directs you. 

You do as she says, laying down on the couch, resting your head on the pillow. She covers you with the blanket, tucking it up around your neck. “Is that why you’re so good at this job?” 

She smiles, setting your phone on the arm of the couch above your head. “Maybe. I think it gave me more empathy for omegas and the struggles you face every day.” She gently squeezes your arm. “They’ll be alright. They’re probably just as worried about you, as you are them. But, you need to get some rest. You don’t have to sleep, just laying with your eyes closed will help.” 

You tilt your head, glancing up at your phone. “What if I fall asleep and it rings?” 

“Then I’ll make sure you get a chance to answer it.” She says, squeezing your arm again. “I promise. Get some rest.” 

You let out a breath, not wanting to risk falling asleep, but you close your eyes anyway. It doesn’t stop the thoughts from coming on, the nightmarish images the anxiety feeds your brain flashing before your eyes. What if they’re lying dead somewhere right now? What if something’s happened to Kate and she can’t tell you? Would you ever find out? Would you ever know? 

Despite the anxiety prickling through your body, the warmth of the blanket begins to lull you into a false sense of security. Perhaps it’s the sheer exhaustion from your lack of sleep over the last couple weeks, paired with the exhaustion from your constant worrying, but you find yourself slipping between sleep and consciousness as you lay there on Dr. Keller’s couch. You don’t mean to, but you can’t help it as you begin to drift off to sleep. 

Screaming. It’s loud, piercing your ears. Something’s holding you, hands clutching at your form desperately. It hurts, nails biting into your skin, fingers gripping too hard, yet you don’t care. 

“You won’t take her from me! I won’t let you!”

You’re crying, sobs wracking your body as you cling just as tightly to the form holding you. 

Hands grab at you, squeezing and pulling, trying to free you from the constricting grip around you, but it won’t let go. You cling to it just as desperately, afraid of what will happen if you let go. 

You know what will happen if you let go. 

“She’s no daughter of mine.” 

The words bite into you, slicing through your skin straight into your very soul, the prickling pain of your own flesh and blood rejecting you making your skin crawl. How could he just let you go like that? How could he turn against you so easily, over something you have no control over? 

Pain erupts across your entire body. Something snaps, your ears ringing from more screams. You’re being pulled away from the safety of the hold around you, your body going cold as the warmth around you disappears. Hands close around you, fingers ripping into you as you're torn from your mother’s hold and into the unknown. 

“Easy, easy.” 

You’re gasping, breathing wheezing as tears choke you. 

“Deep breaths. In and out, nice and slow.” 

Your breath hitches, catching painfully in your chest. 

“You’re alright, you’re safe.” 

You force your eyes open, blinded by tears as something is tucked into your arms. You squeeze the bear against your chest, hiccuping as you fight for control over your emotions. You’re on the couch in Dr. Keller’s office still. You’re not at what was once your home, not stuck in the nightmare you’ve lived over and over. 

Slowly breathing becomes easier, your sobs quieting to sniffles. The tears still spill down your cheeks, dampening the fur of the bear in your arms. 

“You’re alright,” Dr. Keller says, rubbing your back gently. 

You slowly push yourself up to sit, pulling your knees against your chest. You press your palms into your eyes, trying to get the tears to stop. Dr. Keller shifts her position, sitting next to you on the couch. 

“How long have you been having nightmares?” She asks quietly, watching you as you try to calm yourself. 

“Since my heat.” You say, voice rough from crying. You wrap your arms around the bear again, holding onto it tightly. 

“You haven’t said anything about it.” She says gently, shifting slightly so she’s facing you. 

“I didn’t want to.” You say quietly, shame burning through you. She’s not reprimanding you, yet you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. “I shouldn’t be having them, I mean...it’s not even that bad compared to...compared to what the others have gone through. The kinds of nightmares they have.” 

“It might seem that way to you, but trauma is still trauma. It might not be the worst thing someone else has gone through, but it is the worst thing you’ve been through.” 

Her words give you pause. You’ve never quite thought of it that way. The kinds of things your pack does, the things they’ve seen, the things they’ve done, are far worse than anything you’ve experienced. The things you’ve experienced may pale in comparison, but they’re your experiences. No one else’s. 

“If you want to talk about them, that’s what I’m here for.” Dr. Keller says, leaving things open for you to decide what to do. 

You don’t have to tell her. She won’t force you to do it. She won’t force you to do anything, to say anything you don’t want to. It might be nice, though, to let someone know, someone neutral, someone who won’t tell anyone else. It might be nice to finally put into words the things that are eating you, have been eating you. 

You lay back down, curling up into a tight ball on the couch. You hug the bear close to your chest, letting it ground you. “My nightmares, they’re always about the day I left for the institute.” You start, taking a shaky breath. “I haven’t had them in years.” 

“You were sent early after your presentation, right?” She asks. 

“The day after.” You answer. 

“Being sent to an institute can be traumatic when done within the normal time after presentation. I can’t even imagine what being sent that soon was like.” She lets out a breath. “Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, the brain and body hold onto it, because we don’t feel safe enough to process it in the moment. The brain can hold onto it for years, until we finally feel safe enough. Then the brain can start to try and heal from that trauma without us even realizing it.” 

“You think that’s what’s happening?” You ask. 

“It’s possible. Going through your heat successfully, being claimed, building close bonds with your pack, all could aid in helping you finally feel safe enough to process that trauma. Things usually feel worse as the brain works through the trauma, which could be why you’re having nightmares about that event suddenly.” 

“Is there anything that will make them stop?” You ask. 

“There’s some things we can do together that might help the process. I’m more than happy to help you with it, if that’s what you’d like to do. If you decide to, I think it will be a good idea to set up appointments at least twice a week, at least at first.” 

“What are we gonna tell John?” 

She gives you a look. “Well, I’d advise telling him the truth. I think you should tell your pack about your nightmares. They can at least offer you some comfort and understanding. Of course, that’s entirely up to you and what you want to do.” 

You let out a sigh, getting comfortable on the couch again. Dr. Keller adjusts the blanket over you, squeezing your arm gently. 

“Think about it.” She says. “We can talk about it more after they get back and things have settled back to normal again.” 

You’re brushing your teeth when the call comes. You quickly spit into the sink, not even bothering to rinse your mouth before you’re answering, anxiety twisting your stomach into knots. You hadn’t even checked the screen to see who was calling. You’re just anxious to hear from someone after days of silence. 

“Hello?” 

There’s a beat of silence before the voice on the other side responds, the audio distant and slightly garbled, but you hardly notice. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

You fight back a sob, your inhale shaky as relief floods through you. “Alpha.” The title slips through your lips before you can even catch it, your body nearly vibrating at hearing John’s voice after so many days. 

“I’m here. We’re all here.” He says, distant voices sounding in the background. 

A smile tugs at your lips, happy tears blurring your eyes as you collapse on your bed. “Missed you.” 

“I know, we’ve missed you too.” 

You move to your bed, flopping down on the mattress in relief. “You alright? Is everyone alright?” 

“We’re alright. Few bumps and bruises, but nothing we haven’t had before. How are you holding up?” 

The urge to spill the truth to him is strong. You’ve been depressed and worried and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that you haven’t panicked about something. You’ve been having horrible nightmares and haven’t been sleeping. There’s an ache in your chest that won’t go away, and you’re afraid it might kill you if you don’t see them soon. 

“I’m alright. Sad cause I miss you a lot.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” There’s a sound on the other end, something you can’t make out and the line buzzes for a second. For a moment you’re worried you were disconnected, but John’s voice cuts through the noise again. “We’re finishing up here soon, and we’ll be home in a couple of days.” 

You can’t help but sigh in relief at his words. They’re alright. They’re all safe, and they’re going to be home soon. You’re going to get to see them soon, touch them again, smell them again. “Hurry back.” You say, your voice shaky with emotion. 

“We’ll try, sweet girl. We have to get going, but we’ll be back before you know it.” 

Saying goodbye doesn't hurt as much as you expect it to. Maybe it’s the relief from hearing their voices, from knowing they’re really alright paired with the knowledge that they’ll be home soon. Two days doesn’t seem so far now that you know that’s all that stands between you and seeing your pack again. 

You roll over in your bed, pressing your face into the pillows. Nothing smells like them anymore. Not their shirts that they scented before they left, not your pillows or stuffed animals. The couch in the rec room, and even John’s bed have started to smell more like you. 

The first thing you’re going to do when they return is get a big whiff of each of them, even if you have to tackle Ghost to do it. You want to refresh their scents all over everything, roll around in them until they’re the only thing you can smell. 

For the first time in days, you manage to sleep that night. It’s not much, but it’s a deep, nightmare-free sleep, aided by the relief from the constant anxiety that has plagued you. 

You update Dr. Keller the next day on the news of your pack’s imminent return. You elect to spend the afternoon in the barracks instead of her office, the building suddenly not seeming quite so empty now that you know they’re coming home soon. You clean up John’s room, making his bed again after you’d made a mess of it trying to sleep. They’re all going to be tired when they return, and you want to help them in any way that you can. You pick up your room as well, even though you know you likely won’t be spending much time in it for a while. You’re going to latch yourself onto them and not let go until the ache in your chest has disappeared. 

You bristle when the knock sounds at your door. You glance up from where you had been sorting the clothes you’d stolen from the guys from your own so you can get them to scent them again. You’re not expecting a knock yet. It’s too early to be Dr. Keller coming to get you for dinner, and she would have announced herself like she has been, if it was her. 

That means someone else is in the barracks. Someone you don’t know. 

Your mind races as you try to think of who it could be. You don’t know many others on base, and certainly no one that would enter the barracks just like that, unless it’s an emergency. Is there an emergency? You’re almost certain if there was an emergency on base, then there would be alarms going off or something. There’d be some sign that something was happening, but it’s quiet outside, or at least, there’s no noises you’re not expecting. 

The knock comes again, louder and sharper. Whoever is on the other side is obviously not going to just go away. You debate calling Dr. Keller, telling her someone is outside your door, getting her to help you on this, but instead you grab your phone, holding it in your hand as you move towards the door. 

