#i want that so bad. i’m seen as a woman when i don’t present feminine at ALL so | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

emsgwenstan · 1 year ago

Text

Personal or professional?

Chap 1 | chap 2 | chap 3

Larissa Weems x fem(carpenter/joiner) named reader.

Words: 2k

Warnings: bodily issues, swearing.

Note: imma b honest I’m filling In for the parts I want to write. I’m not there yet. Just know there will be a few things coming within the next few chapters! Xx

———

Just as I was thinking about how ridiculously bold it was for me to put my number on that cup, I felt my phone vibrate in my back pocket once I returned home.

‘Meet me at the weathervane in your lunch break tomorrow?~Larissa’

My eyes went wide as I re-read the message over and over until I realise that she can see if I’ve viewed it, I quickly replied.

‘Sure, 12:30? Are you sure you have time?’

Immediately it was seen and I waited in anticipation once the three little dots popped up.

‘That’s fine, even if I don’t I will always make time darling.”

I didn’t know exactly what to reply, so I just turned off my phone and threw it on my bed, I could feel my face flushing at the thought of her. I stripped off and got ready for a shower, the chill of the room raising goosebumps along my skin, the tile floor of the bathroom freezing the soles of my feet, stepping in, I let out a hum at the hot water encapsulating my body finally letting myself relax against the wall, ridding myself of the day, not that it was so bad.

Once out, dried off and dressed, I jump into bed not bothering with dinner, being far to exhausted to cook or order anything, I snuggle into my thick duvet and flick on the tv to half watch and listen to another true crime story. It isn’t always ideal to watch this stuff when I live alone, especially as a woman, but there’s something oddly calming about it, even if I get slightly paranoid. After a while I fell asleep at around 8:00pm, but woke at around 12 to turn the tv off.

———

The next morning I woke up earlier than usual to perfect my simple make up, applying a layer of foundation and mascara, the smallest bit of matte pink lipstick and to be sure to have every hair on my head in place held in a slicked back ponytail. ‘I just hope this will last for at least 8 hours, the next 4 don’t matter.’ I thought.

Throwing on my black jeans and fluoro pink work shirt, as well as a baggy pink and black work wear jacket, I glance at myself in the floor length mirror, every time I do I see nothing I like, nothing pretty, nothing special, I feel like I must be such a curiosity to other people, my job, my height, my weight, my strange mix of masculinity and femininity, I know I’m not skinny or thin but I’m not that big either, anymore at least. The stretch marks on my stomach, thighs and breasts are the things I try so hard to cover up. I can’t help but wonder why anyone would want to be with or associate around someone like me, even if I personally don’t discriminate against what people look like. That also brings me to ponder why Larissa asked to have lunch with me today.

I think my collar bone length, warm blond hair is probably the only thing I change often or really take care of, I try to do my nails and keep them clean and presentable, always painted in a nude pink, which is ironic considering i don’t actually like the colour. I change the studs in all of my piercings, rotating the gold from small hoops to diamonds. My hands are scared and calloused from 22 years of working with rough materials as well as my legs and forearms, I guess I’ve no need to be jealous or overthink about others body’s or physique’s I’m a grown woman after all, but the insecurity is always at the forefront of my mind.

After traipsing out of the house, I finally made it into work at 5am, turning on all the lights and compressors and the radio I listen to until 9, it goes off once my boss turns up. “No music in the factory Violet.” He’d say, which is bullshit, it’s so fucking boring without it. Walking into the shop’s kitchenette, I flick on the kettle to make my morning tea in a travel cup and tap my fingers on the bench in waiting. It’s already freezing today, the cold seeping through my layers of clothing and apparently the concrete walls, yesterday was warm enough to wear shorts and go without a jumper.

Consulting with my boss about the order needing to be placed for the cupboards going to nevermore was nauseating, It took a lot longer than usual because of all the questions he asked about yesterday afternoon. “So how was going to the school for strange kids yesterday?” He asked sarcastically, not looking up from his computer. “Their not strange, their just different to you. And it was fine, obviously got all the information we need.” I said annoyed. “Right.” After a long pause he spoke again. “Miss Weems seemed to enjoy your presence, she didn’t shut up about the stuff you showed her.” I was perplexed and rolled my eyes. “Well at least someone appreciates it.” I said under my breath looking down at my thighs picking bits of lint and sawdust off the material. He was quiet after that.

12:15 rolled around, I grabbed the keys to my personal car and popped back into his office to tell him I’m going on break, it was so nice on the short walk in the sun. I jumped in my black Mercedes sports car and made my way down the street, turning a few corners I parked outside the wethervane and locked the car before entering the cafe. Larissa wasn’t there yet, so I took a seat in a booth next to the large window with my back turned to the door.

Staring out the glass and watching the towns people walk about, some in tandem with each other holding hands, some parents with young children or strollers, a few elderly people walking in groups giving the impression of being friends for years going for a walk with their wife’s arms wrapped around there husbands. One in particular caught my attention, a young man who looks to be in his early 20s exiting the florist bearing a bunch of white roses, his demeanour riddled with nerves, he sat at a park bench close to the other side of the road, pulling out a little black box, he observed it for a moment before snapping it shut, than stood smoothing down his hair and blazer before walking away. A small smile crept on my face hoping all goes well for his next obvious destination, but it quickly faded in a realisation, which I wish to forget.

A hand on my shoulder ripped me out of my mind, turning my head around I see her. Larissa. A huge grin took over my face clearly out doing her small smile. “Afternoon violet.” She greeted. “Hi.” I responded sounding so high pitched I internally cringe at myself. Larissa placed her purse on the surprisingly unsticky table and takes a seat in front of me. “How are you darling.” She asked removing a black leather glove. “I’m alright, not particularly busy today which is pretty good but that just means the day will drag a lot longer, better now I’m here with you though.” I said, staring at her beautifully red painted nails. “Oh that’s horrible, you must get lonely in there by yourself no?” She stated. “It’s nice, but sometimes I wish I had someone to talk to. Don’t you get lonely? Being in your office?” I asked wondering why she’d worry about me when I’m sure she’s in the same position. “Not at all, I have teachers, students, parents, groundskeepers and just about every other kind of person in and out all day, sometimes it gets so frustrating I put a ‘do not disturb’ sign on my door just for at least five minutes of peace.” She exhaled slightly rolling her eyes at the thought, I nodded in understanding, chuckling softly at her annoyance.

Idle conversations flowed between the two of us before we were politely interrupted by a waiter handing over two menus. “What are you having.” I asked her. “A chicken Cesar salad. You?- Oh and I’m paying by the way… you bought me things yesterday.” She stated. “There’s no need really.” I answered. “I insist what would you like.” She pushed. “Probably just a grilled cheese.” I said. “No. Don’t think I don’t know that’s the cheapest thing here, get what you want sweetheart.” My pulse skipped then ran faster at her new term of endearment, I felt like I was melting from the inside out. “Fine I’ll just have the same as you please.” I settled, displaying a shy smile. I didn’t care about the food really, I don’t plan on letting her see me as a naive and difficult thing who can’t pay for myself or play her as a fool, I guess that’s just what happens when you’re completely independent for a long period of time. “Are you sure? you can have anything.” She asked again. “Positive, thank you.” Larissa waved over the previous waiter and ordered for the both of us, we ate once our meals arrived and sat in comfortable silence.

Larissa did in fact pay, she left no room for argument and we both walked out together into the fresh, crisp air and warm sun. “Do you need to go back just yet?” She asked. “No I think having a break over half an hour would be fine considering how much overtime I do that I don’t get payed for.” I chuckled trying to come off lighthearted, but it sounded more bitter than I intended. “What do you mean? What are your allocated hours?” Larissa stoped the slow pace causing me to walk a little in front and turn around to face her concerns. “Allocated… 7:30 to 5, but I usually get to work around 5 and finish at 7.” I said furrowing my brows. “Why?” I ask. Larissa was silent for a moment. “So your telling me you work 12 to 13 hours every day? When your only supposed to be doing 9 and a half?” She asked incredulously. “Yes.” I said almost immediately realising that wouldn’t seem right or normal to anyone else who doesn’t know what it’s like to do my job. I laughed at her, not in a rude way but at her worry. “How do you do that!? You work almost 70 hours a week!” Her eyes growing widder with the facts she’s coming to know. “I’m fine. I manage.” I simply said turning to walk a bit more for her to follow, at this point there is no destination.

“You look gorgeous today, channel right?” I asked, pulling my hand out of my pocket to point at her outfit, a ploy for a change of subject. “Yes, thank you. How did you know that?” She asked. “Just like I know your heels are louboutins, your watch is Valentino, your bracelet it Cartier and your broach is probably the hardest to guess I’m not quite sure about that one, but I know your necklace is personally made. Oh and your pearl earrings are vintage Tiffany & co.” I stated proudly hoping I wasn’t wrong. “You continue to surprise me Violet. First your this strong independent woman who can build an entire house and the interior with you bare hands and now your a fashion expert, what else don’t I know?” She said with an amuse smile. “There is a lot you don’t know about me Larissa, but what ls the fun in letting you in on all my secrets just yet? Who knows, I could be very boring.” I giggled. She shook her head gently and placed her gloved hand on my arm. “You are the most interesting person I’ve been around for quite some time darling, I don’t believe you could ever be a bore.” At that i blushed furiously letting out a foggy exhale.

Larissa was the epitome of ethereal, the way her eyes look so piercing in the sunlight almost as if they were so blue they could be mistaken for white, her porcelain skin illuminated as well as her platinum hair. Right now her nose and cheeks are flushed red and her lips displaying the same shade she had painted on herself, I hoped anyway, their a little swollen due to the cold. “Hey, can I ask you a random question?” I asked timidly hoping it’s not to weird. “Of course you can.” She said. “Do you…ahhh, do you have…someone, like-.” I struggled to spit it out. “A girlfriend, boyfriend, husband, wife, partner?… no sweetheart.” She continued on, laughing at my shy state. “Right… that what I was trying to say, and how is that, wouldn’t you have plenty of people lined up for you? surely.” I exaggerated. “So your a flatterer to I see.” She gasped feigning herself from being to serious.

About two seconds later Larissa looked away and her attention was taken by the front of the Jericho book shop and Library, she moved so quickly to snatch my wrist and drag me in the direction of the entrance. “Woah, you could have just asked me to come with you.” I just about snorted. “I’m sorry come on I haven’t been in her for ages, please!” The sparkle in her eyes showing unwavering hope. “Of course I’ll come I love books to ya know.” I grinned. “Well that’s another thing I just learned about you.” She said holding the door open for me.

It was so warm and cozy inside, the smell of a vanilla candle that was placed next to the register and the scent of paper was almost nostalgic, I hadn’t been in here for a while either. Larissa ended up in-front of me and I don’t think she realised she held out her hand behind her for me to take. After mild contemplation I took it, Larissa immediately tightened her grip, pulling me along with her to a section she clearly has been down before. She let go of my hand a crouched to the wooden floor removing her gloves again so she could feel the spines of the books.

Larissa was in her element, completely enraptured in her own world. I let her be and scanned the shelves above her, taking an interest to one that was a royal blue colour with gold embossed lettering, I placed my palm on her shoulder to stabilise myself and stood on my tip toes to reach it, admiring for a moment before I could read the blurb, Larissa gasped in excitement. “Yes, I found it!” She exclaimed. “What is it?” I asked. “I hid this book almost a year ago because I didn’t want to buy it at the time.” She said looking up at me. ‘she’s so bloody adorable.’

I helped her off the floor and we moved back to the register. “So what do you have?” She asked. “Um I think it’s a book of poetry, I flicked through it and read one, I like it.” I said. “You should read me one.” She smiled. Before I could respond a little lady with grey hair and a long green cardigan came walking behind the counter from what I assumed was the ‘back’. “Oh Larissa! How are you dear!?” She said surprised. “Francis! I’m well how are you?” She responded, it would be silly to think they weren’t aquatinted. “I’m doing ok, finally got that hip replacement back in may, working like I’m a teenager again.” She said. I quietly chuckled. “That’s wonderful.” Larissa replied placing her book on the counter. “And who’s this lovely lady with you?” She asked. “Oh forgive me, violet this is Francis, fran, this is violet, she’s making the new classroom cupboards for nevermore.” Larissa was almost proud to be able to introduce you to someone. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I said holding out my hand for her to shake, instead she took ahold of my palm with one hand and placed her other on top. “Like wise dear. Your a hard worker I see.” She stated observing my hand. “Thank you?” I said unsure of how to respond.

Larissa stood to the side waiting for me to pay for my own book. “Oh this one’s good, perhaps you can read some to your girlfriend over there.” Francis said talking about the book and Larissa. My eyes were just about bulging out of my head at her words, I was rendered speechless. “Hush now Fran! I see your still cheeky as ever.” Larissa hissed. The elderly lady chortled at her with a shit eating grin. “Don’t you forget it. When you get old you tend not to hold your tongue.” She initially spoke to larissa than back to me. All I could do was stand there awkwardly, but praise her for not giving a fuck, I like her.