You unlock it, holding your hand on the handle in case the person on the other side tries to force their way in. They don’t, so you open it slowly, just enough that you can see out. There’s a soldier outside your door. A woman. You don’t recognize her, but then again you don’t see many women on the base, and you don’t pay much attention to the other soldiers. 

Maybe you need to start paying more attention. 

She’s a beta, you can tell just by looking at her. She’s wearing scent blockers, keeping her scent from projecting into the barracks to erase the fact she was here. 

She says your name, staring at you with hard set eyes. “General Shepherd is waiting for you.” 

It takes you a moment to process what it is she’s saying. You’ve never met any of the higher ups on base. The person with the most authority you’ve met is John, but you know he’s only a Captain. There’s others above him, but you weren’t any concern of theirs, so you have never bothered to meet them. Even in your time with the CIA, the person with the most authority that you met seemed to be Kate. You hadn’t even been given names of anyone higher up than her. 

Apparently something’s changed. 

Something in the back of your mind begins to tingle. Something isn’t right about this. You should have called Dr. Keller, or even Kate. You shouldn’t have opened the door so recklessly. 

“But, I’m not supposed to-” You begin, unsure of what to do now. 

“It’s a direct order from your superior.” The woman cuts you off, her tone sharp and impatient.

You’re not a soldier. The only superior you have is John and he’s certainly not behind this. 

You wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Not right now. 

“Okay, okay.” You say, stepping back slightly from the door. “Let me just get some shoes on.” 

You close the door, staring down at your phone. You debate calling Dr. Keller or even just sending a text, but you don’t put it past the woman outside to barge in if you don’t hurry. You can feel the panic rising, the thought of someone invading your space so carelessly making the back of your neck tingle. So instead you slip on a pair of shoes, shoes you know you can run in, before you open the door again. 

She’s still standing in the hallway, stiffly at attention. Her gaze pierces into you, making your skin crawl. You close your door behind you, slipping your phone into your pocket. She doesn't say anything as she turns on her heel, walking down the hallway towards the door. You follow behind her, having to walk quickly to keep up with her. You’re reminded of your early days on the base when you would be escorted around by Ghost. 

You’d take those times back over this right now. 

Your palms start to sweat as you leave the barracks, dread starting to fill your stomach as you realize how much of a mistake you’ve made, leaving with this stranger. She could be taking you anywhere to see anyone. You’re not even sure General Shepherd is a real person. 

The thought of being led blindly into a room of alphas like a lamb being led into a den of hungry wolves nearly makes you panic, your steps faltering just slightly as you debate running. You could make it to the medical center quickly from here if you sprint the entire way. Would she chase you if you took off running? Would you get in trouble? Would the guys get in trouble if you did? 

You don’t want anyone to get in trouble. 

Especially not with this being the first time you’ve been on your own. They’ve put a lot of trust in both you and Dr. Keller in their absence. If you get into trouble while they’re gone, that might change things. You could ruin everything you’ve built by misbehaving. 

The woman leads you to a building you haven’t been in before, leading you down a clinical-looking hallway to a door. She pauses in front of it, turning to face you. You stare at her, still on edge. What if this is a test? What if they’re testing you to see if you’d just blindly leave with a stranger while they’re not there to protect you. 

You’ve made a big mistake. 

The woman holds out her hand, and you stare down at it dumbly. “Your phone.” 

You continue to stare at her hand for a moment, trying to swallow the nervous panic rising within you. You don’t have much of a choice now but to obey. Your hands are shaking as you pass your phone over, the woman pocketing it before she opens the door. 

It’s bright inside, the LED bulbs burning your eyes. You’re uncomfortable and uneasy, a dangerous mix for an omega, but the person inside doesn’t seem to care. He stands from his seat, towering over you. He screams alpha before his scent even hits you. You’re thrown back into the memories of your father, the way he carried himself, the way he stood. Back straight like a rod, hands clasped behind his back, face pressed into a stern line. 

He’s in uniform, decorated with more patches and pins than you could put a name to. Army, you think, judging by the color of his jacket. It looks like General Shepherd is a real person after all. 

You try not to flinch as the door clicks closed behind you, sealing you in this room with an unknown alpha. Though it’s only one, you still feel like the helpless lamb standing before a hungry wolf. 

No one will hear you scream. No one will care. 

“My name is General Shepherd.” He says, his voice gruff and laced with authority. “I am the acting commander of Task Force 141.” 

You’re not sure if you should say anything, or even bother introducing yourself. He probably already knows you well, even though you’ve never met him before in your life. 

“I was one of the driving forces behind the omega initiative, and I decided the 141 should be one of the first to participate. I also signed the approval for you to be assigned as their omega, did you know that?” 

You shake your head. “N-No sir, the CIA didn’t give me any names.” 

“Good.” His lips twitch in what you assume was supposed to be a smile. It doesn’t ease your nerves any. “They weren’t supposed to. I’m sure you’ve learned that confidentiality is everything in this line of work.” 

“Yes, sir.” You try not to flinch under his gaze, piercing and probing. The back of your neck is tingling, every single instinct in your body screaming at you to run, to escape, to get somewhere safe. 

“I came here today to ensure your pack was doing as they were instructed. I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far. You’re getting along well with them?” 

You nod again. “Yes, sir. There were some...bumps along the way, but we all get along fine now.” 

“Good.” He closes the file on the table, taking a step closer to you. You fight the urge to take a step back, not wanting him to invade your space while you’re so vulnerable. “The success of this program is imperative to the future of the military and its functionality. You’re doing important work here with the Task Force.” His hand lifts, slowly pulling the collar of your shirt to the side so he can see your mating mark. 

You fight the urge to lift your hands and wrap them around the back of your neck, the instinctual urge to protect yourself nearly winning out as he stares at your mark. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the fear-driven adrenaline making your fingers tremble. Half a second and he could scruff you, half a second and he could overpower you. 

No one would know. No one would care.  

“I’m satisfied with what I’m seeing so far. Of course, the true measure of success will be their efficiency in their current task.” He steps back away from you, moving back to the table. “How have you been adjusting to them being gone?” 

“It’s been difficult,” You say, breathing for a second to collect yourself. “But I know separation can be a rough adjustment at first.” 

His lips twitch again in a twisted smile. “You’re a smart girl. That’s why I chose you for this position. You’re doing good work. Your efforts will change the course of military history, hopefully for the better.” 

Something about his words don’t sit right with you. 

You’re trembling as you exit the room, led out by the woman that had brought you to the building. Your breaths are heavy as you try to keep a grip on the anxiety threatening to overtake you. Your hand is trembling uncontrollably as she give you your phone back, your knuckles going white as you clutch it to your chest. You’re sweating, the cool air chilling your skin as you step outside. 

You barely remember the walk back to the barracks, numbly following the woman as she leads you back to your safe space. It doesn't feel so safe anymore, now that she’s breached it. She entered without permission, breaking that trust that’s so sacred to packs. 

She doesn't even seem bothered by it. 

She pauses outside the door to the barracks, staring down at you. You fight the urge to race inside and lock yourself in the safety of your room before she can change her mind and enter again, or take you somewhere worse. You stand your ground, meeting her gaze. 

“Thank you for your cooperation.” She says, as monotone as she had been the first time she spoke to you. 

You finally realize what it was that made her seem so off to you as you think over her words. 

She’s American. 

“Thank you for escorting me.” You say politely, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Have a safe trip home.” 

You quickly enter the barracks, speed walking down the hall towards your room. You want to burrow under your covers and hide until the guys return and you can feel safe again. You pause in front of your door, staring down at the handle. The back of your neck is prickling again, anxiety burning hot in your veins. Your hands have begun shaking again, clinging to the phone still pressed against your chest. You fight the urge to hyperventilate as you stare at your door, half of your brain telling you to run and the other half stuck, staring in shock and disbelief. 

Your door is ajar. Open just a crack, just enough to be noticeable by looking at it. 

You always close your door. You always ensure it’s shut every time you leave the barracks, even when the guys are home. You remember shutting it before you followed the woman out of the barracks. You remember distinctly listening to the click of the handle as you pulled it shut behind you in the quiet of the barracks. 

You stare at the gap, the line of the frame visible. It’s open. Your door is open. 

Someone was inside your room. 

NEXT ->

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx

@protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai

@redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg

@beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff

@smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60

@evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine

@thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows

@ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce

@darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood

@daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

[holylulusworld]

Unworthy (1)

Summary: Thor doesn’t think you‘re a good friend to his brother.

Pairing: AU!Thor Odinson x fem!Reader, AU!Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader (platonic/best friends)

Warnings: past addiction, mentions of drug abuse/addiction (Loki), angst, classism, Thor being an ass, BBF trope, mentions of spiked drinks

Unworthy masterlist

Thor doesn’t think you‘re a good friend to his brother and won’t stop telling you, his parents, and Loki so. 

You’re not rich, and don’t come from a wealthy family. You’re just you, and that is not enough in Thor’s eyes.

“How can you believe she wants to be your friend,” Thor’s voice booms through the hallways. You sigh and try to focus on work, not the fact that the brute is yelling at your friend again. “You’re blinded by lust!”

“Y/N and I are only friends. I know you cannot be around a woman without getting between her legs, but I cherish my friendship with Y/N. Stop trying to ruin our bond.”

“Bond,” the blonde snorts when you step out of your office to come to Loki’s aid. “Ah, there she is. The she-devil.”

“What is going on here?” You glare at Thor, not afraid of the tall man. He’s much taller than you and easily towers over you. “People try to work here, Mr. Odinson.”

“He tried to ruin our friendship again,” Loki defensively says. He moves closer to you, seeking your closeness. He’s still not out of the woods, and the confrontations with his brother do him no good.

You straighten your back and try to look taller while glaring at Thor. “I know you cannot understand that people want to be friends, but this doesn’t mean you can argue with your brother about our friendship all the time. This is ridiculous. Why do you hate the fact that Loki is my friend? There is no harm in being friends with me.”