We exited the shop bidding the woman farewell and set off to back to our cars. “Sorry about that, I’ve known Francis since I was 14, she can be very brazen sometimes.” She said. “Don’t worry about it shes cute and hilarious… so you went to nevermore when you were at school?” I asked. “Yes, every weekend I’d go to the library part of the shop and sit for hours, than we’d exchange opinions on the books I’d read over a cup of tea.” She expressed clutching the book tighter to her chest. “That’s so sweet, I wish my childhood was that simple, I would have loved to have the freedom to Sit and read until I was to exhausted.” I said. “Well it wasn’t all that easy but I didn’t have to many friends to mingle with I suppose.” I felt a tinge of sadness at her confession, understanding what she means. “Nor did I, but I guess that’s why it’s so important to you now as headmistress right? To ensure all the kids are happy and safe?” I wondered. “Exactly.” She said pulling out her car keys while I simultaneously did the same. We both hit the unlock button to find we were parked right next to each other.

To our surprise we both had the same car, except hers was red. “Nice car.” I said. “Like wise.” She laughed. “Well I suppose this is goodbye.” Larissa said looking at me slightly saddened at the fact. “I suppose it is.” I retorted. Larissa stood peering into my eyes, her expression turned confused. “What?” I asked. “Your eyes…they’ve changed colour, I thought that yesterday, but now I’m sure.” She said hoping she didn’t sound to insane. “Yeah they do that, I don’t really know why, they go from blue, green, grey to blue grey to green blue, it’s weird but I find that when I’m tired my eyes are really blue and when I’m happy or focused they’re really green, almost like a mood ring.” I laughed. Larissa own eyes flickered between my own causing me to become short of breath. “It’s very interesting, very unique.” She said. “What are they now?” I whispered, Larissa seemed to be closer than I thought. “Green on the outside with a little bit of blue in the centre.” She matched my tone of voice. Closing my eyes I took a deep breath and tilted my head down before exhaling and returning the gaze.

“So when will I see you again? Apart from the obvious work reasons.” I asked. “Would Friday night be ok, I could take you out for dinner?… if your not interested then that’s ok we could-.” Yes yes yes yes yes. “No! I’d love to just text me with plans yeah?” I wished I didn’t seem to overzealous. “Really? Alright than I will see you Friday.” She said. “Of course I’ll see you than.” And only than I did something I wish I could take back, something so stupid, so unprofessional. I leaned in a little closer and kissed her cheek, not like it was hard or strained, not even a millisecond went by for me to not look at her after, I all but ran to my car and shoved the keys into the ignition and turned it on ripping the gear stick into reverse to get the hell out of there. I did spare her a glance and and idiotic wave before practically speeding away.

Larissa stood there on the footpath shocked, blushing like one of her students, she returned the wave and set to get in her own vehicle. Sitting in the drivers seat hands clamped to the steering wheel, she let out a chesty giggle and a smile reaching her eyes. It was Larissa’s turn to feel like a giddy little girl. On her way back go nevermore I was the only thing on Larissa’s mind, by the time she arrived through the gates it was just after 2 pm, she would spend the rest of the day in a haze hardly concentrating.

Later that night she dragged a chair in front of her fireplace with a blanket adorned over her lap with her new book in hand and a glass of wine placed on the floor next to her, a relaxing evening to go along with an eventful afternoon. I was much the same, unlike the previous night I had enough energy to make something for dinner while standing in the kitchen with my own book, reading passages from it whilst stirring the food on the stove.

the eyes

are portals to

different worlds

this is why

we shut them in

beautiful moments.

Let’s just say both of our dreams that night were of each other and the next morning consisted of thoughts for Fridays dinner.

———

Just wait for the dinner;)

@lex13cm @im-a-carnivorous-plant @barbarasstar @giogwensversion @sabraaabra

#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #principle weems #wednesday #larissa weems x y/n #larissa x reader #gwenchrist(ie)#wlw fanfic #larissa weems x reader

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venus-haze · 2 years ago

Text

Adam Raised a Cain (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: The Sinclair house is haunted. It always has been and always will be as long as it’s standing. It’s a house you can’t think straight in, always keeping you on edge. The inhabitants are haunted too, and the longer you stay there, the further into the mire you get dragged by a dead woman’s claws and a man who can’t seem to decide whether he hates you or not.

Note: This fic can be considered a companion piece to Howl, though you don’t have to read one to understand what’s going on in the other. The reader is a woman (who gets put through the wringer again) but no other descriptors are used. It should surprise no one that the title comes from a Springsteen song. I’m going with the draft script where Bo killed Trudy, but it’s only mentioned briefly. Also I headcanon the Sinclairs as being Catholic for the drama of it all, so there’s some of that sprinkled throughout, though I want to explore that more at some point. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings: Murder. Descriptions of violence involving weapons (guns and knives). Disturbing and sadistic behavior. Misogyny. Kidnapping and prolonged captivity which involves physical abuse, emotional and psychological manipulation, major Stockholm syndrome, distorted sense of self. Unrequited crush (reader on Vincent). Threats of harm to one’s self. Descriptions of body horror on a victim and also parental abuse. Mentions of sexual content but nothing explicit. Do not interact if you are under 18.

You didn’t have to meet Trudy Sinclair to know you hated her. Some place between nowhere and eternity, you hoped her incorporeal being ached every time her name was internally cursed upon by you. Her specter loomed throughout Ambrose, a shadow that somehow had a chokehold on your life, but more so on your—captor? boyfriend? fiance? Whatever Bo was to you, he made Trudy your problem too.

The day after Bo brought you up to the house, he made you go back down to Ambrose with him, giving you no indication of what he had planned except to wear black. When he brought you to the church, an odd building you hadn’t noticed before, you wondered if god could even be present in such a place. Regardless, he led you up the aisle, past the wax congregation and up to the coffin that lay before the altar where the wax priest was giving the funeral mass through a recording that played on loop. As if the scenario wasn’t morbid enough, Bo knelt in front of the open casket, and you followed his example, paying your respects to his wax-preserved, deceased mother.

You’d gone to funerals before, seen relatives and friends done up in open caskets, one last hurrah before becoming food for worms. Trudy had been dead for at least a decade, you knew as much, but for a 10-years-dead bitch, she didn’t look half bad, all things considered. Her manicured hands, long red acrylic fingernails filed into what you could only call claws, were gripping a glass-bead rosary—you doubted she was a pillar of piety. Though, you could see her blonde wig was somewhat ajar, revealing what looked like an entry or exit wound on her temple. You knew better than to ask who shot her.

Anything you did around the house was under Bo’s scrutiny, and you were constantly compared to Trudy. For a man who seemed to live on microwave dinners before you started cooking, he sure had a lot to say about every meal you prepared. His most common critique was “Ain’t how mama made it.” Especially for Trudy’s recipes, written in a feminine scrawl on discolored index cards that you painstakingly followed to the letter. Her recipes weren’t good, either. Unseasoned slosh despite living in proximity to the capital of Cajun cuisine in the States.

Bo had seemed glad when you offered to clean up around the house, how quickly it seemed like you’d learned your place within the Sinclair household dynamic. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. It never was with Bo. When you greeted him as expected when he returned home, with a warm kiss and a cold beer, he flew into a rage upon finding you had, in fact, cleaned. He somehow didn’t consider that cleaning involved you organizing belongings and throwing out garbage, ranting about how you can’t touch his stuff and now he can’t find anything.

Mornings weren’t too bad. In fact, it was when things were most domestic with Bo, when you could best convince yourself that you were in a normal relationship with him. Morning sex with Bo was far tamer by his standards than any other time he’d have sex with you, and sometimes he’d actually kiss you during it.

Despite technically not being on a schedule, he liked to be out of the house by 9 to work on whatever he did to keep Ambrose up and running. It didn’t matter whether or not you were an early riser, because he inexplicably was, and expected you to cook breakfast for him each day, a hot plate of whatever was in the fridge and a freshly brewed cup of coffee waiting at his seat by the time he sauntered downstairs. He’d greet you with a grin and a smack on the ass, as if you two were playful newlyweds.

Though you lived in the house, he didn’t entirely trust you, as he’d wait for you to eat your portion of whatever meal you’d cooked first before digging in. Playing house with Bo was far more stressful than you could’ve expected, though you hoped over time you’d get the hang of it. With the glittering ring adorning your finger, it seemed like he expected you to.

This particular morning was a pan of half a dozen scrambled eggs and a few slices of toast. You liked working with the radio on, cooking and cleaning during the day felt far less lonely with another voice around. Only three radio stations got any reception in Ambrose and one of them wasn't even consistent, as you found to your disappointment. Bo’s metal music was a collection of mixtapes made by various victims, which sent a chill down your spine as you briefly considered the implications. With your radio choices being country and oldies, you chose oldies, finding Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday the appropriate soundtrack to your Stepford Wives-esque existence. A lump always formed in your throat whenever Connie Francis came on, no matter the song. She was Trudy’s favorite singer, Bo had informed you one day.

You took your seat next to him, grabbing one of the nearby newspapers. Bo would bring you newspapers or magazines he got from victims. It was how you found out you’d been in Ambrose for nearly three months by the time he let you out from captivity beneath the gas station. At first, you scanned every one for some mention of your disappearance, but gave up hope after a few weeks. Instead, you resigned yourself to ripping recipes out of women’s magazines and preoccupying yourself with crossword puzzles and comic strips.

Still, you found the astrology sections interesting and read yours and Bo’s horoscopes over breakfast each morning. He hated when his was negative, even though he claimed “I don’t believe in that garbage,” so sometimes you’d have to improvise. The news of the world was increasingly foreign to you, and you found the trends and gossip in magazines vapid.

“Whatcha got today?” he asked through a mouthful of eggs.

Though the paper was from two days prior, your eyes drifted to your sign. “Luck in love.”

“Damn right, darlin’.”

“Yours says an unexpected stranger will help you.”

He made a noncommittal grunt, shrugging before downing the rest of his coffee. “I’ll try to make it back here for lunch, but I probably won’t be home till late tonight. You give Vincent a holler if you need somethin’.”

“Okay, I love you,” you said, as was expected.

He didn’t always say it back, but for some reason, he made you tell him you loved him before he left in the mornings. You wouldn’t fight it, not if it made his mood even remotely better than the mildly-pissed-off to furious states that he seemed to operate under. In that instance, he returned the sentiment with an unknown amount of sincerity, giving you a kiss before leaving his dirty plate and empty coffee mug behind for you to clean.

You liked taking your time with your chores for the day. It was easier to cope with everything if you kept yourself too busy to start thinking too much. You flipped to the next page of the newspaper, reading some of the letters to the editor.

Creaking stairs caught your attention, and you looked up from the paper, surprised to see Vincent making an appearance so early. He was more of a night owl and seemed to avoid Bo when he could. The first time you met him was awkward as hell, and you still found it difficult to make eye contact with him over it. Bo had been in the middle of fucking you on the kitchen counter when his twin emerged from his basement ‘studio.’ You were mortified, and Vincent seemed to be as well, since he began backtracking until Bo shot him a grin, “Good ‘a time as ever to make introductions.” At least Vincent had the decency to mostly leave you alone since then.

“Morning Vincent,” you said, petting Jonesy as she ran up to your side. “Breakfast’s scrambled eggs.”

He nodded in response, piling the cold eggs on a plate and sticking it in the microwave. You looked down at Jonesy. She was a sweet dog, but you saw her just about as often as you saw Vincent, since she seemed to be his shadow.

“Do you want coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

He looked at the coffee pot, considering it for a few moments before shaking his head. Unlike Bo, who drank half a pot of coffee every morning, Vincent would switch between coffee and tea in the mornings, at least the mornings you actually saw him. It wasn’t uncommon for Vincent to disappear for days at a time, though you always cooked enough for him, leaving a plate for him in the fridge.

Bo was a creature of habit, as you’d observed his strange and sometimes disturbing rituals living in the house with him, from drinking a beer as soon as he got home each evening to spending at least an hour visiting Trudy’s casket in church every Sunday at noon. Vincent seemed to do things sporadically, getting so involved in his work that you weren’t sure if he consistently ate let alone showered like he should. You knew they were twins, but even when you first met Vincent, you were aware of how different he was from Bo.

Of course, meeting Lester was nothing short of a shock to the system. You had felt like you were going crazy when you saw the man from the highway who’d directed you and your friends to Ambrose in the first place walk into the house with a friendly smile on his face while you were preparing lunch. Then Bo introduced him as his “kid brother” and Lester congratulated you for “shacking up” with Bo. The experience was dizzying and confusing, especially since you ended up getting along with Lester surprisingly well, having the closest thing to a regular, mundane conversation in months. He didn’t come up to the house very often, though.

Compared to Bo and Vincent, Lester seemed normal enough, though he was still complicit in your suffering and that of everyone else who came through Ambrose. You could barely piece together how it all started, when had their mother’s career warped into the surreal hell you found yourself in? Was it inevitable or avoidable?

From the news clippings you’d seen throughout the house, Trudy was undoubtedly talented when it came to wax art, but you couldn’t tell whether the grainy, black and white photos of the wax figures she posed with were real, like how your friends ended up. Then again, Ambrose had been a small, bustling town with real people to notice if tourists went missing. Once the highway was built and the sugar mill shut down, everyone left but the Sinclairs. Not that there was anywhere else for them to go, since Dr. Sinclair was practicing medicine unlicensed in Ambrose and Trudy’s skills didn’t have much of a practical application outside of being an eccentric and volatile small town celebrity.