“Says you,” Thor huffs as he eyes you up and down. “I know exactly what you are up to. Loki is just too blind to see who you truly are.”

You gently take Loki’s hand when he starts fidgeting next to you. He needs someone to help him with his insecurities and not fall back into old patterns.

Drug addiction is a dead end. If you don’t find a way back out, you are stuck. Loki is doing well. You’re a big help and the constant he needs to stay clean.

Thor doesn’t get that you are Loki’s anchor when the world gets too much again.

“How about we get you something to eat, darling,” you wrap one arm around Loki’s shoulder to guide him toward your office. “My office is a haven. Don’t worry. You’re safe, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Thor watches you guide his brother away from him with angry eyes. One day, he’ll find a way to get rid of you.

He doesn’t care that Loki and his father think highly of you. Thor Odinson swore to himself to remove you from his brother’s life, and he won’t stop until he succeeds.

“Son, I won’t argue with you again. Y/N is a hard-working woman. She’s smart, eloquent, and always professional. Stop trying to make her a bad person,” Odin warns one last time. Thor tried, once again, to get you fired.

“I do not trust her. Father, she’s not like us. I know there is something wrong with her. Why would she want to be friends with Loki during his darkest times if not to take advantage of him and his vulnerability.”

“I’m right here,” Loki rises from his seat to glare at his brother. “I’ve been clean for almost a year. Y/N was one of the reasons I did not have a relapse. She’s a good person and a kind soul. Stop being a classist!”

“I’m not a classist!”

Loki pants heavily. “YES YOU ARE!” 

“Sons!” Odin slams his fist onto the table. “Thor, stop right there. Do not go any further.” Odin’s features soften seeing Loki’s hand tremble. “Loki, we believe you. Y/N is a good person and she’s always welcome here.”

“Thank you, father,” Loki nods before he turns to leave the room. “Please excuse me. I lost my appetite.”

“Morning darling,” you try to cheer Loki up. He told you about the scene Thor made during dinner. “I got you breakfast and the tea you like some much.”

“You’re the best,” he grins and takes the offered tea. “I’m sorry for chewing your ear off last night. I know I can be…too much.”

“Loki,” you cup his chin with one hand, “let me stop you right there. We are friends. You’re never too much. If you want to talk, even if it’s two am, come over or give me a call. That’s what friends are good for.”

Thor watches you run your hand up and down Loki’s arm. He squares his jaw and huff.

“Only friends. Who are you trying to kid, woman…”

Thor feels like he defeated a dragon. He crosses his arms over his wide chest and smirks as he watches your downfall.

Odin didn’t waste time. He’d do anything to protect Loki. Even if it means to fire one of his best and most reliable employees. 

It took one old picture to ruin your life. Thor didn’t let up until he finally found something he could use against you.

A snapshot of you, stoned and barely awake as you hold a drink in your hands. To anyone else, it’s a girl partying during college. To Odin, it’s a picture of a woman bringing drugs and alcohol into his drug-addicted son’s life.

Your ears ring from the yelling you received from Odin. He called you an addict, and a bad influence. You don’t care that you lost your job. The only thing that pains you is that Odin forbids you to see Loki again.

“Are you done?” You coolly reply. “If so, you should know that I do not drink and that I didn’t take drugs. That’s a very old��picture taken by someone I didn’t even know.”

“I cannot have someone like you near my son or at my company,” Odin regrets his harsh words, but Loki is more important than an employee.

You angrily wipe your eyes while Thor watches you clean out your desk. 

This is it. He made it. You not only lost your job, but your friendship with Loki is over too.

His father will not allow you to keep in touch with his son. Not after his golden boy made him believe you’re a bad person. You knew the first time you met Thor Odinson that he would be your downfall.

“I knew you’re a bad influence,” he sneers when you look at him with teary eyes. “You’re tears and pout won’t work on me. I’m not my unstable brother eating out of your hands.”

“Do you think I care?” you choke on your tears. “Did you…” You take a deep breath. “Did you dig a little deeper? Did you find out that the picture was taken after some rich, entitled frat boy spiked my drink to show the poor and shy girl what happens when she turns his advances down?”

Thor blanches at your words. He doesn’t want to believe you, but your eyes give the truth away. “I—” It’s the first time the tall blonde is at a loss of words. He doesn’t have an answer or a comeback. 

What if he just destroyed your career and friendship with Loki over nothing? 

He was so blinded by his ignorance and jealousy that he did more than damage your career. Thor Odinson destroyed you completely. Your reputation and career lie in ruins all thanks to him. Everyone saw the picture you desperately tried to forget.

What’s past is past you told yourself whenever the memories flash back up. You tried to move past what happened back then and you believed, at least for a while, that you succeeded.

“Did you find out that I ended up in hospital, and that I only got lucky because a friend found me before that very same frat boy could finish his plan?”

“Why would he do this to you?” Thor’s tone is softer now. 

“Well, he was just like you. A rich boy who never heard the word no,” you throw the last knick-knack into the box and pick it up. “He believed he can tell me to suck his dick and I’d happily oblige. That guy didn’t get that I’m not the kind of girl seeking attention from guys like him.”

“Wait—if that’s true,” Thor touches your arm, but you shake his hand off. “I talk to Father and explain my mistake. We can figure something out.”

“Save it,” you huff. “He didn’t believe me. I was nothing but loyal to your father and the company. All I ever wanted was to do a good job and be a good friend to Loki. Just you know, I stopped Loki from taking drugs anytime life dragged him down. I hope he finds help soon.” You sniffle. “I’d hate to watch him fall for the poison again only because you made it impossible for me to be there for him.”

Thor swallows thickly when you storm out of your office. You brush past Odin and Frigga who heard every word you threw in Thor’s direction. They feel as guilty as their son when their eyes meet Thor’s blue ones.

“Is that true, son?” Odin questions while you walk away, holding your head high. You didn’t do anything wrong. All you ever did was to support Loki.

“I don’t know yet,” Thor hastily says. “I’ll find out and then…” he trails off watching you walk past your co-workers. None of them even says goodbye, even though, you’ve been there for them whenever someone needed help. “I’ll make amends.”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[showtoonzfan]

So….can Viv tell us why in Helluva Boss, they establish that classism is a thing in Hell and royal demons can’t be with low ranking ones, but the king of hell himself gave sinners free will and could care less about what they do with their time because he hates them? Because Lucifer clearly is just some regular guy. He doesn’t have ill intentions towards anyone in hell because he doesn’t interact with them, isolating himself away from them. It’s confirmed that he doesn’t rule Hell at all so if there are no rules, why do the hellborns care so much about the rankings, and who created this system if Lucifer didn’t?

And I’m not sure if we can even say the sins may have, cause they were canonically friends with Lucifer and used to have this circus act with him. Then you have the fact that Beezlebub and Asmodeous are good people who don’t care about the rankings, so what’s with all the talk in Helluva boss about hell’s rules and it’s strict classism. Is there an authority figure or not? Can demons do whatever they want or not? Is there strict classism or not? These shows hurt my BRAIN bro. How hard is it to answer these simple questions in your shows.

[walks-the-ages]

Nanowrimo made a half-assed, desperate ""apology"" post

Full text, for when they inevitably try to edit it; as of right now it's August 6th, 2024, around 5:30pm est.

A Note to Our Community About our Comments on AI – September 2024 To the NaNoWriMo Community: In early August, debates about AI on our social media channels became vitriolic. It was clear that the intimidation and harassment we witnessed were causing harm within our community of writers. The FAQs we crafted last week were written to curtail those behaviors. We wanted to send a clear signal that NaNoWriMo spaces would not be used to bully or delegitimize other writers. This was consistent with our May 2024 statement, which named a lack of civility in NaNoWriMo spaces as a longstanding concern. Taking a position of neutrality was not an abandonment of writers’ legitimate concerns about AI. It was an acknowledgment that NaNoWriMo can’t maintain a civil, inclusive community if we allow selective intolerance. We absolutely believe that AI must be discussed and that its ethical use must be advocated-for. What we don’t believe is that NaNoWriMo belongs at the forefront of that conversation. That debate should continue to thrive within the greater writing community as technologies continue to evolve. We apologize that our original message was unclear and seemingly random. Our note on ableism and classism was rooted in the desire to point out that, for people in certain circumstances, some forms of AI can be life-changing. We certainly don’t believe those with concerns about AI to be classist or ableist. Not being more careful about our wording was a bad decision on our part. Our Mission is about providing encouragement to writers and cheering them on as they progress toward their goals. That remains our primary focus. In the future, we will be more transparent about the issues that we are trying to address with any messaging we provide. Finally, we recognize that some members of our community have other questions and concerns that go beyond general context for our comments. We don’t think we can address all of these in a single communication. Additional context here is that we are a very small team (including our Interim Executive Director, who is a volunteer). We want to take the time to read through your letters with the care, attention, and concern they deserve. Please expect more in the coming weeks.  In partnership, The NaNoWriMo Team

I sincerely hope their other sponsors bail ship and leave them to flounder at this point lmao. There is no going back from "if you criticize generative AI you're just ableist classist and racist".

They've also once again edited their "What Is Nanowrimo's Stance on AI?" post:

New text, in full; looks like it was updated sometime late yesterday or early today (August 6th 2024):

What is NaNoWriMo's position on Artificial Intelligence (AI)? 13 hours ago -Updated Not yet followed by anyone

NaNoWriMo neither explicitly supports nor condemns any approach to writing, including the use of tools that  leverage AI. We recognize that harm has been done to the writing and creative communities at the hands of bad actors in the generative AI space, and that the ethical questions and risks posed by some aspects of this technology are real. The fact that AI is a large, complex technology category (which encompasses both non-generative and generative AI, applied in a range of ways to a range of uses) contributes to our belief that AI is simply too big and too varied to categorically support or condemn. NaNoWriMo's mission is to "provide the structure, community, and encouragement to help people use their voices, achieve creative goals, and build new worlds—on and off the page." We fulfill our mission by supporting the humans doing the writing. Please see this related post that speaks to our overall position on nondiscrimination with respect to approaches to creativity, writer's resources, and personal choice.  We made mistakes in our initial expression of this position. We speak to those mistakes in this letter to our community, and we've simplified the language on this page to reflect our core position. 