You noticed that Bo rarely mentioned his father, and when he did, it was only in the context of his mother. There were no stories about playing catch with his old man or going to car shows together. If the myriad of rusted surgical tools laying around the house were any indication, you had a good guess as to how Bo bonded with his father, since Vincent seemed to get most of his mother’s attention. You could practically see Bo–young, devious, and starving for some kind of positive parental attention–kissing up to his father with claims that he wanted to be a doctor just like him someday. He probably ended up with a front row seat to the illegal and risky procedures that Dr. Sinclair performed in the family home. The one time you had to go into the dusty room that was the late Dr. Sinclair’s office, you almost passed out at the sight of the surgical bed that looked far too much like the one you had been strapped to for months beneath the gas station.

By the time you looked up from the newspaper, not having read a word of the letters to the editor, Vincent was gone, and Jonsey along with him. You sighed, figuring it was about time to start cleaning up from breakfast and get to the laundry list of tasks for around the house. As a result of none of the Sinclair brothers keeping up very good care of the place, there was a lot that had to be done in the way of cleaning. You hated it when you had to point out yet another part of the house that needed repairs to Bo. It was necessary, but you sure as hell didn’t want to push your luck by seeming like you were nagging him. Some days you really thought he was going to call it and either bring you back to the basement or kill you. You weren’t sure which option scared you more.

After cleaning up from breakfast, you began the task of cleaning out Lester’s old bedroom. He’d assured you that he had taken everything he needed when he moved into his own place and gave you the okay to throw away whatever you found in there. It would be a long undertaking, as you discovered when you first looked in the room, full of junk and smelling rancid. You had a bucket of cleaning supplies that you kept under the kitchen sink, all of which Bo had bought for you under the pretense that if you tried something smart with the cocktail of chemicals, he’d pour bleach down your throat himself.

Equipped with yellow rubber gloves and a dozen trash bags, you began cleaning your way through the room. It seemed Lester had developed his knack for taxidermy in his childhood bedroom before moving out, as you found roadkill in various states of preservation in a cardboard box. You shoved it all in a garbage bag, resisting the urge to gag at the smell.

Despite the monumental cleaning job before you, you were confident in your ability to make the room habitable–for whom, you weren’t exactly sure, but it’d be better than the state it was in. It had gotten to be a little past noon when you decided to go through one more box before taking a break for lunch. You’d set aside some things you found that Bo might want, figuring it best to check with him after the fit he threw when you cleaned his room.

When you opened a small, dusty box in the closet, your eyes widened upon seeing a pistol laying amongst other junk. You weren’t sure if it was even real, let alone usable, but holding it in your hands sent a shockwave through you. Dropping everything, you sprinted into your and Bo’s room, finding a shoebox with a pair of heels you never wore shoved toward the back corner of the closet. Your breath caught in your throat when you heard the front door open, Bo calling for you. Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to be home. Haphazardly, you threw the gun in the box, pushing it back in place before rushing downstairs.

“What’s kept you so busy?” he asked, regarding you with suspicion.

“Lester’s old room. I lost track of time,” you explained, sweat beading at your forehead.

To your relief, he laughed. “Shit, I don’t even wanna think about what’s in there. If you still got an appetite, I picked up somethin’ to eat while I was in town.”

“That sounds great. Let me wash up,” you said, giving him a kiss before heading into the bathroom.

You turned on the sink, holding your hands under the running water until it was too hot to touch, pulling your stinging hands away and staring at them. Less than five minutes ago, you had a gun in your hands, a get out of jail free card, and now you were going to eat lunch with a man who made your life miserable.

Bo had already helped himself to one of the burgers he’d bought from McDonald’s the next town over. You sat down in your seat, munching on the cold french fries that had spilled onto the table. The food wasn’t necessarily good, but it gave you some comfort with its familiarity. He was in an unusually good mood, which you were sure wouldn’t last, so you relished in it, allowing yourself the luxury of pretending you were having a normal lunch with your normal boyfriend. He told you a funny story about a woman falling over in a hardware store he’d stopped in for supplies. Sure, it was mean-spirited, but the way Bo told the story had you nearly doubled over.

“You got a great laugh,” he said with a smile.

“Thank you,” you said, shocked and flattered by the compliment.

His eyes were bright as he looked at you, but it didn’t last. His expression became serious, and he picked up his hat from where he’d placed it on the table. “I better head back out. I’ll see ya later, darlin’.”

“Okay, I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said, kissing your cheek before leaving.

After cleaning up the mess from lunch, long enough to be sure you were in the clear, you raced back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind you as you retrieved the shoe box from its hiding spot. Adrenaline rushed through you as you picked up the gun, staring at it in awe.

You bit your lip, silently praying to whatever deity may have been out there that if they could give you one thing, it’d be to not accidentally set off the gun while you tried to figure out whether or not it even had any bullets in it. Of course, as soon as it made some kind of clicking noise, you shoved it back in the box. Vincent was more than likely in his studio, but with how he’d spontaneously make appearances in the house, you didn’t want to take a chance.

As you went back to cleaning Lester’s old room, you tried not to let your discovery burn through your mind. It was so hard not to, though, not when for the first time in months you actually had a chance. You had to plan, knowing better than to be sloppy and impulsive when it came to Bo and Vincent.

While Bo liked to have his routine, his schedule could be unpredictable, especially if tourists came into town. You avoided Vincent’s studio, but knew it connected to other parts of town through a tunnel system. Both brothers were capable of ending you in an instant. They knew Ambrose’s layout by heart whereas you’d only actually seen the town on a handful of occasions, and very briefly at that.

Noticing the sky getting dark through the window, you set your racing thoughts aside to focus on cleaning. Easier said than done since you dreaded nighttime, the sunset marking the end of the day, when you’d have Bo’s undivided attention. The evening was routine, as he expected you to wait by the door for him with a cold beer and a warm kiss when you heard his truck pull up outside. The two of you would eat while he talked about his day, but from there, it was a crapshoot. It didn’t matter whether his mood was good or bad, you inevitably ended up manhandled into bed at some point in the night to scratch whatever itch he had.

Bo wouldn’t be back until late, but you weren’t sure what to make for dinner. Sometimes he’d request certain dishes, and others you’d just have to hope he liked whatever you cooked. Even if he complained, he still ate what you served him.

You headed downstairs, dragging the garbage bags filled with junk behind you. While you still had a ways to go before you’d consider Lester’s old room clean, it was nice seeing evidence of your hard work. Calling out to Vincent, you let him know that you were going to bring the trash out. He’d hear you go out there anyway, but you quickly learned it was a lot less trouble if you let him know beforehand.

The night air was cool as you threw bag after bag into the garbage cans outside the house. You weren’t sure where Bo took everything when he’d load up the back of his truck every week. Out of sight, out of mind, you supposed.

Rushing back into the house and out of the cold, you quickly decided to make some kind of soup, hoping there’d be adequate ingredients for it in the fridge. A major downfall of not being able to get your own groceries meant having to rely on Bo to grab the food you requested and not whatever he felt like throwing into the cart.

Just about everything you needed was in the kitchen, and oddly enough, you felt excited for Bo to come home for dinner, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that loomed over you as you chopped and sautéed vegetables. Things always seemed to balance in Ambrose. Bo’s unusually good mood earlier in the afternoon would be matched with a horrific one when he got home.

You unfortunately experienced such in your stint in the basement dungeon below the gas station, the fresh scars on your body evidence of this. As much as you used to pray for predictability, you hated knowing something horrible was about to happen next.

The soup was almost to your taste when you heard Bo’s truck pull up outside. Grabbing a can of beer from the fridge, you tried to hold out hope, you’d go crazy if you didn’t.

As soon as you heard the way he stomped up the front steps, you could feel all of the butterflies in your stomach die one by one. The door swung open to reveal Bo, covered in blood and sweat. Whatever victims had come into Ambrose put up a fight he clearly wasn't expecting.

He grabbed the can of beer from you, throwing it across the room, leaving a fresh hole in the drywall. You ran into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit and rushed back into the living room, only to find him sitting at the kitchen table.

You pulled up a chair close to him, setting out the first aid kit on the table. At a glance, it seemed like his wounds were mostly superficial, so you assumed most of the blood wasn’t his. Still, there was a decent looking cut on his forehead above his left eye.

“I swear to god this shit’s more trouble than it’s worth sometimes,” he mumbled.

You didn’t respond, trying to carefully pour peroxide onto a cotton ball, only for some of it to spill onto the kitchen floor.

He grabbed the cotton ball from your hand, pressing it against his forehead as he hissed out, “You sure are too, when all you’re good for is gettin’ fucked. Mama would be rollin’ if she knew a slut like you was in her house.”

Your jaw clenched. You wouldn’t even be in the damn house if it weren’t for him. It wasn’t like you’d invited yourself. He was trying to get a rise out of you, make you feel as awful as he was feeling. That was his M.O. when he was feeling down, drag everyone down with him.

“What? You got somethin’ to say?”

The clock read 13:77 when you reached for the gun you hid in your pocket. Since when did this dress have pockets? Wordlessly, you stood up, firing three shots into Bo’s chest. His expression was almost cartoonish as the chair tilted back and crashed onto the floor, his head rolling away from his body like a bowling ball.

You awoke with a start. The dream seemed so real up until the end. You almost went upstairs to see if Bo was still alive. You had patched him up, and he had made his cruel comments toward you. In reality, the interaction ended with his demanding you sleep on the couch as he wasn’t in the mood to fuck you, and that was the only reason he let you in his bed in the first place. You were nothing short of humiliated and furious when you laid on the couch with a worn out blanket, crying yourself to sleep into one of the smelly throw pillows.

As you shifted, you noticed another blanket in much better condition was on top of you. It felt like some kind of quilt, not that you could tell in the dark. You hated that your broken ass brain made you love Bo regardless of everything he did to you, when clearly Vincent was considerate enough to cover you with a real blanket.

After about an hour or so of tossing and turning, you fell back asleep. With no alarm around, you could only hope to wake up in time to make breakfast for Bo. There were no dreams of gunshots or decapitated heads this time.

A little after six in the morning, you woke up to the sound of Vincent rifling through a drawer in the kitchen. You sighed in relief. Sure, it was earlier than you were used to getting up, but you could possibly sneak a nap in during the afternoon if Bo was out for the day. You hoped he would be.

You looked at the thick quilt that was covering you, noticing dried bloodstains on it. Other than that, it was in pretty good condition and appeared to be handmade. You wondered who made it, and when. Right away you knew it wasn’t Trudy’s work, all she seemed to have cared about when she was alive was wax sculptures and terrorizing her children. It probably came from a victim, a family heirloom they had brought along with them when their trip ended prematurely in Ambrose. The thought made you push the quilt off of your body.

Shuffling into the kitchen, you were surprised to see Vincent still there. He always made his trips upstairs short and scarce.

“Thanks for the blanket,” you said.

He hesitated before nodding.

“Is there anything special you want for breakfast?”

You watched as he opened one of the cabinets, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms.

“I figured you must be the one eating the cereal. Bo got so mad when I tried giving him Froot Loops one morning, I just gave up on it,” you said.

Vincent shrugged as he poured the cereal into a bowl with a worn out Snoopy design on it.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you.”

His head shot up in your direction, so quickly it nearly startled you. You recognized him signing ‘No.’

“Well, let me know if I am, okay?” you said. “I–um–I can go, if you want to eat in here.”

He motioned with his thumb toward the basement. Right. Two new victims needed his attention. Still, you found it odd he even ventured upstairs. Usually he’d have to be torn away from his work by Bo, insisting he needed to take a break. Even then, he’d do so quickly and reluctantly until his sculptures were finished.

You took your time making breakfast but weren’t sure what to expect when you heard Bo coming down the stairs. You’d been on the receiving end of his wrath plenty of times, from blunt knives to bloody fists, you’d taken it all from him–as if you had a choice. Still, he’d never cast you out like that before.

He stood in the doorway almost awkwardly, and you acknowledged his presence with a slight nod. With this, he closed the distance between the two of you, and you tensed up.

“Missed you last night,” Bo said, leaning against the counter as if he hadn’t banished you to the couch.

Those words were the closest to an apology you were going to get. You weren’t sure if you ever wanted to hear him say ‘I’m sorry’. If he ever uttered that phrase, something would have to be terribly wrong. Everything was your fault anyway. It always was.

You shook your head, giving him a forced smile. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”

That was it. Your apology and admission of wrongdoing tied up neat in a bow for him. Unfortunately, his expression fell, and you wracked your brain for what you left out of your statement. Clean, crisp, and concise, there was nothing wrong with it. Why wasn’t he happy with you doing what was expected?

He didn’t respond after that, and breakfast was mostly silent. You sure as hell weren’t going to initiate conversation with the man who made what he thought about you more than clear the night before, ruining what had been such a good afternoon that you had been looking forward to him getting home. Trying to pretend with Bo was pointless. He always ran his mouth and ruined it.

You were relieved when he left for the day and didn’t return until late in the evening. Though you did what was expected, as always, there was a coldness to your actions. In your heart, you’d forgiven him for so much despite him not deserving any of it, but the way he treated you the night before stuck with you more than anything else he’d done.

Your cool attitude toward him thawed over the next few days, getting into the normal routine as he graciously allowed you to share a bed with him again after three nights of roughing it alone, him in his bed and you on the old couch that made your back hurt. Three nights wasn’t even that long, but somehow the separation had made him insatiable, as he practically devoured you as soon as you stepped foot in his room. Hours had passed by the time he finally stopped–your wrists were bruised, lip bleeding profusely, salty tear tracks drying out the delicate skin on your face. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Even though there weren’t as many tourists coming through Ambrose, and even during the “busy season” they were few and far between, Bo almost always had something to do in the wax town or errands to run in the next town over. Lester had come by to visit more often, which lifted your mood. Conversations with him tended to be on the lighter side.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna take a look at your old room? There’s still a lot of stuff in there,” you said.

“Most of it ain’t mine. I’ve lived on my own for a long time now,” he answered.

“How far is your place from here?”

“Few miles. Maybe you can visit soon.”

What you wouldn’t give to spend a few hours outside Ambrose, even if it was at Lester’s house. You were dying for a change of scenery. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. I’ll have to ask Bo.”

“I can’t see him sayin’ no. He’s got a real soft spot for ya.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you gave Lester a smile before letting him steer the conversation elsewhere. What the fuck about your split lip indicated anything soft was going on with Bo? You didn’t want to begin thinking about how he treated his other partners. You nearly laughed at yourself–as if Bo considered you remotely equal to him. Besides, your affection had shifted toward his twin not long after the blanket incident.

When you weren’t cleaning Lester’s old room or doing routine chores around the house, you’d hang out downstairs with Vincent. You asked him several times if you were bothering him, but as no victims had come through Ambrose in a few weeks, he wasn’t as busy. He worked on projects that had fallen to the wayside in the urgency of creating with his living subjects.

The studio was silent, save for the opera music, but sometimes you’d have long, rambling, mostly one-sided conversations. After months of giving short answers to Bo in fear of his temper, it was nice to vocalize what you were thinking, mundane observations and surface-level feelings.

You knew what Vincent had done, what he was capable of, but when you’d watch him work, shaping and molding the wax like it was second nature, you couldn’t help but admire his artistry. His hands were big and strong like Bo’s, but there was a softness to them. You wondered what they’d feel like on your skin, if he’d hold you, caress you with the gentleness that Bo was deeply lacking.

If Bo was aware you had been spending your free time with Vincent, he didn’t say anything about it. Sometimes you’d look at Bo, trying to imagine his face on Vincent’s body. You’d only ever seen Vincent with his mask on, and there were no photos of him maskless anywhere in the house. You wondered if his expressions would be like Bo’s, if he could channel the same meanness his twin did. In the part of your mind that was still a hopeless romantic, you pictured him looking at you fondly.

To your dismay, a victim had come to Ambrose, which meant you wouldn’t see Vincent for some time. As much as you allowed yourself the silly fantasies in your head and tried to romanticize him as an artist, you knew you’d never be able to stomach that overwhelming aspect of his craft. He was just as much of a killer as Bo, but you never had to witness such.

It was only a matter of time. You knew that, but you didn’t expect it to happen as soon as it did.

You decided to make shrimp fried rice for dinner, having a craving for Chinese food and finding a promising recipe in a magazine Bo had given you. The dish was almost done when you heard an unusual noise coming from the basement. Victims usually struggled before Vincent subdued them, but this sounded different.

As you considered whether or not to investigate, a frantic footfall that definitely wasn’t Vincent’s became louder as they ascended the stairs. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest.

The person before you hardly looked human, and you froze at the sight of him until he uttered a garbled “Help!”

Immobilized by fear, you couldn’t do anything but scream at the sight of the grotesque man before you. Nude and completely hairless, his body was littered with fresh wounds that had been inflicted and stitched up by Vincent.

You scrambled backward, falling on your ass as you heard Vincent storming up the stairs. He grabbed the pan that was on the stove and followed the man into the living room. You could hear their struggle from your spot on the floor until there was a clang and a disgusting gurgling noise. The sound of the pan crashing to the ground made you jump.

Vincent grunted, not sparing you so much as a glance while he dragged the man back downstairs. You tried not to throw up at the sight of the raw, burnt skin on the man’s head.

It took you a few minutes to pull yourself together enough to stand up. Cautiously, you walked over to the door frame, feeling your stomach churn at the mess on the floor. At a loss for how to begin cleaning it up, you grabbed your tub of cleaning supplies from under the kitchen sink and hoped they’d do the job.

Your hands shook as you put on the yellow rubber gloves. You tried to use the broom and dustpan to sweep up the fried rice on the floor, only finding it stuck to the bristles because of the blood it had been mixed with in the scuffle. Gagging, you pulled the clump off and threw it into the dust pan. A combination of cleaning sprays at least masked the rancid smell with bleach and lemon, and you coughed every few minutes as you used sponges and paper towels to clean the floor.

Besides yours and your friends’ victimization in Ambrose, you’d never been directly confronted with what the Sinclair brothers did. Bo rarely allowed you to leave the house, and Vincent’s subjects were brought to his studio through the various trap doors and tunnels beneath the town. You’d certainly heard things, but seeing the worst of it for yourself was harrowing.

You scrubbed the floor frantically as you heard Bo’s truck pull up, trying to think of how you were going to explain what had happened in his absence, the snafu in the dinner he expected when he’d come home. Your brain seemed to short circuit as you tried to decide whether to keep cleaning or make a run to the fridge and grab him a beer.

The front door swung open, and Bo’s rare good mood collapsed at the scene before him. You didn’t dare acknowledge his presence, too afraid to speak. You weren’t even sure if you could.

“What the fuck happened here?” Bo asked, observing you cleaning the mess of blood and fried rice on the floor.

“I—I don’t know,” you whispered, your hand shaking as you pointed toward the kitchen. “Vincent—“

“Darlin’, go upstairs,” Bo said.

You looked at the floor and then back up to him.

He grabbed your arm and helped you onto your feet. “Y/N, I want you to go upstairs. Now.”

His rare use of your name caught your attention, and something in you snapped. Calling you by your name as if he knew you, as if he hadn’t made sure Y/N was long dead by the time he let you out of that basement. You wrenched yourself from his grasp and ran upstairs, not bothering to shut the door behind you as you curled up on his bed and began sobbing.

Sure, the incident scared you, and you felt guilty for not doing more to help the man. The feeling that most overwhelmed you, however, was heartbreak. It was stupid to have conjured up a romanticized version of Vincent in your mind, yet it was alarmingly easy to do so when you never witnessed any of his brutality firsthand. He was as violent as Bo, cruel too, but it manifested differently. You wailed at the crushing weight of the realization that you wouldn’t have been better off if he found you first. You would have ended up just like the man in the kitchen, your former friends, everyone else in Ambrose. He wouldn’t have saved you. He wouldn’t have given you a second thought.

As much as Bo made your life hell, at least you were still alive. After years of feeling average and overlooked, he saw something worthwhile in you, worth keeping around—or maybe you were just desperate and weak enough for him to break you so easily. You wanted to claw your insides out for loving him anyway.

“Doll?” Bo asked tentatively by the doorframe, the first time he ever seemed remotely nervous around you.

You quickly gave up trying to respond coherently, rolling over and screaming into his pillow until your throat hurt and your head ached. It wasn’t fair. You tried so hard to show him you deserved to be in his house, in his bed, and it never seemed like enough.

When you looked at him through hazy, tear-filled eyes, you expected to see that all too familiar smug expression on his face whenever you cried. Instead, he was sending next to the bed, his eyebrows furrowed in the closest thing to concern you figured he could manage.

“You got spooked, huh?” he asked softly.

A pained noise came from your throat in response. No shit. You wished he would take the initiative to hold you, to comfort you. You knew better than to hope he cared about you, but at least he could pretend. Instead, to your further disappointment, you had to be the one to initiate any kind of tenderness.

Feeling pathetic as ever, you uttered, “Will you just hold me?”

He sighed, his heavy footfall punctuating his reluctant non-answer. The mattress dipped as he got onto it, wrapping his strong arms around you as he gave you an imitation of the comfort you craved. You buried your face in his chest. His emotional constipation wasn’t entirely his fault. The affection and care that most people grew up with in one way or another had almost no presence in Bo’s upbringing, his wrists and ankles were evidence of that.

Speculation and “what if’s” did you no good, though. No amount of empathizing with him could ever undo a fraction of what he’d done to you, not to mention the dozens of other people who met their end in Ambrose. Suddenly, you felt disgusted by his touch, regretting your request for it in the first place. It was insincere, disingenuous, a way to placate you until next time, and the time after that, and after that, too. Sobs wracked through your body again as you considered going through this song and dance again for the rest of your life, however short or long that would be. To your dismay, he held you closer.

You cried yourself to sleep in his arms. The room was pitch black when Bo shook you awake, claiming you started screaming. You had no reason to doubt him. Despite the darkness and false sense of calm, you had trouble falling back asleep.

The following morning, panic rushed through you when you awoke late in the day, Bo nowhere in sight. All you could think about was how pissed he’d be that you hadn’t started breakfast for him yet. You practically sprinted out the bedroom door and almost fell down the stairs in your rush to the kitchen.

He was already leaning against the messy counter, eating some concoction he’d made for breakfast directly from the frying pan. It was the first time you’d ever seen him attempt to cook. By the looks of it, you could understand why he left that to you.

“Bo, I’m so sorry. I overslept—“

“Don’t worry about it, darl’,” he said nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t made it clear in the past that this was one of the few tasks your survival hinged on. “Why don’t you take it easy today. I’ll even bring home somethin’ so you don’t have to cook dinner.”

“Thank you,” you uttered in disbelief.

He glanced at the kitchen clock, setting down the frying pan as if he had a boss who’d chew him out if he was late for work. “I gotta get goin’. I’ll check on ya later.”

You nodded, pressing your lips to his—chaste, routine, robotic. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said quickly.

Just like that, he left without incident. Reluctantly, you grabbed the frying pan—a different one from the night before, thankfully—he’d just set down, regarding the slop he’d cooked for himself with apprehension. You weren’t sure if it was edible enough for Jonesy to finish. Deciding to spare the dog from Bo’s attempt at cooking, you dumped what was left of the food in the garbage and while washing the pan, considered what to make yourself for breakfast. You ended up making plain toast before trudging your way back upstairs to yours and Bo’s shared bedroom.

Shutting the door behind you, you dug your shoebox out of the closet and opened it, staring at the pistol that was nestled between your heels. The damn thing had been burning a hole in your conscience for weeks. It kept you on edge, yet was a source of comfort. You knew it wouldn’t last. It’d only be a matter of time before Bo found it, and you tried not to think about what he’d do to you then.

After all, anyone else in your situation would have acted as soon as they found the gun. Instead you sat on it, telling yourself it wasn’t the right time, that you needed to plan more. It was all lies. Bo’s undivided attention was torture, but it was all yours.

Besides, going back to a “normal” life after your months in Ambrose would be a struggle in itself. After the pity wore off, people would regard you with frustration for not getting over it fast enough. You’d seen as much with acquaintances who’d gone through traumatic events. The rest of your life would be punctuated with regular therapy sessions and taking a cocktail of medications to curb the nightmares and PTSD from your experiences. It sounded exhausting, and you were already so tired. You’d rather be broken with Bo than broken on your own.

You spent the next few hours lying in bed, considering where to go from there. Having been confronted with the worst of the Sinclair family, brutal and cruel and ruthless, it was only a matter of time before it consumed you too.

As much as you wanted to sleep, you were afraid to, unsure of what nightmares await if you closed your eyes for too long. Instead, you stared at the wall and thought over everything that happened in the past 24 hours, replaying the incident over in your mind.

Rage filled your chest at the thought of Vincent, who hadn’t paid you any mind since the previous night, not even to check on you. He never did. At least Bo felt bad enough to give you the day off, even though he had no involvement in the incident. You couldn’t believe you had convinced yourself Vincent cared about you. It was always you initiating conversations, making yourself at home in his studio, thinking he might enjoy the company. He was only tolerating you for Bo’s sake.

Your lip trembled as you considered how lonely you felt. If one of them didn’t kill you, loneliness would do it eventually. After all, if you were going to be in such a fucked up situation, couldn’t you have the slightest bit of happiness to make your survival worth it.

Bo returned home not long after the sky became dark. While you went downstairs to meet him, you didn’t rush. You half expected him to be annoyed with you for not having a beer in hand for him, but instead, his expression lit up when he walked back into the living room from the kitchen.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bo said with a smile as he put his arm around your waist.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He looked at you with a gleam in his eye that you hesitated to identify as adoration. You assumed too much of Vincent and found out the hard way that you were wrong. In your hours of wallowing, you came to the conclusion that if Bo didn’t love you, you’d rather be dead.

“I wasn’t sure what ya wanted, so I went a little crazy,” he said, gesturing to the three Olive Garden takeout bags on the counter. “Figured you probably haven’t eaten today.”

“I need to get something from upstairs first,” you said. “Is that okay?”

He nodded. “‘Course, just be quick. Food’ll get cold before ya know it.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek before making your ascent upstairs. As soon as you walked back into the bedroom, you exhaled, trying to ground yourself despite your thoughts doing laps around your brain. No more talking yourself out of it. If you were going to stay with Bo, you needed him to know you were serious, that you couldn’t take the hot and cold attitude anymore. Either he wanted you, or he didn’t.