If you're wondering why Nano's posting all these non-apologies, its because they started this debacle with seven huge sponsors.

Over the course of the last three days, they've gone down to four.

They have literally lost about half their sponsors because of their support of generative ai.

And, as you can see in the "apologies" above, they're still defending their AI stance, by now claiming that their stance is because they were defending poor, hapless AI users from a horde of harassment and bullying from all sides, and they're not a platform that condones bullying! totally! (sarcasm).

[kindlingkeen]

People talk about Jason being the angry Robin a lot (I’ll fight people on this /lh, he may have gotten angry I don’t deny that, but he was so much more than that. This kid wanted to help people!!) and generally focus on him disagreeing/fighting w Bruce a lot.

I think more people should talk about the fact Jason was able to make Batman laugh, on just an awful anniversary too. Like, Batman is known for being stoic and just generally…not a happy dude? But this little kid comes along! And now the ‘dark knight’ is smiling and laughing!! Jason made Bruce happy then & afterwards too as Jason & Robin.

Anyway, that I think adds to the heartache of his death / Bruce being so close far more than their fight does. (Not that the fight isn’t important or anything, it absolutely is) that difference between that happy caring kid to the current Jason is supposed to be shocking 👏 not expected 👏

I agree, it absolutely adds to the heartache of his death.

I think there’s two related reasons for the focus on Jason as the “angry” Robin.

1) After Jason died, dc made a concerted effort to rewrite history that ‘Jason was reckless and angry and didn’t listen to Batman so his death was his fault and really he had it coming’. Because apparently the thing to do after you brutally murder a child as part of a grotesque media stunt is to use classism and victim blaming to gaslight your audience in order to deflect from your own failings. 🤢

For example just look at the difference between this panel from Batman #614 published in 2003:

Jason never had the skills that Dick had.

I’ve always known that Dick had a gift. Jason only had … rage.

Versus these panels from Batman #410 published in 1987 where we see Jason display obvious skill in hand-to-hand and acrobatics, and Bruce calls Dick and Jason “two of a kind”:

2) It’s a lot easier to not feel bad about Jason’s brutal demise if you focus on him as a bad seed to begin with. Like, who wants to think about a happy kid who excelled at school and loved his dad being beaten half to death and blown up.

So, yeah, I totally agree with you anon, the difference between pre-death Jason and post-death Jason is supposed to be shocking, not expected. Most of all it’s tragic. 😔

(PS…Sorry it took me forever to answer your ask, anon. I’ve been searching for a particular comic panel I wanted to include as a reference. I finally had to admit defeat and move on without it. 😕)

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

The devastating thing to contend with regarding Veilguard is that you are left with two choices:

1) You accept that the story we’ve been waiting a decade for to conclude ended with the lore retconned, our memorable characters flanderized and misused, the world itself far less impressive and interesting and unique than it had originally set itself up to be.

or

2) You disregard Veilguard. You pretend it doesn’t exist, and that means the story is forever incomplete. You don’t receive closure. You don’t receive that last wave of clever, intricate, intriguing, wonder-evoking dynamic writing culminating in a world-shattering conclusion that we’ve been building up for 15 years. Solas and Lavellan are never reunited. The question of Solas’s past, the true nature of the Evanuris, and Solas’s relationship with them remains unknown. The enslaved elves of Tevinter remain sitting in chains. The hinted-at fragmentation and divestment of certain pockets of Dalish and city elves to Solas’s cause remain a potential interpersonal culture war stuck in stasis. Your world state is in eternal limbo, sitting on the hazy precipice of a climax that will never trigger. You as a fan will never have the opportunity to thrust yourself into a rich, magical, poignant universe of political intrigue, culture clashes, historical grievances, metaphysical and philosophical arguments, and relatable moral and ethical struggles to rise from the dirt, dusty and panting, and feel that relief and bittersweetness and mourning of an epic finally reaching a long-awaited end.

It is the fact I have to lie to myself in order to keep what I originally enjoyed so much about Dragon Age alive in my heart. I have to actively delude myself and pretend this game doesn’t exist because it actively and aggressively subtracts and undermines from all that came before it and in doing so retroactively ruins all the enjoyment I derived from the series. The furious debates we had, the essays we wrote for each other analyzing symbolism, characters, personal motivations, the parallels to real life politics regarding classism, racism, colonization, imperialism, marginalization, the nature of power, the nature of memory and history, oppression, legacy, vengeance, justice, love, hate, ambition..

I am not saying that because we were ardent fans that we somehow spiritually or informally own the Dragon Age IP. I’m not trying to come off as entitled, but this is absolutely unacceptable. It is a slap in the face. To say it is a departure from the previous games in tone, feel, and writing is like saying bulldozing a ghetto with citizens still in their beds in order to make room for a heat-trapping super highway is a case of radical “urban planning”.

We were so hopeful. We were so optimistic. We needed to be, because the alternative was despair.

And they gave us this generic fantasy Action-“RPG” with Dragon Age as the negligible setting. It is negligible, because all of the uniqueness of Dragon Age has been filed down to appeal to potential newcomers who want nothing more than a vague fantasy setting with puddle-deep lore that they could easily ignore if they wished so they could get back to hacking away at mobs and demons with shiny combat mechanics; the romances are tacked on and shallow, the character writing as insightful and engaging as a 90s arcade Beat ‘em up. The “Dragon Age” in Dragon Age: The Veilguard is a costume, an excuse, a misnomer. With this entry, Bioware/EA have established they care more for action than RPG, that deep, genuine storytelling that can make an IP a household name is not nearly as lucrative or worthwhile as endlessly chasing gaming trends and trying to appeal to new fans by being hip and cool.

But if you sit down and are honest with yourself, could anyone have been able to tie all the threads together in a satisfying way? The people currently left at Bioware certainly couldn’t, but could the entire old crew have helped steer this in the right direction? Was this story simply too epic, the plot threads too numerous, the concepts too far-reaching for adequate exploration to be satisfied with a single new game entry? It stretches belief. But perhaps if that 70% of effort devoted to combat had been instead implemented into the story (rather than the 7% it was allotted. The other 23% was on other bullshit) I’d be thinking differently. The story was what brought Origins to life. Character relationships and the direness of the moral shitshow of the mage oppression were what saved DA2 from being mediocre; the companion romances and the revelations from the Trespasser DLC were what saved Inquisition from being another honestly half-baked entry.

Writing is why Dragon Age fans accumulated. Writing is what made us stay. Writing is what made us hope and pray for a fourth game. And now writing is what has invalidated all of our collective time and efforts in ever daring to give a shit about this world and these fictional characters.

In order for my love of this series to not be snuffed out like a flame in a blizzard, I need to be delusional. I need to pretend this game doesn’t exist. And that means I need to live with a self-imposed false sense of mourning for something that never came to be, because what *did* come to be—what actually exists in reality—is more devastatingly heartbreaking and . It hurts either way. You just have to choose which hairshirt to wear and wear it.

All of our theorizing and hypotheses and headcanons are now retroactively emboldened by a newfound sense of superiority since we were positing them from a place of genuine desire to see a well crafted and thematically sound and intriguing story. But for people like me, no amount of headcanons and fan works can truly compare to a video game or comic or book that crafts a competent, even exemplary, addition to the Dragon Age story.

I am sad and disappointed that I wont be able to play that game and bask in the glory of good storycraft. It’s one thing to read it in a fanfiction, it’s another for it to be in an officially licensed piece of media. It feels more real that way, and because what we got is so lackluster, fanfiction has to serve as the less filling ersatz. It’s somewhat nourishing to me, but it isn’t what I truly crave. I WANTED the story and writing to have been good in Veilguard, but it ISN’T, and no there isn’t any way to just ask them to withdraw the game and come back with something better. This is what we got. This is what they decided to do with something so integral to our lives. It sucks how much it hurts because it is just a video game at the end of the day, but fuck if it doesn’t make the bugs crawl over my brain in lament over this monumental blunder of something I held so near and dear to my heart.

[artist-issues]

I had someone tell me recently that Zootopia is about transgenderism.

No, it’s not.

I’m well aware of who directed and wrote the movie. I don’t care. If they were trying to say “transgenderism is a good thing: you CAN be whatever you want to be!” they did a terrible job saying it. Their movie did not say that clearly.

And I don’t think that’s what they were trying to say. I think they were trying to say, “it doesn’t matter what your race or background is; we’re all the same in the ways that matter, so try to understand each other and the world will be a better place.”

That’s it. That’s what the movie said.

But you who’ve listened to the knee-jerk responses will say to me, “are you kidding me, artist-issues, they literally say the line, ‘anyone can be anything!’ all throughout the movie!”

Right. But can anyone be anything, in the movie?

No.

The fennec Fox cannot shapeshift into an elephant. If he could, that would be a great portrayal in favor of transgenderism as a valid identity instead of a mental disorder. But he can’t go from being a fox to an elephant.

That trunk is made of felt; it cannot breathe. He will never get any larger. He has no ivory growing out of his skull. He is a fox, and no amount of feelings or wishful thinking in the movie makes him an elephant—oh, but hey—that fox never actually wanted to be an elephant.

It was a scam. It was a play for sympathy, so that the grown-adult fox could trick bleeding hearts, break the law, and do whatever he wanted.

How’s that shape up, as an argument for transgenderism? Not too good.

Now, do I believe it was an intentional argument being made by the filmmakers against the transgender movement? No. I don’t. Because I know who wrote and directed that movie.

But, again: if it was an intentional attempt to say “you can be anything you want to be,” the movie did a crap job of showing it.

Unless you mean, “you can have any career or position in society you want to have, as long as you work hard, and never mind what faulty judgement gets in your way.” Then, sure, yeah, that’s what the movie was saying.

“But what about the fact that Nick says, ‘everyone comes to Zootopia thinking they can be anything. Well, ya can’t. You can only be what you are. Sly fox, dumb bunny.’ And he was proven wrong!”

Mmkay, but what was he proven wrong about? He was proven wrong about Judy having a character flaw. She has moments of being dumb—giving in to prejudices. But she grew past that, because there’s more to a person than their character flaws. Just like she says to him on the sky-tram: “you are so much more” than a shifty, untrustworthy, sly fox.

And pay attention to what NICK said. “If the world is only going to see a fox that is shifty, and untrustworthy…” Nick does not believe that he is, deep down, shifty and untrustworthy. He’s just chosen to adopt that based on how others see him.

They’re talking about character flaws. All the stereotypes in the movie are just that: they’re stereotypes, based on the type of mammal you are. Not on whether or not you’re a mammal at all, which would’ve been the clearer correlation between Zootopia’s prejudices and the real-world transgenderism discussion.

Zootopia is about racism, and maybe, if you tilt your head and squint, classism. It’s not in any way about sexuality. Nice try. Unless you’re the filmmakers, and you’re somehow spinning it so that you were intending to say something about gender: in that case, bad try. Terrible job, that’s not what your movie succeeded in saying at all.

[eowynstwin]

i just wanna say i know it’s over now but the scale that it escalated to so fast is WILD to me. instead of admitting you might have prejudiced thought patterns (everyone does in one way or another btw, it’s literally baked into society. if it’s not colourism it’s classism or ableism etc etc etc) and changing for the better you fake your own suicide???? and blame it on someone just trying to make the fandom a better place for POC??

like i feel like this happened because myka had such an adverse reaction to being perceived as racist and yet she failed to realise that there is no option to just completely absolve yourself of engrained racism or colourism, and unequivocally the better and less harmful option is to acknowledge that and listen to POC and better yourself going forward. like i probably sound like a broken record because every other person of colour has been saying this since forever but someone pointing out that your behaviour is racist is a neutral statement. it has nothing to do with your character, they’re saying “this hurt me, please be better in the future.”

it’s insane to me that this message bears repeating SO OFTEN in a fandom supposedly full of completely grown adults but a Shituation like this should have never even happened, Madi should never have had to go through this shit because we’re all adults and we need to be able to talk about this like grown people. it literally feels like once a week we as a fandom are having the “hey, please don’t be racist, wtf is wrong with yall” talk, and the fact that someone had to get blamed for a fake suicide for the massage to get across is crazy. we’re so tired of repeating ourselves.

The thing I think bears pointing out is that Myka didn't really care about the accusation I made, because she went on to troll about Gaz with other accounts later (allegedly, but we're all pretty sure).

Which is its own special brand of racism, of course. She knew that saying racist shit would get her attention, no matter how it might affect fans of color in this community.

[we-were-so-beautiful]

3. taxi

oh man, this one FOUGHT me y'all. so much cutting and pasting. I am not even kidding when I say that everything that happens in this chapter was supposed to be part of the last one, and I gave up and cut that one off early because I was sick of trying to finish this part. and now this is my longest chapter yet. you know, out of all three of them. at 1.3k. lol. I am not, how do you say, fast. but I was hoping I'd be able to get a chapter written over christmas, and I'm really proud of myself for finishing it!

Content warnings for this chapter: box boy universe, pet whump, dehumanization, cage mention, rampant classism. As always, please tell me if there's anything else I need to tag.

[masterlist] [chapter two] [chapter four]

“Okay I know they’re supposed to be expensive but what can you possibly be charging this much money for.”

“Adoption fees are to offset the cost of room, board and medical care while at the facility,” the employee parrots, without so much as the decency to look ashamed. 

“He does not look like he has had literally any of those things while he’s been here. Or possibly in his entire life.”

“Ma’am, if you cannot afford the adoption fee, then you cannot adopt a Pet.”

“Oh, I can afford it,” Vanessa growls, handing over a very shiny credit card before her mouth can get her in enough trouble to stop the employee from taking it. She bites her lip until she tastes copper to keep from saying, I’d just rather put it towards something that isn’t blatantly and obviously going right back into Worldwide Rehabilitative Un-fucking-limited’s pockets despite the fact that this is supposed to be a goddamn government facility.

Harm reduction, she reminds herself. Paying extortionate fees to kill shelters is still harm reduction. It’s the unsavory truth, but it doesn’t make the blood in her mouth taste any sweeter.

“Sign here,” the woman says, handing her credit card back along with a digital pad and stylus, and Vanessa cracks her wrist before she takes them. It’s sore and snapping like a glowstick from the mountain of paperwork she’s already been made to sign since the employee unceremoniously hauled the man on the floor behind her down from his double-high-stacked wire crate. She can’t decide whether to consider it an obscenely large amount, or an obscenely little one for all that it represents.

She can’t think about it too hard. Can’t draw too much of her own attention to the fact that she’s really doing this, or she might just run screaming back out into the grey-tinted autumn afternoon, and then where would this guy be? 

She scribbles her name on the touchpad, and just like that… it’s done.

—

“Don’t forget your leash and collar,” the employee reminds her.

“I won’t be using those,” Vanessa says, with all the imperious rich-lady self-assurance she can fake.

“You will if you don’t want to be liable for civil and/or criminal penalties up to and including the permanent forfeiture of your right to Pet ownership,” the woman drones like she’s rattling it off from a handbook, and nobody has the right to own a person but even Vanessa knows better than to argue the system with someone who literally works for it.

She grinds her teeth as she takes the lengths of bulky blue nylon from the woman. She crouches beside the man, who’s bent himself into an odd kneeling fetal position on the cold tile floor. “Sorry,” she whispers as she slides the coarse material around his throat, feeling his pulse beat harsh and rapid underneath. She hopes she’s being quiet enough that the employee won’t hear her talking to him like a person—because he is a person, goddamnit—but she knows better than to trust her own volume. Best if she can get the fuck out of here with him now, before she makes a mistake.

She really doesn’t want to lead this dude crawling down the street like an animal. Doesn’t want to imagine what people will think. But she asks him, “Can you stand?”, and he makes a sound like a choking dog, and so much for both their dignity, she fucking guesses.

“Ugh, fine, whatever, just… come on.”

—

Fuck standing, the guy can barely support himself on all fours. His joints threaten to buckle at every step as Vanessa urges him out onto the chilly sidewalk. Coat of dirt aside, he’s got nothing on him but a pair of boxers as filthy as he is and that godawful blue collar, and when his bare skin meets the frigid pavement his body clenches so hard she can practically hear his teeth slam shut.

She looks at the unwashed man before her, shivering hard enough to rattle his bones in the cold October air. Looks at her thick brown coat. Ugh, she likes this coat, the lining is stitched in in all the right places to keep the texture of the shell from making her want to climb out of her own skin and no amount of dry cleaning in the world is going to convince her to put it on again once it touches… whatever the fuck is all goddamn over this guy. She sighs and shrugs it off.

Fuck fuck fuck it’s cold. She’s shivering herself in just plain blue jeans and her second favorite Cure t-shirt. But a million “if you’re cold, they’re cold!” memes flash through her mind and she grumbles aggrievedly and drapes the wool coat over his massive, gaunt frame. This dude has like a foot on her standing, she remembers when the lapels will barely pull around his shoulders. She’s gonna have to shake Austin down for clothes.

God, it feels beyond fucked up to have a person on a leash, and it doesn’t help that the cheap blue nylon feels plasticky in her hand and she hates the texture. She can’t imagine how much worse it must feel around the throat of the shuddering man before her. She’s taking the damn thing off him as soon as she gets him home, she’ll get him a better one if Roselle can’t find her a loophole and she absolutely fucking has to, but when the fifth or sixth cab passes her by without even slowing down she starts to wonder how the hell she’s going to get him home at all.

—

“You want to go to the corner,” the employee says boredly, not so much as looking up from her newspaper when Vanessa shoulders her way back through the door.

“You what?” Vanessa echoes.

“The corner. Better if you go another block or two, even. Cabs don’t stop in front of the shelter.”

Of course they don’t, Vanessa thinks. 

She hipchecks the door back open and returns to the stupid goddamn hitching post they so conveniently provide along the front wall of the shelter, where she’s awkwardly strung up the loop of the stupid blue leash. “Hey, uh, dude? I’m gonna go up the street a bit, okay, I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

He barely acknowledges that he’s heard her, curled back up under her coat in that same odd position with his forearms tucked into his chest. “...not that you would,” she adds dubiously, before power-walking away to the next block.

Vanessa hisses through her teeth in the bleak grey air and rubs at her goosebump-riddled arms, but true to the employee’s disaffected word it’s only a matter of minutes this time before a cab driver catches her wave and pulls over. “Thanks,” she says as she tumbles in. “I’m going back to the Heights. Need to pick someone up first, though. Just on the next block.”

The driver looks skeptical, but he rolls down the quiet street all the same—until he clocks the shelter just as Vanessa tells him to stop. “No. Nuh uh. No way. I don’t let Pets in my cab.”

“I’ll double your fare. Up front.”

The driver shakes his head, staring revulsed in the direction of the hitching post. “Not worth all that crud on my seats.” Oh. Great. He’s seen him.

“What if I cover the seats. Newspaper.”

The driver sizes her up with a calculating gaze, one elbow propped on the back of his seat, and somewhere in the middle of wanting to punch him for looking at her she finds herself wishing for once that she’d dressed… richer. Finally, he grouses, “Triple fare. And the meter’s runnin’ while ya cover ‘em.”

“Fine,” Vanessa spits, and sprints out with the door wide open before he has time to change his mind.

She barges into the shelter one last time, hopefully the last fucking time in her life if she has any say in it. Leaning over the counter, with a grin that’s probably a little too smug for her to be proud of, she snatches the newspaper directly out of the apathetic employee’s complicit hands.