Opening the shoe box, you stared at the gun for what must have been a few minutes too long, because you flinched in shock when you heard Bo calling for you from downstairs. Grabbing the gun, you felt adrenaline rush through you as you went back downstairs with it in your hand. You almost wanted to go ahead and fire it just to see what would happen.

His eyes widened, jaw clenched upon seeing you holding the gun. “Where’d you get that?”

“Found it while I was cleaning.”

You cocked the gun, and his chair scraped against the linoleum floor as he got up from the table, lip curled in a sneer. When you lifted the gun to your temple, however, determination seemed to leave his body as he froze in place.

“Do you love me?” you asked.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Put the fuckin’ gun down, and we can talk.”

Your voice was loud and uneven as you demanded an answer. “Do you love me?”

“I—what is this about?”

“I can’t go back to a normal life now. I can’t fucking leave here, but I can’t keep saying ‘I love you’ to a man who doesn’t mean it when he says it back,” you said.

It was the most you’d spoken to him since he brought you down to that basement all those months ago. Used to brief answers from you, the severity of the situation finally seemed to dawn on him. His hands were half raised as he inched toward you, the handler shit out of luck without a taser or tranquilizer to subdue the lion that had escaped its cage.

“I don’t want you to blow your brains out in our kitchen, doll. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to ya, just put the gun down,” he said, trying not to raise his voice despite the bulging veins in his neck indicating how bad he wanted to scream at you.

Our kitchen. You were holding a gun to your own head and that was the best he could do. Then again, if he really didn’t give a shit, he could have called Vincent up to help, though you’d be dead by the time his twin reached the kitchen. Perhaps he wanted to do it himself, already having your death elaborately planned out and unwilling for you to take that from him. You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. Our kitchen would do.

He jolted as you slammed the gun down on the table, rattling the silverware. His eyes widened as he looked from it to you. Holding his gaze, you lifted your hand from the weapon and took a step back.

He wasted no time grabbing it, nostrils flaring as he pushed you back into the counter. The cold barrel of the gun pressed beneath your chin so you held eye contact with him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, a scowl on his handsome face, chest heaving as he came down from the adrenaline rush. “Givin’ me half a fuckin’ heart attack while I’m tryin’ to eat my goddamn dinner. I wouldn’t go to none ‘a this trouble if I didn’t love you—“

His rant was muffled by your mouth on his, your hand on the side of his neck, thumb brushing his Adam’s apple. He growled into your mouth, setting the gun down on the counter to pull you closer in what was more teeth and tongue to be considered a kiss.

“You don’t got any other secrets you’re keepin’ from me, do ya?” he asked almost breathlessly as he pulled away from your lips far too soon for your liking.

You shook your head. “That was it.”

“Where’d you hide it?”

“Shoebox in the closet.”

His eyes widened at your response. He hadn’t expected you to have it in the first place, but especially not under his nose the whole time. You were either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, probably a mix of both. Yet the fact that you had plenty of chances to use it and never so much as pointed it at him spoke to the desperate devotion you had for him. God, you might as well have just recited your wedding vows.

He licked his lips, “Maybe I can let ya help me out in town sometimes.”

“You mean it?”

“‘S long as you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

You knew what he meant. Being in the house meant you wouldn’t have to deal with victims directly. He hadn’t brought any up to the house for as long as you’d been there. The last you knew of was your friend who had disappeared with him to pick up a part he claimed was delivered there instead of the gas station. This was always coming, your complicit involvement in the Sinclairs’ disturbing cruelty in the name of art or legacy or something.

“Don’t make me kill anyone, please,” you implored, eyes glassy as you teared up.

“It ain’t as bad as people say. The first time makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.”

“Like when you killed her?”

He grinned, giving you a kiss. “Remember what I said when I first brought you up here? I knew I got lucky with you.”

He knew what you were thinking. It wasn’t the act itself that scared you, but rather the possibility that you would like it, that just like him it would be something you did with no remorse.

“One day,” he whispered, voice husky as his blue eyes bore deep into yours, “one day you’re gonna do it too. You’re gonna wanna do it.”

Your voice was barely audible as you answered, “I know.”

“It’ll be the best feelin’ you’ve ever had in your life, doll. I promise.”

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x female reader #slasher x reader #house of wax #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher community #house of wax 2005 #im incapable of writing anything short disease strikes again

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mediaconsumernightwriter · 2 years ago

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Why Do Gay Men Hate Femininity?: A Giovanni’s Room Rant

This essay will contain minor spoilers for Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin and The Boys In The Band (2020). So, if you don’t want to know anything before reading or watching, go ahead and do that and then come back if you’d like. It also contains triggering content regarding mentions of violence towards women and feminine people, homophobia, transphobia and racism.

I started reading Giovanni’s Room not long ago and was immediately in love with it. The writing is phenomenal and Baldwin captures this immediate passion and consumption and falling out of it with such grace and incredible prose. Now that I’ve praised the book, let me talk about an aspect I didn’t like, though that’s not the fault of the book, because I think it’s made to show us how the real Giovanni is outside of the glamorized vision from David’s eyes.

I’ll start off by saying that, while I don’t really identify as a woman, I’m a very feminine presenting person and will always be perceived to the outside world as a woman. Feminism is very important to me, also. So seeing Giovanni downright hate women so ferociously made me do a double take and reconsider his character immediately. I’ve seen so many people talk about how this book is great and not one has mentioned the outright misogynistic rhetoric that Giovanni spews at one point in the book.

The conversation starts light, with Giovanni questioning David about his girlfriend. “What is she doing, wandering around through Spain alone?” he asks. This quickly turns into a small sexist comment. When David says that Hella (his girlfriend) “likes to travel”, Giovanni replies with “nobody likes to travel, especially not women.” While a small comment, this remark will lead to the more violently misogynistic thoughts Giovanni expresses. When David claims that Giovanni “doesn’t seem to have a very high opinion of women”, he replies with “There is no need (…) to have an opinion about women. Women are like water. They are tempting like that, and they can be treacherous, and they can seem bottomless, you know? - and they can be that shallow. And that dirty.” He admits that he “doesn’t like women very much” but that hasn’t stopped him from having sex with some of them. I don’t need to explain how objectifying this sentiment is. We will continue, for there is more.

Giovanni’s most violent feeling towards women, he feels towards feminist women, who “run around today, full of ideas and nonsense, thinking themselves equal to men”. For them, he reserves the thought that “they need to be beaten half to death so that they can find out who rules the world.” He also admits he’s beaten some women and that “didn’t make them leave”.

David isn’t innocent of this misogyny either. While Giovanni spews his sexist bullshit, David tries to counteract it, but ends up laughing at physical violence enacted towards women. He also seems to have a bad opinion of the feminine men who show up in Guillaime’s bar (“There were, of course, les folles, always dressed in the most improbable combinations, screaming like parrots the details of their love-affairs (...). Occasionally, one would swoop in, quite late in the evening, to convey the news that he - but they always called each other “she” (...) they looked like a peacock garden and sounded like a barnyard. I always found it difficult to believe that they ever went to bed with anybody for a man who wanted a woman would certainly have rather had a real one and a man who wanted a man would certainly not want one of them.”) This aversion seems to apply to the apparent gender non-conforming boy that also shows up at the bar: “There was the boy (...) who came out at night wearing makeup and earrings and with his heavy blond hair piled high. Sometimes he actually wore a skirt and high heels. (...) I confess that his utter grotesqueness made me uneasy.”

This misogyny coming from gay men isn’t new (the book is from the 1950s) nor is it exclusive to this book and its characters. Usually, the length of my research for these essays is limited to rewatching a movie or reading a comic book. This time, with a theme as sensible as this, I decided to do more investigation over this topic, since I knew it was something people talked about but not really discussed in the community.

A lot of the conversation about misogyny is centered around the discrimination of cisgender women but it is fundamental to note that trans women and feminine presenting gender non-conforming people also suffer from it, on top of suffering from transphobia. Some of the articles I found talked about the “struggles of women'' as a monolith including only cisgender women, mentioning abortions (which trans men and non-binary people can choose to have), biological clocks and child bearing. I think it’s important to put my foot down and mention that these are not the only struggles women go through and are not exclusive to women only.

But, continuing on the topic of misogyny perpetuated by gay men, in an article by Fionn McFadden on Cherwell, the writer points out that “Cisgender gay men are in no way immune, merely on the basis of their sexuality, from perpetuating the misogynistic power structures and behaviours that oppress women”. They also mention that the misogyny between gay men is rampant “as they believe that their lack of sexual attraction to women, alongside the notion that they share the same struggles, means that they are exempt from misogynistic behaviour and rhetoric”. In this same article, the writer mentions the sexual violence some (mostly white and cis) gay men have enacted on their female friends, which is more common than you’d think, because these assaults are passed off as jokes as, like it was said above, these men are not attracted to these women. The article finishes by pointing out that misogynoir (the intersection between misogyny and racism) is also a big problem in the queer community and perpetuated specially by cis white gay men.

In an article written by Sadie E Hale and Tomás Ojeda, they mention various definitions of misogyny and sexism, but specifically one dichotomy that “allows feminine traits to be looked upon as weak and inferior to male characteristics, which announce dominance (when displayed by a man)”. I’ve been looking for something to apply to feminine men and gender non-comforming feminine presenting people and this phrase seems to understand what I mean when I say they are also victims of misogyny. Femininity as a concept is looked down upon in every facet of our world. Gay men (as well as straight men and women) also discriminate against feminine men, like we see David do, in Giovanni’s Room (yes, we’re tying it together!).

However, Hale and Ojeda point out, from work by Marilyn Frye, that “women face a double bind, in that they are socially (and potentially physically) sanctioned regardless of whether they behave or dress in a traditionally feminine or masculine way”. Gender non-comforming lesbians and AFAB (Assigned Female At Birth) but male or androgynous presenting non-binary people still suffer from misogyny, as well as homophobia and transphobia, and “while behaving in a feminine way will likely lead to social ostracisation or violence for men, behaving in a masculine way will not”.

To call out the hatred feminine gay men are predisposed to, I’d like to bring up one of my favorite movies and plays “The Boys In The Band”. I’ve watched the 2020 version only and read both the original two-act play and the Broadway version, so if I’m missing something from the original movie adaptation, I’m sorry. Anyways, in this movie, there are multiple gay men and one “straight” man. One of the characters is Emory, a feminine gay man, who calls everyone by “she” and is very flamboyant. Another one of these characters is Hank, a very straight-looking, masculine man, who also happens to be gay (or bi depending on who you ask, I personally think he’s gay). The “straight” man, Alan, happens upon this party filled with gay men and the one he makes a beeline to is Hank. They immediately hit it off. Alan gains a disdain for Emory, though, ending up in a violent act. In this case, it’s so obvious how femininity is cause of disgust by the straight man, but it’s also an example of other gay men’s uncomfort with Emory, as his friends, specially Michael and also Hank, make comments and show, again, some disdain for Emory’s disposition.

To finalize this long research piece, the behavior that Giovanni and David exhibit in the book is very current and factual. Whether these were Baldwin’s actual views (talking more specifically of the hatred towards feminine men and femininity as a whole) or characteristics that he saw in the world around him and implemented in his characters, they were uncomfortable to read and that might’ve been the point he was making.

#essay #essay writing #giovanni's room #books #book tumblr #book review #feminist #feminism #intersectionality #gay #queer #writing

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somethingwittyandsarcastic · 2 years ago

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Despite what the common narrative surrounding gender would say, gender is messy. It doesn’t fit into neat little boxes with artistically written labels. Have you ever seen those organization influencers on social media? The ones where their food fits perfectly into their fridges or their sock drawers are organized by color and then by brand and then by the day of the week they’re to be worn? Yeah, gender is the opposite of that. And, you know what? I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

I was out on a drive with my mom today and got to talking with her about being trans and nonbinary. I’m currently reading a book on trans history, so I’ve been thinking about it more today than I usually do. The book in question is Before We Were Trans by Kit Heyam and, though I’m only about forty pages in so far, the introduction alone was enough to blow my mind. I honestly haven’t read as much queer literature as I’d like to, but this book and its source material in the back are going to help me change that.

In the introduction, Heyam quotes Jacob Tobia’s Sissy: A Coming-Of-Gender Story when talking about the current and most common narrative surrounding the trans experience and how narrow it is. Tobia "brilliantly likened this narrative to the game Mad Lib: a story with a pre-written skeleton format, where the teller fills in the specifics from a limited list of options." This narrative begins with a child "articulating their early, stable sense that they are 'in the wrong body'" and ends with full medical and social transition into a binary gender that they then live as in a "conventional, gender-conforming and heterosexual life." While this narrative does apply to many of the trans community—and their fitting it does not devalue or invalidate their transness—it's "inaccurate, indeed inadequate, for many more."

It's incredibly understandable that we want to find neat narratives for things to fit in—especially when we have to defend that thing against others—but the world of gender is anything but neat. So much of it is messy. And messy narratives need to be given attention too.