-

taglist: @maracujatangerine @pigeonwhumps @tragedyinblue @marchtothefuckingsea @octopus-reactivated @briars7

[esther-dot]

IMO, I don’t think A stans who attack Sansa for her classism truly cares about it. I mean, they want A to be queen/lady (and there’s nothing wrong with wanting that) but such an ending would only be reinforcing the structure they’re critising.

And it’s great and important that A plays with lowborn children and tried to defend Mycah but that doesn’t make her a marxist revolutionary lol, it doesn’t erase her own classism. All nobles are classist, a few of them bother to treat peasants relatively well (the Starks, Edmure, etc) but that unfair system still exists. You can’t have nobility without inequality.

And I'll paste this one in too:

Unpopular opinion but if Arya’s stans genuinely believed in her as someone who isn’t classist, they would imagine her leading a social revolution that topples and destroy feudalism. Not someone who serves the conception of hereditary monarchy, serfdom (despite treating them with humanity), hierarchical social categories, etc. Arya as QITN would be a reformist, not a revolutionnary.

(These are so old, I can’t remember which post prompted them, apologies!)

So, I never thought more than being a good leader within the system was a possibility? During GoT they played up this idea that Dany was gonna change the system, "break the wheel," but that was mainly to hide the fact that going to war for a crown was a selfish thing to do, that she wasn't a hero for choosing that path. Considering how Martin has written about the tragedy of the Starks losing Winterfell, the little boys being chased from their home, I never imagined that his ending would involve a king or queen turning around and doing that to another noble child? IMO, there was never going to be any seizing and divvying up wealth.

In ASOIAF, it seems like the focus is much more on having a leader who will be capable of maintaining peace and delivering justice and taking care of some practical concerns. It never even occurred to me to expect an end to feudalism? So, yeah, I would agree that the most anyone could be was a reformist, but I didn't even think that was the idea (in the way fans would mean it) that Martin was tracking. It didn't seem to me that he was gonna do away with nobles, only that he was saying a good noble won't allow his smallfolk to be mistreated and wouldn't ruin their lives for the sake of a crown. I thought that's where the Robb criticism comes in. Robb should have chosen peace, not more fighting.

I also thought the good noble was being presented with Ned. Protect the vulnerable, be horrified by the death of the innocent, adhere to these personal values even when they are in defiance of what your world demands, even when it means betrayal of a "brother" or treason against your king. Obviously, Ned fell short of the ideal, but that's why his children will rise to power, because they have the same core values that Martin wants us to look at as good.

Personally, I think Arya being rebellious and kicking against the rules that annoy her is fun? My little sister was a tomboy, and I have sympathy for Sansa, but I'm amused by Arya. However, I do not attribute as much, uh, let's say, virtue to her behavior as others do. Nor do I attach the same amount of condemnation to Sansa (who recognizes class distinctions) that others do. To me, Martin used the Trident incident to illustrate how the class differences worked because it's a grievance of his that writers ignore them:

And that’s another of my pet peeves about fantasies. The bad authors adopt the class structures of the Middle Ages; where you had the royalty and then you had the nobility and you had the merchant class and then you have the peasants and so forth. But they don’t’ seem to realize what it actually meant. They have scenes where the spunky peasant girl tells off the pretty prince. The pretty prince would have raped the spunky peasant girl. He would have put her in the stocks and then had garbage thrown at her. You know. I mean, the class structures in places like this had teeth. They had consequences. And people were brought up from their childhood to know their place and to know that duties of their class and the privileges of their class. It was always a source of friction when someone got outside of that thing. And I tried to reflect that. (link)

With that in mind, I thought Martin wanted to impress upon the reader the severity of what the hierarchy meant, the prince can do whatever the hell he wants, the noble kid is in danger of being punished (Arya might have lost a hand, Sansa loses Lady), Mycah is killed. We were meant to understand, this world isn't ours. Arya in an important way, didn't understand how the world worked, not really, which is a tool the author was using, her grief and horror, to guide us through learning about station in ASOIAF. We needed to see and feel the disparity.

Obviously, Martin doesn't think that's a good system, but the author slapping us in the face with, “this is horrible but this is the way it is” doesn’t mean we’re to expect a total transformation of Westeros as a whole in the last few chapters of the final book. Martin wants to have some verisimilitude to (his perception of) medieval times, so imo, the idea was never turning Westeros on its head, but for people who cared to end up in control and be better. Not like a modern anarchist, but be good within the confines of that world.

Anyway, because of how many Arya fans hate Sansa/Sansa fans, I never did much with that side of the fandom, but I never had the impression they truly thought anyone would be revolutionizing things. It seemed to me that they believed her ending up QitN was revolutionary not in the sense that she would upend the system, but to them, having a girl who rejected societal norms come out on top felt like an important rejection of a traditional princess “winning.” I assume that's why so much of their focus is on Sansa and how she ruined Arya's life even though she and Arya have been separated for books. It isn't so much what the particular character will do as a leader, which theme is upheld by them ending up in a position of leadership, the "revolutionary" bit is determined by defiance of (what they believe are) genre norms, not societal overhaul on the page.

Now, if we accept that a total societal revolution is off the table in ASOIAF, and knowing that Martin opposes violence pretty vehemently, isn't in favor of imposing your will through violent means, how can someone who rejects society encourage gradual improvement? Wouldn't the "realism" Martin wants be found in a person, who say, can function really, really well within the structure of society but cares enough to try to make things better for others? Someone who can change it all from within because their societal position confers a certain amount of power, but also, they have a notable ability to win admiration, even when it is begrudgingly given? Someone whose compassion, even for enemies, is highlighted? Isn’t that someone who would be able to gradually bring about the kind of realistic change Martin would permit in his world?

[shmorlock]

Arcane: Consumerism, Art, and What it Means to Create Entertainment in the Current State of The World

Yes. I wanted to write an essay about Arcane. If you don’t care, know that my short review is simply this: that was some of the coolest shit I’ve ever see.

Note there will be no spoilers. In fact, there’s very little about Arcane in this review at all, but I promise I have a point here.

…

I don’t want the world to fall apart. I really don’t. But then I look outside and I see so much of it just going to shit. And perhaps it’s the hyperbole of doomerism that gets me down, or maybe it’s the (privileged) hurt of being disappointed time and time again - or maybe it was quite simply always broken.

I used to think hope was the key to everything. But I don’t feel that way anymore.

And there’s some nights where I question where that leaves me as an artist - egotistical, I know. But let’s face the facts: art is dying, and content is its replacement. Entire business models are built on stealing your attention and filling your life with meaningless sludge that only drives you to invest in more content and more distractions until you finally don’t have any free thought left to question the cage consumerism has trapped you in. The systems of our entire world are built on consumerism, spurred by our capitalist institutions profiting off of the oppression and annihilation of others.

So welcome to being an artist. Your only path to “financial” success is to create media that is infinitely profitable. If you truly want to be a great artist, be sure to exploit the system in any ways that you can. In entertainment in particular, we highly recommend creating a cross-media franchise that can attack as many markets as possible. Then you can use those other pieces of media to help market each other in a never ending loop of content.

Oh. You did it? Shit. That’s a lot of eyes on you…

When you end up at the top of the entertainment food chain you have the option to not really care anymore about the quality of your work; quantity is all that matters.

But maybe, just maybe, you’ll remember you’re an artist, and you carry a certain responsibility to creating meaningful work…

When I was a kid I loved Bionicle. I loved Star Wars. I loved all kinds of franchises. I still do. Every franchise falls victim to becoming a never ending content machine, but deep down a small part of ourselves yearn for it to happen, because maybe a certain spark of childhood joy will reawaken in us from new material. Maybe there’s something more to be said.

I realize my own hypocrisy in calling out the problem of fanaticism towards franchises. I’m not special for doing so either. What is it that leads us to fanaticism in the first place?

See deep down, a lot of these franchises DO succeed in stirring something deep inside us, because a lot of them ARE led by true artists. Whether they’re created with greedy agendas or not doesn’t negate the fact that art continues to thrive in these spaces, albeit spaces that are shrinking as the battle against A.I. rages on now. But maybe - just maybe - real humans with real voices can shine through these cracks and show us something truly marvelous. Maybe they can show us a path towards a better future from even inside the cage.

Riot Games is a subsidiary of a multimedia conglomerate that thrives from the content machine. It is a company that has no care for you other than your wallet.

But inside that cage are hard working artists who still believe in something.

Arcane is one of the greatest pieces of media I have ever experienced. It has some of the best visual storytelling, character writing, and world building that I have ever seen. I found myself nearly teary eyed by the end of the show. It’s a masterpiece of a series that touches on just about everything, from the complexity of geopolitics and classism, to the nuances of familial love and heartbreak. Everything is intertwined not unlike life itself, and by the end, it becomes a final fight for humanity. The show’s relationship with artificial, unfeeling lifeforms is not lost upon me.

And for so much of the shows existence, I watched it on the defense, knowing that at the end of the day it may just be nothing more than an advertisement.

But against all odds, it rises to be so much more.

League as a franchise somewhat thrives in violence and never ending conflict. With that in mind, I often viewed Arcane with a question lingering in the back of my mind: does this show *believe* in anything?

Darkness alone is not a narrative. This is a truth I believe to be the only evidence that I still hold some sense of hope for the future. Perhaps art doesn’t need to have some greater social purpose, but the best art should *believe* in something constructive.

What does Arcane believe in?

It believes in forgiveness. It believes in kindness. It believes in love. Because when there’s no hope left in the world, we find a way to keep moving on. And maybe - just maybe - that love will carry us on to that tomorrow we endlessly chase.

I hope you continue to enjoy your favorite franchise. I hope you appreciate why you fell in love with it in the first place. Because it might just help show you how to live on another day.

(small quote spoiler below)

“We build our own prisons. Bars forged of oaths, codes, commitments. Walls of self-doubt and accepted limitation. We inhabit these cells, these identities, and call them ‘us.’ I thought I could break free by eliminating those I deemed my jailors. But... I think the cycle only ends when you find the will to walk away.”

[misguidedasgardian]

The Lifeaters (III.9)

IX. A rubber duck

MASTERLIST

Chapter Summary: The competition had overflowed the Quidditch pitch into the entire school 

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: Cursing, magical objects, Mugglephobia, classism, charms and curses, might miss some warnings

Wordcount: 3 k

Notes: Reader is a prodigy, I must lean into it

“But everything changed when my father took the stand, they sentenced him to die! they will chop his head off!”, Draco told everyone in the common room

“Thanks Merlin Draco! that creature was dangerous”, muttered Pansy. You in turn said nothing, nothing at all, you felt so guilty.

This didn’t help the awful sentiment between the two houses Slytherin and Gryffindor, for the Quidditch cup final that was going to be played two weeks from now, after Easter break.

Even Care of magical creatures class was tense as a bow.

Draco took great pride in the fact that Hagrid seemed like he was about to burst into tears at any minute, no doubt he had received the verdict, and that is what made you feel truly, truly sad like you could cry yourself.

That is why when the class ended, you took a couple of steps back from Draco, and rather talked to Tracy and Pansy on your way back to the castle 

That is why you didn’t know, although you could guess, why Hermione Granger who was walking ahead of you and ahead of Draco, had turn around and slapped Draco so hard on the face he took two long steps back

“Don’t you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul! evil little cockroach!”, she said angrily, but Weasley and Potter held her back before she could attack Draco again, who, alongside Vince and Greg, walked hastily towards the dungeons, pretending nothing happened 

The trio looked at you too, but as they saw your surprised face, they turned around and kept walking away from you

You were certainly relieved that you had a week of recess to rest all this down before it blows over. 

. . .

You enjoyed the week off you had for Easter, you stayed in school, it was a good free week in the middle of the semester, it was great. Until two days in back in classes, the rest you had gotten had vanished completely 

You had a trip scheduled to Hogsmeade for this weekend, which you were really starting to like. You had no more sightings of Sirius Black, you still had no news of Buckbeak’s sentence, you still didn’t know what the use of a yellow rubber duck was, and there still hasn't been any thunderstorms, so you couldn’t complete the ritual yet 

And the rest of your classes, well… you were trying to do the best you could in all of them. You had good grades and you were enjoying DADA classes with Professor Lupin, all of them really, well… except for Herbology, which you still couldn’t understand.

But you were becoming stressed, you had a vacation of one week, for easter, and then the last game of the season, against Gryffindor

“You might want to drink this potion once we are done, perhaps, the revolting it will cause in your stomach will keep you awake, miss Basilik”

“I’m very sorry professor”, you whispered, now the smell and the moldy feeling of the potions dungeon didn’t bother you much anymore, now… the lack of sunlight made you sleepy

“What is wrong with you today?”, asked Draco, you were tired, you were sleeping poorly, the classes started to catch up with you

“I’m very tired”, you whispered, added to the fact that everytime you whispered your enchantments every morning, you did felt a second heartbeat inside of you, for mere second you felt your chest tightening and rumble, it made you uneasy 

But the return to class was brutal, you were truly noticing the two extra classes you had now that you didn’t had last year, they were becoming too much, specially because you were in the last round -as it were- of the semester, you were already in the midsts of April, and things were getting heated

And not only inside the classroom.

There was an unspoken beef between Slytherin and Gryffindor that went beyond the Quidditch pitch. specially between the trio and your friends, because of what happened with Buckbeak

All the classes you had together were a nightmare, they kept playing pranks, and you threw nasty comments back, hoping to rile them up. You had heard of a fifth year Gryffindor who threw a slug-eating curse to a Slytherin sixth year, and both ended up in the hospital wing.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team seemed more secluded than ever, and you had noticed Potter sneaking between classes towards the Gryffindor tower

It was insanity 

Your own stomach was tied in so many knots you couldn’t even bear to actually buy fudge from Honeydukes, and you didn’t think you could eat it, but you went anyways with Draco and your friends 

Draco though, seemed to be thriving in the chaos and rivalry with Gryffindor, not missing the opportunity when they were near to throw shady comments and remarks, that, well, they did make you laugh.

But all of this wasn’t good for the game, you believed, you were winning, you didn’t need to resort to that sort of thing…

You kept to yourself, not engaging in any fighting or anything like it.

That is why you found it odd that you were intercepted by Marcus and Adrian, the beaters and the keeper in the common room

“We have decided to pull you out of this game”, he said, and you looked at him flatly in the eyes, thinking this was a joke of poor taste

“What? why?”, you asked, when nobody was laughing

“We need to pull up the strongest we can muster for the game against Gryffindor, and that not includes you”, you didn’t want to cry in front of them, you really didn’t, but you couldn’t help it, a tear fell down your cheek and they saw it, no matter how rapidly you cleaned it

“Very well”, you said angrily, and walked away from them, or you attempted so

“Terrence is going to need your broom”, he said quickly, and you looked back at him with so much anger in you he even took a step back

“That is my broom! how dare you!?”, you were going to say some ugly things, when Draco grabbed you softly, “Did you know about this?”, you asked him, he had barely shown up right now, he didn’t say anything

“No”, he said shortly, “I didn’t”, he said, looking back at them nastily. You walked away from them, alone, wiping your bitter tears

Why? because you wouldn’t play dirty?

You locked yourself in your room, and you cried bitterly, you were so tired, so angry and frustrated, you even managed to sleep a bit, when you woke up, there was still the afternoon. 

You wrote an angry letter, venting, to your aunt, and then, you went to the owlery to send it with Umbra, they might have kicked you off the team but now, weirdly, you were more relaxed, your stomach had unclench itself, you loved Quidditch but you’d be lying if you say that games didn’t made you terribly nervous. 

You looked at the horizon and you wondered when a storm was going to come by, and when it did, you only hopes you didn’t miss it, it was hard to tell from your common room

McGonagall didn’t believe you could make it, you saw it in her eyes, you insisted so much she said yes out of tiredness, and then she believed you were going to fail, but you were about to become an animagus at thirteen years old, maybe the youngest ever

It took three years for some, according to her 

But you were missing the last part

As you were coming down from the owlery, you felt it in the air, it was humid, a bit tempestuous, maybe tonight was the night. You took a long breath, and a drop fell on your face, alongside a rumble in the distance, thunder.

You needed to find McGonagall

You ran back to the castle as fast as you could

You might have lost your team, but you might have gained one of the most incredible abilities in the magical world

Something so rare

When you found her, walking the hallways towards the hall, it was already raining and thundering everywhere, she grabbed onto you tightly

“Professor! I WAS LOOKING FOR YOU”

“It’s time”, It's the only thing she said, and took you away.

You went to the transfiguration classroom, with one flick of her wand all the tables and chairs moved against the wall, she walked towards the cabinet in the corner behind her desk, and took out your vial

it was a blood-like potion now, all the ingredients had melted together 

“Do you have your wand?”, you nodded, taking it out of your pocket, “do you understand what is at stake here?”, she asked, “this could go terribly wrong, Miss Basilik, I need you to understand”

“Yes I understand”, you said firmly

“we are going to perform the enchantment one more time”, she directed, pointing at her heart

“Amato, animo, animato, animagus”, you whispered, the tip of your wand over your chest. She gave you the vial

“Drink this”, a lighting illuminated the classroom for a second, as you took the potion. it was the most vile taste you had ever felt 

She took two steps back as you wanted to throw up because of the strong taste 

And there it was… you felt the second heartbeat, stronger than ever, you thought your chest was going to burst, that it didn’t fit inside of it

“Oh Merlin”, you whined, your stomach in knots and your hearts beating faster

“This is it Miss”, McGonaggall said, but it was like she was underwater, or you were, “what do you feel?”, she asked softly

“I feel like…”, you closed your eyes, focusing on the sensations, your mind started to get cloudy, only darkness. You tried to focus, and when you did, you saw two light green-yellowish eyes staring back at you. You moaned groggily

“I advise you to try to transform”, she said

“How do I do that?”, you asked back

“You must!”

It came to you like a second nature, it was uncomfortable and painful, you felt your own body deform and twist to acquire a new form, everything you had on you at the moment including your clothes felt like they were melting into your skin, and then… and then…

You lost control, from a second to the next you were no longer standing but on the ground 

It was painful, and uncomfortable

You felt McGonagall’s hands on you

“Relax”, she commanded, softly but with authority, “it will pass”, she muttered, “let it run its course…”

It felt like it was not going to end anytime soon, but it did… as quickly as it came everything stood still… you were no longer transforming, you were no longer in pain, but somehow… everything felt… different

You opened your eyes and everything felt new, like you were watching it through new eyes… you tried to speak but a growl came out 

You tried to move and everything moved with you

“For Merlin”, muttered the professor, and she seemed incredibly pleased and surprised, you tried to open your mouth again and you felt your own, raspy tongue, and what amazed you the most… long fangs 

You wanted to feel yourself, you tried to touch your face but a big paw came to you instead

The professor shakily grabbed a mirror and showed it to you, and you looked at the face of a black leopard 

You wanted to feel panicked, scared, but you didn’t, this was like, no, this was your second nature now

“Congratulations”, she said with a proud smile

. . .

It was not hard to keep this a secret, because nobody knew what you had been doing for the past months, but you wanted to tell someone so badly, you felt so proud of yourself

It’s like you had a new toy you were dying to use, but you don’t have a chance to

It was a silly comparison, but that is what you felt like

You wanted to use your new abilities but you didn’t know where and when

Could you go to the forbidden forest? that would be something, looking at everything through a set of new eyes 

You were so happy about it that you almost got over the fact that you were not playing the Quidditch game, almost…

It was a mess, since the whistle begin the Slytherin team had resorted to the worst tricks they had, punching, mocking, pushing, you felt so terribly sad to watch it, and worst of all, they were losing anyways

The weeks leading to this had been miserable, and this was more so.