I got to talking about gender with my mom and how my own experiences don't fit into that Mad Lib narrative, as Tobia puts it. I didn't always know I wasn't cis. Looking back, I can see indications that I was nonbinary from early childhood, but for most of my life, I identified as a girl and then as a woman. I was uncomfortable with it, but I thought every woman was. I thought every woman wanted to confuse people with their gender. I thought every woman had the same thrill of adrenaline when being mistakenly called "sir." I identified as a woman because, to me, this was the experience of womanhood. My experience of womanhood was nonbinary, but I didn't see that at the time. At the time, I was a woman. Looking back, I struggle to find language to express this, though nonbinary woman might be the closest thing there is. I was both, at the time, but unaware of one because I didn’t even know it was an option for me. It was messy and it still continues to be.

I only got comfortable with womanhood when I realized I was nonbinary and decided to start socially transitioning. The rules no longer applied, so I could play with womanhood—and masculinity—as I wished without having the looming thought of gender conformity in the back of my mind. I didn't have to act a certain way or look a certain way because I wasn't a woman anymore.

My experience with being trans and nonbinary doesn't fit into a Mad Lib narrative or a neat little box or whatever you want to call it. I identify as trans masculine, though I very often present feminine and appear for all intents and purposes to be a cisgender woman. I didn't "always know." I didn't struggle as a teenager because I didn't realize there was a struggle to be had. I was a girl and a woman at one point, but also, I never was. I don't want to be a binary man the same way I don't want to be a binary woman. And, you know what? That's okay. It's okay to be a feminine trans man or a masculine trans woman. It's okay to not have always known. It’s okay to like certain gendered experiences that don’t match your gender identity. It's okay if you don't feel gender dysphoria or if you do or if you don't want to medically transition or if you do. It's okay for your gender narrative to be messy. And I think that's awesome.

#gender #transgender #nonbinary #gender nonconforming #gender experiences

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rosiewitchescottage · 6 months ago

Video

youtube

We Need To Talk About JK Rowling

It baffles me so much that anyone in the trans community has a problem with Buck Angel.

Firstly he’s lived as a trans man for longer than some of these people have been alive.

And secondly he’s equally for both trans rights and women’s rights.

This guy will have seen/heard plenty of transphobia in his time. I was in my childhood and teens around the time when he transitioned, and I know that homophobia was absolutely rife! I’m darn sure he’s had every anti LGBT insult going thrown at him, over time, both as a gender non conforming woman and a trans man.

I’m pretty certain that if he doesn’t believe that JKR has said something Anti Trans, then he’s someone to listen to.

You don’t like/approve of what the lady says?

Fine, you’re allowed to shout it to the four winds. But to accuse her of deliberate hatred, because that’s what you think she means?

No, no, no. It doesn’t work that way.

Hate is a serious matter. It can’t be identified because you feel offended. There has to be a very good reason, according to what a person has said or done, to then accuse him/her of hate.

And I’ve never heard JK Rowling say that trans people are something bad. She certainly hasn’t said she wants you denied rights.

She upholds biological reality.

A trans woman is NOT the same as a woman. A woman is female, a trans woman is male.

A trans man is NOT the same as a man. A man is male, a trans man is female.

There’s cross over, and we can meet where the cross over happens. But the difference in biology is significant. And we can’t pretend that it isn’t.

The workings of the entire body system are affected by being male or female. And there’s no changing that.

https://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJMra052529

I’m perfectly happy to treat a trans woman as a woman and a trans man as a man.

But I need a lot more evidence than a person’s ‘word’ to tell me.

A woman is Female - So, if you’re Male and living as a woman, you need to aim at looking and sounding as Female as you can. (Feminine is optional, Female is the only essential.)

Remember. You can be a feminine or androgynous man. No problem. If you, a male want to to be accepted as a woman, then you’ve got to aim at presenting as close to Female as you can. (Whether you pass or not isn’t as important as clearly having made the effort.)

And the opposite is true for female trans men.

You can be a masculine or androgynous woman. Want to be seen as a man whilst being Female? Then you need to go an extra mile.

Buck’s very Masculine. But it’s the fact that he looks and sounds Male that matters.

His fellow trans man Marcus Dib (aka The Offensive Tranny) is more Feminine. But one still has no trouble seeing him as a man, because he looks and sounds completely Male.

It’s why Self ID is so ridiculous. Without suffering Gender Dysphoria are you honestly going to be going to every length possible to look and sound like a member of the opposite sex?

One only has to look around to see the answer. Either we’re expected to just take a person’s word for the change. Or we’re expected to see every stereotype in the book as evidence that a person of one sex is actually the other, and should be treated that way.

I’ll argue against anyone suggesting that trans women in general are all to blame for the men who worm their way into women only spaces, with evil intentions. (No.I will not dignify their nefarious play acting by calling them ‘women’.)

My theory is that it’s a lack of gate-keeping to blame. One can’t simply say ‘I’m a Woman’ and expect to be treated as such. (Nor a man either.)

A Woman is Female, A Man is Male. So for a person of one sex to be able to live as the other, there need to be solid rules.

Precisely to do all possible to keep the bad faith actors out.

You’re male, but want us to see you as a fellow woman? OK. Show us that you’re willing to put in the effort, to convince us that you’re Female.

And then show us that you can share our spaces with mutual respect and discretion, because of course you can’t entirely hide the sex differences. Some of them are rather visible.

#youtube

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dekusleftsock · 2 years ago

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Izuku is such a weird character when it comes to a shonen fandom, bc not only do his stans and antis completely misunderstand and fanonize his character, but they also end up pushing misogyny and homophobia onto him too.

On one hand, you have Izuku the smol boy. He needs to be protective, he’s nurturing, etc. overall he posses more “feminine” traits bc people want to fit him into a specific gay stereotype. Sometimes people even mix this up by making him more “feral”, when people knowingly make him ooc, but end up actually making him MORE accurate than if he was the former. Because to them, gay men fit into two boxes: mean/creepy (Katsuki, todoroki, etc.) or nice/feminine. They view him and many other gay people as simple cookie cut out stereotypes that were a mixture of fandom culture and also propaganda going back decades in the US.

They don’t view him as a full fledged hero, nor a capable man and human being. Someone who is responsible for his own actions, masculine, etc. because if they actually did see his full CHARACTER, they could no longer see him as the gay stereotype they want him to be. People want to have heteronormative dynamics and relationships, someone always has to be the “woman” or “man” in the relationship. Regardless of the actual gender they are, they need to fulfill an agenda. And because deku cries a lot or was bullied and is often seen as weak in the story, he is automatically the woman in the relationship. It stems from both misogyny and homophobia.

But bkdk CONSISTENTLY defy that! They are defined by their masculinity. It’s seen as something positive to be, and dekus constant crying is never inherently seen in the story as feminine. I’ve seen time and time again where gay relationships/people are pushed into a certain role in a heterosexual relationship they are supposed to fill. Take Robin from stranger things. Now, I love Robin, don’t get me wrong, but the first time that we see IN OUR FACE that she is openly a lesbian and attracted to a woman, it’s with Steve. Steve is fine, sure, but the problem is that steve presents an immediate heteronormative narrative in the first episode of season 4. Going on and on about how boobs are great and that it’s not a bad thing to just say boobs, but this is child’s play. This feels inherently *heterosexual*. I’m a gay trans man, so idk if I can voice this for anyone, so I’ll just screenshot my sisters response.

(She’s awesome, love her to death. Really fucking intelligent too)

This heteronormative narrative that the mha fandom continuously tries to push is the same one that the duffer brothers use. Wills character has kinda been reduced to the fact that he pines for a man he can’t have, once again pushing a character into a female or a male in the relationship. Usually the lesbian or gay one.

This rule has exceptions of course, like Luz is reduced by her fandom as the masculine one. Which is not only rooted in homophobia/misogyny but also racism. Or raine as a nb character in a sapphic relationship being put into a more feminine role because Eda has already fit that narrative according to the fandom.

But it doesn’t change the fact that Izuku is not a “feminine” man. They want him to fulfill a role in their smut as the bottom in the relationship, he has to be sexual, etc. because if he isn’t, then they have to see him as a full PERSON. Izuku possesses “masculine” traits. He has the worst sense of style, has anger issues, gets a little nervous around girls, likes heroics (something that’s been established as being seen as “masculine” in the show), is a bit creepy, etc. and people seem to throw these traits out the window in fics or other media.

These are just a few things you see when you look up bkdk ALONE! There’s more too! These are full on adults a lot of the time too! Sexualizing a character that hardly looks mature either. It’s weird and entirely rooted in homophobia and misogyny.

And on the other hand, you have the dudebros. People who entirely believe that there is no way Izuku is gay in any light and disrespect anyone who does. On top of that they completely erase and or make fun of his more “feminine” traits in favor of pushing more masculine ones. They will erase any characters queer coding and call anyone weird for having a head cannon about a character.

They fully believe that Izuku should be a “real man” and beat up Katsuki, maybe tell him off, etc. because they too want him to fulfill a role in toxic masculinity no matter HOW MUCH this show calls it out! A lot of Katsuki’s character is based in toxic masculinity alone with deku’s. When deku bottles up his emotions like what he’s “supposed to do”, people think it’s normal or character development even.

They entirely lack both literary analytical skills and basic knowledge on the character you’re looking at. “Manga deku” does not exist. It was his vigilante arc and from start to finish it was never good. The story itself shows that this did nothing but hurt deku and almost kill him.

This is, once again, rooted in homophobic and misogynistic stereotypes and make an assumption of a main character based on other shonen animes. Deku is not allowed to be a crybaby or he’ll show emotions, Izuku is not allowed to have too close relationships with other male characters or it is a detriment to his female love interest, or even that Izuku is not allowed to ask for help in his battle with shigaraki. Even though, pushing the people he lives away was the entire reason all might and nana failed.

So, what, the point is that mha’s community on all sides is misogynistic and homophobic? PRECISELY. No matter which angle I’ve looked at any shonen community there is always always always at least half of the fandom consists of people who have zero clue how a gay relationship works. That it’s different from a straight relationship. And the fact that horikoshi is really leaning into the direction of bkdk being canon I’m gonna say that he’s well aware of this and wants to break it. Show a couple that is defined by their homosexuality rather than wrapped in a thin sheet of “heteronormativity” like many other shows choose to do. Namely, shows written by non queer people. Like the duffer brothers.

I only hope for the best when it comes to these two. They’ll definitely be a symbol far bigger than the mha community. Maybe even something for the queer anime community as a whole. And I’ll fucking love it if it happens.

#seriously though #can we stop being weird about Izuku #it’s already getting old and I want nothing more than to have him actively break stereotypes #I love him <333 #mha deku #midoriya izuku #bkdk #bkdk brainrot #mha analysis #bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #bnha deku #deku midoriya #mha bakugou

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vaspider · 3 years ago

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'only tenet of TERFism is transmisogyny' EXCUSE ME NO ITS ALL TRANS PEOPLE. They don't want any trans person to exist. What the hell.

Some people just gotta center their own suffering always, even when they're hurting other people by doing so. I've seen this a lot in younger queer folx of all stripes, this need to be the one that hurts the most, you know?

There's a reason the phrase Oppression Olympics exists, and it's because it's a common behavior or phenomenon in oppressed communities. I see it in the disability community, too.

What I think is important to understand when we talk about how trans people suffer under transphobia is that different groups are targeted differently. I'm not the first person to say this, of course.

Now, like, this is very rough sketchy stuff, and each person's individual experiences will vary, but in my general experience, the rough breakdown of the way in which transphobia lands on trans people kind of breaks down like this:

Binary trans women tend to suffer under a lens of hypervisibility. Everything they do is seen, analyzed, and torn apart. Their struggles are generally the ones centered in the arguments of allies, "allies," and transphobes. Even when trans women are the focus of helpful attention, that hypervisibility can cause exhaustion, because they need to perform perform perform, and be perfect, all the time. It's hard for trans women to just be without feeling like they're on camera, all the time. A lot of the time, they are on camera, because trans women's bodily autonomy and right to privacy are just never respected by transphobes (and often by supposed "allies" who feel free to ask the most invasive questions and get upset when trans women won't answer them), and even if they're not literally on camera, they're supposed to perform as the best examples of transfemininity, because if they don't, then they become the next 'look at this bad trans, all trans are this bad trans' example that TERFs point at and use as a broad brush to paint all trans women. If they're not perfect all the time and have a day where they snap at someone while someone is recording, or make a mistake, or anything, it has a horrible tendency to go viral. You can think of at least three instances right now off the top of your head, right? Right.

Binary trans men tend to suffer from hyperinvisibility. This comes from inside and outside the community -- a lot of trans men talk about being told they can't lead in community because they've 'got male privilege,' that their struggles are discarded, that they're talked over and unable to discuss the things they face, which means they don't get the support they need. Now, there are TERFs and transphobes who absolutely do focus their attention on trans men to the exclusion of or to the deprioritization of the oppression of trans women -- that's where we get Tavistock and Irreversible Damage and Fourth Wave Now and all the other bullshit which focuses on the idea that trans men are "transing the gay away," specifically "transing our butch lesbians" and "stealing butches." But again, generally speaking, trans men face harmful levels of invisibility where trans women face harmful levels of visibility. That's why transmascs in general have issues like lack of understanding even by supposedly trans-competent doctors as to how HRT affects our bodies, why trans men (and transmascs in general) report things like transphobes attacking them with transmisogynistic comments and assuming that every trans person online is a trans woman, etc.

Non-binary (here used as an umbrella term for all identities outside of binary man/woman, to include agender, genderfluid, non-binary, and infinite other identities) AFAB people tend to suffer from a different, very specific form of hypervisibility, unless they start to appear too masculine, and then they slip into hyperinvisibility. This is where we get things like "women and non-binary people" that codes all non-binary people as "AFAB people I can sort of squint and view as women," and people who fall into this category tend to get a lot of attention, a lot of derision from all sides of the spectrum. This is the "blue-haired tenderqueer" sneering that we get from both within and without the queer community, where there's an assumption that these people are just cosplaying an identity, that they're not really trans, etc. Having been in the visibility category and slipped into the invisibility category within the last, oh, year or so, and having two binary trans women in my family to compare notes with, the experiences are unnervingly similar. The difference between the experience that those women have had and the experience that I have had is that according to transphobes, I'm a traitor to my womanhood and performing femininity wrong and taking on a fake identity to escape female oppression because I'm not strong enough to bear up under it, but too cowardly to become a trans man, or... something, whereas they're taking on a fake identity to sneak into women's spaces because they're perverts.

Non-binary (umbrella identity etc) AMAB people tend to suffer from their own very specific form of hyperinvisibility, unless they start to present "too feminine", and then they slip into the hypervisibility which affects binary trans women, but with a little different fuckery in which everyone just assumes they're a trans woman, and therefore they get misgendered by everyone across the spectrum of queer/non-queer/etc. Non-binary AMAB people are generally treated like they don't exist, and when they are spoken about, are often discussed in the context of 'they should just admit they're trans women or gay men,' or if they present 'too feminine,' are subjected to the same sort of horrific attention that trans women get.

Again, a lot of this is very simplistic, and doesn't add in a lot of other complicating factors like race, disability, class, etc. Trans men of color, for example, can run into a different sort of hypervisibility because as they move further through their transition, they begin to be seen in the world as a man of color. It's not really mine to speak on beyond that, but I don't want to neglect saying 'this is really really simplistic and there's more to it than that' over and over.

I really hate breaking it down this simply because it feels like creating another binary (our society does like a binary!) for non-binary people, but like, I can't really talk about my shared experiences with other trans people without putting some framework around it. Someday, I'll be able to do that without categories. Wouldn't that be awesome?

I think we do our entire community a huge disservice when we talk about transphobia as if it's a single snake trying to take bites out of only one part of the community, and not a many-headed hydra, able to attack us from multiple different directions. I also think that focusing on one form of oppression keeps us from forming meaningful solidary and coalitions; the more divided we are, the easier it is for the people who literally want us all to stop existing to pick us off one by one. We see this all across the queer community and it's only ramping up as the attacks on our community escalate from without; people tend to turn on the ones closest to them when they get really scared, and to blame the person standing next to them for the pain they're suffering. It's the "close enough to hit" phenomenon, and it's why we see ridiculous things like "bi women make cis men think that lesbians can be won over," rather than acknowledging that bi women aren't the ones causing that: cis men are the ones causing that. The bi women in that case are close enough to hit. Transmascs are close enough to hit. Trans women are close enough to blame for the problems of transmascs, which makes it possible for TERFs to lure transmascs in and attempt to detransition them, subjecting them to gaslighting and manipulation and then using them as sock puppets.

TERFs do focus a lot on transmisogyny. They focus a lot on transmisandry, too. Debating which one is more prevalent and 'worse' not only misses the point, because transmascs and transfems face very different and totally rotten attention from cis society as a whole, including cis queers. We need to like, not do that anymore: we need to give each other the space to talk about our unique circumstances, but we also need to work harder on looking at each other through a lens of solidarity and trying to see that our struggles are different but not unrelated, and that if we keep downing on each other like this, we're not going to get anywhere except in a much more difficult situation as the people who don't want any of us to exist keep picking us off.

#transmisogyny #transphobia #transmisandry #queer issues #trans issues #long post

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donutloverxo · 4 years ago

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Yes captain

Note - this is part three of corrupting a good boy but it's mostly porn so can be read as a standalone as well. Sorry about all the jealousy stuff its just what the muse calls for sometimes. Comments/reblogs are really really appreciated🙏🙏 Dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Summary - You ask Steve to keep it on while doing it 👀👀

Warnings - 18+ only explicit sexual content, uniform kink, captain kink, daddy kink, roleplaying, jealousy, insecure reader.

Pairing - CEO!Steve x reader

Word count - 4.5k

“Ooo,” you yelped, trying to run away from his firm grip across your hips.

It only made him hold onto you tighter, his nails digging into the flesh of your hips. “There’s no where to run, babygirl,” he chuckled at your misery, delivering another harsh slap to your naked bottom.

You shrieked in pain as your flesh burned in agonising, but delicious pleasure. As if you’d ever want to actually run. “I’m sorry, daddy.” Since you were allowed to call him daddy now, which seemed to always make him forgive you, but you added your princess voice just to be safe and not make it any harder on yourself.

“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to make fun of my team, but you had to be a dumb baby and run your mouth,” he scolded you, slapping you twice before slipping a hand between your legs, the squelching noises of him gathering your slick on his fingers made your ears burn.

You had gotten too bored of him watching the game and not paying attention to you so you might’ve said some mean things about his team, but the jokes on him since your diabolical plan seemed to have worked.

You had gotten too lost in slight tinge of pain in the roots of your hair, that he was pulling, and his fingers teasing your core, you yelped forward when he slapped your pussy, gasping as you throbbed for more of it.

“Honey,” Steve shook your arm causing you to jolt awake.

You had a habit of talking or mumbling nonsense in your sleep and since he was a light sleeper it usually woke him up. He found your incoherent rambles and the little faces you made in your sleep cute, they were particularly intense tonight for some reason, and while he loved you with all his heart he was not about to let you talk nonsense about the Yankees.

“What? Where?” you sat up, rubbing the soft sheen of sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand.

“You were talking in your sleep, sweetheart,” Steve said, rubbing his hand up and down your back, “Come here.” He circled a hand around your waist, pulling you down and back against his chest, kissing the back of your head, “What were you dreaming about, hm?”

“Um...” you blinked, “How much of it did you hear?”

“You think your so clever, don’t you,” he teased, pinching the side of your hip as you giggled.

“Yes, I’m very smart.”

You shut your eyes, ready to go back to dreamland and to your daddy, who was just a version of Steve who liked being called daddy. Which was something Steve would never be into. Not that you’d ever admit to having such a shameful kink.

But you felt Steve grind his excitement against your ass, “You wanna go back to sleep, or...?” he asked, biting the shell of your ear before snaking a hand up your cami to grope your breast.

“You woke me up with such debauch intention?!” you gasped in fake incredulity. Deciding to indulge him and that any time spent with normal real Steve was much better than being with dream daddy Steve.

***

You fixed his tie, tightening it just a bit around his neck. His golden hair was smoothed back, your eyes caught a glimpse of his rosy pink lips. So pouty and perfect. You could spend hours just looking at them, his smile was what truly made you fall for him. But you pulled away when he tried to steal a kiss from you.

“Gloss,” you argued, puckering your lips. Instantly feeling guilty as his pink ones pouted, giving you his sweet puppy eyes.

“Come on, doll, just one kiss? Don’t you wanna wish me luck?” He bent to capture your lips but you moved your head away at the last second, making him groan as his nose bumped against your cheek.

“I spent over two hours getting ready for this!” you huffed, smoothening a hand over your puffy tulle dress, finally having a chance to wear it out in public.

“Did you just smudge my blush?” Gasping, as you looked into the mirror, picking up your rouge and patting it on again.

You loved the dress Steve had gotten you for Christmas, it was so pretty and princess and you felt like Cinderella wearing it.

But it was too... girl-ish, Steve had insisted that you wear it. So he could show off his beautiful new wife.

Tonight though, you had to look like a woman.

A strong woman.

Who is not to be fucked around with. And not someone who is vulnerable and weak.

Because you knew she was going to be there.

“You always look gorgeous,” he mumbled, looking in the mirror and patting his hair to make sure it was in place.

You had convinced him to grow it out. Having more courage to express yourself since the Christmas gift mishap a couple of months ago.

Tucking a loose golden strange behind his ear, you wondered how someone as breathtakingly as beautiful as him could be yours.

But as beautiful as Steve was, he could also be naive. He wanted to see the best in people, which often didn’t let him see what was right in front of him.

How his ex Peggy had been trying to cause problems between you two from day one.

At first she had welcomed you with open arms, with a treacherous smile her red lips had told you that she wanted to be best friends with you. Taking you to the MET museum, of which she was a board member, asking your help in organising a couple of galas and the fundraisers. Shopping with you to make you more presentable to be a CEO’s wife

You were prepared to be wary of her. The fact that Steve was still good friends with his ex, who he had dated for more than five years, didn’t exactly sit well with you, you knew you’d face some troubles there, but then you met her and spent time with her you knew that you did had nothing to worry about.

That was until she, and Steve’s mother, had tried to get you to sign a pre-nup before you both got married.

While Sarah was always nice, you could always sense a tinge of hostility, your intuition told you how she preferred Peggy over you and would much rather have her as Steve’s wife.

With a heavy heart you had told Steve you couldn’t do it. That there was no point in getting married if you would end up divorced eventually. You were ready to cut your losses then, to pack your bags and go home, preparing for the worst. But he understood and said that he wouldn’t be marrying you if he didn’t trust you.

You were glad to have worked out everything, but decided to play nice with ‘Judas', whom you learned had infamously betrayed Jesus from a mass you attended with Steve and Sarah, and pretend that you didn’t know anything about her betrayal.

You shook your head, there was no point in letting her ruin your night, or dictate what you wore. The dress was what you liked and who you were, there was no reason for you to pretend to be like her. Steve liked you because you were nothing like her,

....probably.

You looked over to Steve, tugging his pants up and securing them, you had never once thought you’d be someone who’d have a thing for men in uniforms, they were simply doing their jobs, what the fuck was sexy about uniforms anyway, but that was until you saw your Steve in his...

He really could pull off any color, even something as boring as army green, his chest and built looked almost too broad. Numerous medals adorning his chest. He certainly looked the part of a soldier.

He kissed your temple when he caught you staring at him and you only hoped he couldn’t decipher what was going on in that horny brain of yours.

Steve rarely ever talked about his days in the army. If he did it was about the friends he made and the good times he shared with them. And how army whipped him in shape, made him the man he was.

He had been honorably discharged a couple of years ago, all his army friends only ever spoke highly of him--which wasn’t really surprising.

***

“Hello, darling,” she smiled to you in her classy British accent, kissing your cheek before hugging you, “How have you been? Haven’t seen you since new years!”

“I’m good and you look amazing.”

Which wasn’t a complete lie, she did look elegant in her uniform, a lot similar to Steve’s but her coat had flares at the end which gave it a more feminine feel than that of Steve’s.

“So do you,” she beamed, “Oh, you have a little something,” she gestured to the corner of your mouth before wiping some white frosting from your cupcake off with her thumb as you tried to keep your face from cringing.

So far the strong woman act wasn’t coming along so well...

“So...how is married life?”

Wouldn’t you like to know. “It’s very good. You know Steve, he’s just amazing. I’m lucky to have him.”

“Oh, I did heard about your little goof with your erotica from Natalie, and the gift slip up!” she laughed, hooking her arm around yours, she walked with you towards your husband. “And here I was thinking you are a good girl,” she winked.

“I... guess I’m not...”

“I must say though, unfortunately for you I don’t think Steve would like any of that. He’s always been so traditional,” she rolled her eyes, “He has an old soul.”

Yes, you knew that. You knew that he was traditional and an old soul. Of course You did, he was your husband. Why she felt the need to point out the obvious was beyond you. “Well, you know people can be unpredictable,” you countered.

“Yes, well you’re free to explore of course, I just didn’t want you to get your feelings hurt,” she put a hand over yours.

“Peggy,” Steve greeted her.

“Oh don’t mind us. We’re just gossiping about you,” she smirked.

“Really?” he looked over at you with a quizzical face, “All good things I hope.”

“I don’t have anything bad to say about you,” you said giving Peggy a side eye, “Can we dance? Please?”

It didn’t take a lot of convincing because he loved dancing. After a couple of dances it was time for him to give his speech.

Seeing your husband up on the stage, hearing everyone talk about his accomplishments made your heart swell in pride. You really couldn’t believe you were married to someone like him.

You suppose that you understood where Sarah was coming from. It would make sense for someone like Steve to fall for and marry a classy worldly lady like Peggy. There really wasn’t much you could offer him.

***

“Steve,” you huffed, trying to yank on the zipper for like the tenth time, while you loved the dress you needed to get out of it and breathe for a while.

“Yes, doll?” he called for you, entering your closet, smiling at your struggling form. “How can I help?”

“You can get me out of this thing!” you said, turning your back to him.

You were really feeling yourself tonight, you had gotten a facial and a manipedi, a blowout, spending hours on getting ready for battle. You thought you looked good and fierce. But then you took off your makeup and your extensions and were reminded of how Peggy was much more effortlessly beautiful than you. She had often been dubbed as a ‘natural beauty’.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Is something bothering you?” he asked as he unzipped you.

“No. Will you let me change now?” you turned around, to politely ask him to leave.

“You’ve changed in front of me before.”

“Yes, well I can’t right now.”

“Why not?” he frowned.

“Because...” You couldn’t stop your eyes from turning misty, “I’m ugly...”