You were watching the game with the rest of the group, and you were so frustrated that you really wanted just to go away

Another foul to the Gryffindor team and you turn around

“I can’t watch this”, you whispered, Matthew, by your side, frowned

“What? Where are you going?”, he asked, as you tried to start descending the 

“Away from here”, you growled, and kept walking

It was a saturday, everyone was in the Quidditch pitch watching the finals, so to no surprise, the castle was empty, and you wanted to keep your mind occupied and away from the pitch, and without even noticing, you found yourself inside the Muggle studies classroom

You wanted to figure out what that duck did

A duck that was sitting gingerly in professorBurbage’s desk, so you grabbed it, you wanted it desperately and you didn’t know why

You grabbed all the books there were, some children’s books, and other colorful ones, and you sat right then and there to read. Matthew followed you along, watching you from time to time, but also looking for his own artifact

“Why do you care so much about this class?”, he asked then, you looked up at him

“We have a bet, remember?”, you asked back playfully 

“this is not about the bet!”, he said back, “do you actually like studying those filthy muggles?”

“They are not filthy, they have bathrooms just like us”, you said, not even entertaining him with a look, “I think they are interesting, they look like us, ut they have completely different customs”, you said simply

“I think they are pathetic”, he said

“Then why do you care so much about this assignment?”, you asked him then

“We have a bet”, he said, very interested, “and you know what will happen when I win this”

“Yes, we sneak into the prefect’s bathroom”, you said

He then looked at you and smiled, wickedly, a smile that gave you goosebumps, and then, he raised his book triumphantly 

His artifact was known as a “lava lamp” and muggle kids place it in their rooms, not only for illumination, but because they look fun

He had won the bet

But he had no time to gloat, professor McGonaggal came rushing in 

“Miss Basilik, you are required in the headmaster’s office”

“Professor McGonaggall, I thought you were watching the game”

“The game ended an hour ago”, wow, time flies when you were occupied reading and studying, “please Miss Basilik”, she looked warily at Matthew, but didn’t say anything

You walked with her

“Did I do something wrong?”, you asked, worried

“It is mandatory by law to register as an animagus in the ministry’s directory”, she had snitched on you?

When you reached Dumbledore’s office, you got to hear a little bit of a strong discussion that was taking place. 

“What kind of education do you give in this place? you know how hard it is to turn into an Animagus? and how dangerous!”

“Miss (Y/N) Transformation was carefully planned and supervised”, you heard Dumbledore say, it was a little lie, but you would go along with it, if it meant saving your teachers from suffering a punishment for something you did on your own accord

“There she is!”, Dumbledore said as soon as you entered his office. There he was, the Minister of Magic himself, alongside two other wizards 

“Ah! Miss Basilik”, he said with a pleased smile, he knew who you were, and specially, who your godfather was, “as a new animagus you are required to register yourself at the Animagus Registry of the Ministry of Magic”, Fudge muttered. You looked at McGonagall and she nodded

“You are required to transform”, said one of the wizards

“May I say that a praise must be delivered to Miss (Y/N), turning into an Animagus takes practice, some had taken even three years in managing it”, said Dumbledore, “and there she is, at thirteen, some may say, the youngest animagus ever!”

You felt your cheeks heated at the praise 

You never turned back after you did it for the first time, but they say the second time is way easier, so here goes nothing. You turned, as it was as easy as breathing, as casting a spell as easy as Lumos

You heard gasps and saw looks of surprise, from a shorter point of view

“How magnificent”, muttered Dumbledore, looking at you curiously 

The wizards started scribbling 

“She is a Jaguar, presenting the phenomenon of Melanism, giving her pitch black fur, she had a lighter color around her neck, showing her real hair color, and greenish-golden eyes”, he said aloud, then, he started measuring you

You tried to… “play” with him, but he did not take it kindly, you were still getting used to having not only big and dangerous paws, but deadly claws as well. So you chose to stay still instead 

They left quickly after, because they were working overtime on a saturday, you then looked at professor McGonagall, and then turned back to your human form, this time, flawlessly, and painless. 

“Was that standard?”, you asked

“Yes Miss Basilik, the ministry had a registry of all the known animagus”, said professor Dumbledore

“I didn’t know that”, you muttered, “what if that list falls in the wrong hands?”, you asked, and then they both seemed truly concerned 

“As you are an underage witch who acquire the ability through the teachers, it was necessary to report it to the ministry”, said professor McGonaggal 

“Congratulations on your achievement miss Basilik, 50 points for Slytherin!”, said Dumbledore, and that made you forget all about the registry

And about the fact that your team had lost the game against Gryffindor 

About the fact that you had to sneak in the Prefect’s bathroom

About the fact that you still didn’t know what the fudge was a rubber duck.

[ddyfckr-a]

#𝗗𝗗𝗬𝗙𝗖𝗞𝗥 : an independent, private     &.     highly selective  𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒓 of the 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗨𝗩𝗔 𝗕𝗢𝗦𝗦  franchise,   𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵 𝑩𝑨𝑺𝑬𝑫  regarding timeline but S1E5 based in portrayal.     𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗬 𝗞𝗥𝗔𝗘𝗛𝗘, established in 2021 but revamped in October 2023 !     𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝗱𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝘆 𝗼𝗳 :     toxic / fragile masculinity, internal racism, victim turned menace, Mister Perfect  𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧’ 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡,  an abuser without a shred of remorse     &.     Possible Closeted Sexuality.

     𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖣 𝖱𝖴𝖫𝖤𝖲 𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱𝖮𝖴𝖦𝖧𝖫𝖸 𝖡𝖤𝖥𝖮𝖱𝖤 𝖥𝖮𝖫𝖫𝖮𝖶𝖨𝖭𝖦 !     THIS BLOG IS RATED M ᴀᴋᴀ DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT ﹗     curate your own experience  -  block at your discretion.     the following content may be present :     non / dub con, sexism, misogyny, bigotry, non-parental incest, homophobia, transphobia, verbal abuse,  violence / gore, classism / racism, slavery, age gaps     &.     more.     mun is okay with dark humor !     all this will be tagged  'cw insert here'.

     Striker’s overall personality is based nearly entirely on his episode debut :     Harvest Moon Festival     &.     changes may be made as new material is released.    my interpretation uses Norman Reedus as his speaking voice :     nothing against Ed, but he's just not Striker for me.

     i absolutely do not care  if you ship Loona / Blitzo, Blitzo with women, Vaggie with men, dislike Blitzo / Stolas, write Alastor as anything else other than asexual, etc.     under no circumstances,  however,  will bestiality or paedophilia be roleplayed in this space.     if this type of content is present in your muses' history, please tag it.     𝐌𝐔𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 !    pro callout, smut-only blogs, shota / loli blogs, muns under 21 years of age, those who shame others for their sexual preferences, non-RP blogs, antis of any sort, puritanical antis, anti-Viv / HB / HH blogs…          𝒚𝒐𝒖  𝒂𝒓𝒆  𝒏𝒐𝒕  𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆  𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆  !

     Helluva Boss is a very adult cartoon that deals with serious     &.     disturbing topics that takes place in hell.     some of these will be mentioned or written.     Striker is not a good person     &.     in fact, is the perpetrator of many problematic behaviors / incidents.     𝑰 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑵𝑶𝑻      hold back his personality or actions.     Striker has little problem in blatantly sexually manipulating     &.     enacting physical violence to get what he wants.     he is quite unapologetic about his behavior.     he is more than capable of making fun of other character's traumas, talk shit against them     —     never hold your muse back, i welcome whatever consequences may arise !     the only thing i ask is to please not kill him / godmod.     i don’t write explicit smut on the dash, but i will write suggestive content if the situation calls for it.

     i may reblog / have strong opinions regarding HB / HH     &.     its characters / storylines / Viv etc, this is not an attack on any of my mutuals or their portrayals, so please don't take it personal     —     such posts will be tagged as     ❮     *  𝗔𝗥𝗖   𝒊     [ . . . ]     ooc    :    𖤐    ──    critical .     ❯     &.     'cw critical'     just to be safe.     i do not use catch-all tags, such as x don’t look or x don’t see nor do i require one for myself.     i will tag trigger warnings     &.     URLS :     do not pressure me or try to control who i write with.     do not ask me my financial situation, sexual orientation / experience / preferences / kinks or fetishes, relationship status, mental disorders / medical history, etc.      quite frankly, that’s nobody’s business but my own.

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[zalrb]

I feel so validated when I come to your blog. My roommate says I hate everything because I’m a contrarian; she doesn’t seem to get that I want to like new shows, movies, and books. Now that I’ve been exposed to better things, the old things don’t cut it anymore.

Like, I’m sorry, Bridgerton is not fun or messy or entertaining. All the characters are insufferable except for Lady Featherington and you cannot conflate racism or classism (in the case of Monterey or Mondale or whatever his name was) and expect me to care about either.

I know you don’t like Austen, but I recently read P&P and I realized that was what Bridgerton ought to have been (minus the sex). There was genuine tension over propriety and finances, I could get invested in the main characters, and it made me laugh at times. Although it’s not something I’d normally have read, I surprisingly did end up enjoying it, and I understood why it’s considered a classic. I just wish Bridgerton would have done the same thing for me. And then expand from Bridgerton to whatever Netflix show is trending lol. I’m not the main character of the world or anything; I just wish there was more new good TV.

Yeah, as someone who doesn't care for Austen, I am definitely aware of the fact that many people try to build upon or recreate Austen, particularly P&P, but don't seem to understand what Austen actually did or they only take one aspect of the novel/her novels while ignoring everything else so it becomes an unenjoyable, superficial knockoff, and when things like that happen, I'm like, I'd rather just read/watch the original thing instead of this watered down mess.

And what people don't seem to get when you don't like the majority of things on TV, it's not a place we like to be. I love television, I love movies (I'm not including books in this because there are always books to read), these are things that inspire me and help with my own original work, I miss when I was enraptured in what I was viewing. I miss when I watched something and it would stay with me and/or I had to make a million vids of it. I wish I could like Bridgerton as much as other people do, I wish I could watch Barbie and go oh yeah this was so good but it's not hitting for me, that's just the way it is, most of current media either bores or frustrates me.