“What? Who told you that?” His face instantly flushed with anger as he held onto your forearms, and when you didn’t push him away he pulled you in closer to his chest.

“No one needs to. I know it because I’m not blind,” you confessed, the cool metal of his medal digging into your cheek.

“Then maybe we need to get your eye sight checked. Because you’re the prettiest girl in this whole world. I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.” He stroked your hair, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“You’ll have to fight the whole world then.”

“If it comes to that then I will.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how protective he was. Propping your chin up on his chest you blinked at him. “Why didn’t you marry Peggy? She’s so much more beautiful.” Your heart was heavy with so many emotions, usually you wouldn’t give in and ask something so dangerous--a question you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to.

Judging by the frown on his face, you were afraid that you had upset him, but then it softened as his pale baby blues twinkled at you, “Why would you say that, doll? Peggy is beautiful, but I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I could never even dream of marrying anyone else.”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I know I shouldn’t be comparing myself to others.”

“You really shouldn’t. They don’t measure up to you anyway,” he teased.

“It’s just...” you gulped, not being able to hold his gaze you played with the olive green buttons on his coat, “I heard at the party from Tony, that she will be working with you from now on. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“You don’t trust me?” his voice cracked.

You whipped your head up, frantically shaking your head from side to side, “No no of course I do! I’m just saying it’s a risky game. To be around her so much... what if old feelings resurface?”

Your heart almost broke as he let go of you, putting some distance between you both, “You know all I ever ask for is that you trust me... and love me. I don’t think it’s a lot.”

You scoffed, “Yeah well, I don’t think me asking you not to work with your ex is a lot. No woman would be okay with her husband spending that much time with her ex.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Why can’t I get through to you?”

“Maybe try speaking at a fourth grade level. Then I’ll understand. Since I don’t have a masters in literature from Sorbonne,” you rolled your eyes. Maybe he was intimidated by how smart Peggy is and decided to go for someone younger and dumber.

“I’ve never... been in love with Peggy or anyone but you really,” he told you, his broad shoulders hunching as he let out a sigh, “Not the way I’m in love with you. We were always more like friends than... lovers.”

“Is that better or worse?” you wondered out loud. Isn’t it important for husband and wife to be friends as well? Was that supposed to be a compliment?

“It’s much better. We would go months without seeing each other, and I didn’t miss her. Like I miss you when I’m at work. I can’t wait to get away and come home to you. Peggy is amazing, and I’ll always have a special place for her in my heart, but I would never even think about cheating on you.

But... I understand where you’re coming from. Maybe I would react the same way if you were to work with an ex. So I can just tell her that she’ll have to work with Nat, or someone else.”

“No,” you blurted.

Absolutely not.

Because A - You really did trust Steve not to stray. He wasn’t that type of man. And B - That would be admitting defeat. Admitting to her that you are afraid of her.

“I do trust you, Steve. I think... I just need to work on myself. If we don’t have trust then we don’t have anything right?”

“I trust you too, honey,” he kissed your forehead. “Just talk to me about this stuff okay? You can’t keep it bottled up.” You nodded as he worked on loosening his tie.

“Um... is that uncomfortable?” you asked, watching him pop open the first button of his shirt.

“The uniform? A little. It’s been a while since I put it on.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t wear it at our wedding.” You smiled. Maybe it was a good thing that he didn’t. While he looked so handsome in the black tux he had worn, the uniform would’ve made him irresistible. You would’ve spent the whole evening swooning over him.

“It didn’t feel right, I just wanted to be myself. Uh... doll,” he quirked a brow as he caught you staring at his crotch, “Hey,” he snapped his fingers, “My eyes are up here.”

“Yes, um, of course,” you whipped your head up as soon as you heard him, since you were too busy trying to make out the outline of his johnson, “And what beautiful eyes you have!”

“Tell me something. What is your obsession with this uniform?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” You decided to feign ignorance.

“Really? You’ve been staring at me all night. Do you not like it? Do you like it? Sometimes I think I don’t understand women at all.”

You probably would’ve appreciated his suit even more so if you hadn’t spent so much time festering in your jealousy. “I think... it’s... kinda hot,” you sighed dreamily as he blushed a crimson red. “You’re like this big strong Captain, and I’m like this small woman, like a damsel in distress type of thing.”

“Oh.” Was the only thing that he said. He never believed you would be into something like that, not from all the feminist rants you tend to go on.

“Oh god. You think I’m a weirdo, don’t you?” You put your hands over your face to hide it from him.

“No no, hey, don’t be like that,” he cooed, pulling your hands away so he could look at your pretty face, “I can be your... big, strong Captain. And you can be my damsel in distress.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. So... how would it work? Do I save you from a burning building or something?”

“No, sweetie. You’re thinking of a fireman.”

“Oh, right,” he blushed, scratching the back of his neck, “We can do the fireman thing if you like. I can... be a fireman.”

“Steve, we don’t have to do anything.”

“I know. But I want to. Come on! Give me something to work with.”

“Okay,” you cleared your throat. “How about... you keep the suit on?”

“On for how long?” he tilted his head like a cute confused puppy, looking down at his suit, “Oh! You mean on while we’re...”

“Yes. And I could, I don’t know, thank you for serving my country.”

“Yeah. I mean medals and all are nice, but I want a special kind of thanks from you, doll.”

“Ooo,” you felt up his biceps through his coat and shirt, he really was strong. “Do you have anything specific in mind?” you asked, batting your lashes.

“Um... yes.... You get on your knees, miss... I mean ma’am, shit,” he cursed as he awkwardly stumbled over his words. “What do I call you? Are you my wife in this scenario?”

“You can just call me doll, captain. I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” you smiled, cheekily pressing your lips to his in a quick peck but he held onto your waist before you could pull away. Sliping his tongue inside your mouth.

“Alright then, doll. Show me how grateful you are,” he puffed his chest out, so he could appear a bit more dominant.

You only giggled, taking your dress off because there was no way you could kneel in so much tulle.

Standing before him in just a strapless bra and a nude thong, you were vulnerable, but not scared anymore. He was your captain, he’d never ridicule you.

“I’m already feeling appreciated,” he said as he ogled you.

You dropped down to your knees, unbuckling him with some help from him, “It’s so big,” you gasped when you looked at his length, pretending to be seeing it for the first time. Although, you were still always surprised with the sheer monstrosity of it.

“We’ll make it fit, doll. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” he smiled, tapping on your mouth, “Open,” he commanded.

You’re a natural, captain. You took a deep breath before opening wide. You’d been having sex regularly for the past three months or so, he had gone down on you more times than you could count, you felt as if he could live between your legs if he could. But he had never once asked you to return the favor, you didn’t have it in you to be the first one to bring it up either.

Licking your lips, you tasted someone of the preejaculate leaking out of his tip before wrapping your mouth around his head, moaning at the salty taste and the essence of him.

“That’s... ugh,” he groaned, “That’s good. Keep going,” he spurred you on, a hand on the back of your head giving you the slightest bit of push.

You took as much of him as you could, stopping halfway through when he hit the back of your throat, you pumped the rest of his length with your palm, holding onto his thick thigh for support, you bobbed your head, increasing your pace when he started moaning loudly.

Rubbing your thighs together to relive some pressure, your throbbing core desperate for some attention and friction, you knew your panties were ruined.

You had read your fair share of cosmos, and the many sex tips they offered, you knew they’d come in handy someday. You swore you remembered reading something about balls... to suck them? Bite them?

You fondled his balls, feeling him tightening in your palm, you were ready to swallow all of you. That was the only proper way of saying thank you.

“Wait,” he growled, pulling you off of him.

You looked up at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, doll,” he heaved, “But I gotta come in your pussy.”

Your jaw dropped, to hear the golden boy using such filthy language. “Whatever you say, captain,” you rasped.

Gasping when he yanked you up, pulling you over his shoulder and carrying you to the bed before throwing you down on the mattress.

Although Steve had always been dominant in bed, it was somewhat lowkey and subtle, he was never rough with you, he treated you as if you were made of glass, right now he was treating you as if you were literally a ragdoll.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered you.

You followed quickly, desperate to have him inside you asap, rolling your thing down your thighs and then getting rid of your bra before he even had to ask. You looked at him through your lashes, waiting patiently for his next command.

He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Now touch yourself.” It had always been a wet dream of his to watch you, instruct you as you got yourself off. Since your intention was to please him... he might as well make most of it.

You blinked at him before nodding, “Yes, captain.”

Fondling your breast you pinched your nipple, pulling on it before hissing exaggeratedly, smirking when you saw his hand twitch to touch you.

“What do I do?” you looked up at him with big doe eyes.

He shook his head, circling a hand around your wrist he shoved two of your fingers inside your mouth, “Suck,” he told you. “You like having your mouth stuffed, don’t you?” he asked as you noisily suckled on his fingers.

You shamelessly nodded, hoping that you’d get more opportunities to suck his cock from now on, he pulled your fingers out, bringing them down between your legs, pushing them into your willing channel. His own thumb rubbing on your clit working you up even moreso.

You threw your head back as you felt your climax approaching. “So close... captain.”

But he pulled your hand away from your pussy, tutting at your disobedience, “I didn’t tell you you could come.” He shook your head, giving you a minute to catch your breath before pushing two of his, much larger fingers inside you, “Gotta get you ready, doll. Since you’re so small.”

“Oh! It’s too much...” you moaned, holding onto the bedding.

“How're you gonna take my dick then, doll,” you watched as he licked your slick off of his fingers, “You taste like heaven, honey.”

“Thank you, captain.”

He unbuttoned his coat, he would be much freer without it and fuck you properly like you deserved.

You rolled your eyes when he folded his coat setting down on the floor, when you were literally lying naked before him with your legs spread wide, waiting as his tie and pants followed, “Really?” you scoffed.

“Can’t have them getting dirty, doll.” He knelt on the bed, now only in his shirt, spreading your legs a bit further so he could make room for himself, nudging your intimate lips apart with his length before slowing sinking into you.

He stayed like that for a bit, inside your heat, it felt as if he would explode then and there but he had to savor the moment. To have such a pretty girl wrapped around him.

Hovering over you he placed his elbows on sides of your head so he wouldn’t put too much of his weight on you, and so he could look at your as he fucked you.

He moved his hips against yours, rocking slow and steady, “You like that, doll?”

“Yes,” you nodded as he pulled on your hair to bare your neck to him. Biting your neck to mark you as his, “Do it harder, please, captain.”

“Harder?” he spoke against your neck, pinning both your hands above your head as he started rigorously pounding into you. “That hard enough?”

You were too fucked out to give a coherent answer, or to do anything but nod pathetically and take whatever he gave you.

“Ima come...” you clenched around him as your orgasm washed over you, rendering you immobile and weightless.

He thrusted into you a couple of times before filling you up to the brim - just as he had promised.

“Thank you, doll. That was really nice,” he smiled, laying beside you and pulling you closer to him, he kissed your forehead.

“Thank you, captain. You sure know how to treat a lady right...”

“Maybe we can do this more often,” he suggested as you nodded in reply.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.

Shout out to my friend lizzygal (you can find her on ao3) who gave me the idea of Steve folding his uniform. It was too hilarious to leave out! Thanks for reading.

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

#corrupting a good boy #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x you

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chocolatepot · 2 years ago

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Sweet Damsel, a genderbent/Rule 63 AU

Ed thinks she can go back to the way things were before Stede, but Stede is determined to find her and make amends. (4102 words, one-shot.)

Something was niggling at her attention as her crew swarmed over the little ship and confronted its men, but she shook it off and continued staring at its mistress, who had backed up to the far rail. She drew her sword, hilt decorated with a multicolored knot of ribbon, and held it before her: high enough to be a threat, but not high enough to really be a threat.

“Sweet damsel,” Ed began. That had been a line in a story Stede had read the crew one night while they all sat on deck together, and it had struck her at the time as unbearably romantic. “I’m afraid we’ve come to ransack your yacht, but have no fear, I won’t harm you.” That had been a line Stede had used one time when Ed had let her try to menace a ship’s captain, and it just felt right.

I wrote so much for an end note that I decided to just ramble here beneath a cut.

Fun with anachronisms! If the show can have Pinocchio in 1717, I can surely represent chemise gowns and big hats as Caribbean fashion in the same period.

I’m a little obsessed with the idea of fem!Stede and fem!Ed because my own gender presentation is ludicrously feminine in such a way that it’s still rather queer and stands out – I wear full skirts with petticoats and have curly hair down to my waist, and pre-Covid I was a big fan of bright Besame lipstick. So while conventional wisdom might be that a cis female Stede would find it easier to fit into her colonial society, I can see how being “too feminine”/falling into negative feminine stereotypes of the period could have been an issue for her (and she’s still autistic anyway, imo), though at the same time she has plenty of “unfeminine” interests that would also be seen as a problem by society.

Female Ed fascinates me in another way because, just like in canon, liking fine things doesn’t necessarily mean she’s “feminine” or that some kind of biologically essentialist innate female drive is pushing her into her assigned role. She’s a fancy butch who likes to wear nice perfume. I did give her a different pirate name/title, because “Blackbeard” stretched the limits of my suspension of disbelief. “Blackmane” refers to her wild, curly, Natasha Lyonne-esque black hair.

At first I thought I would have Izzy still be a cis man, but that introduces a weird dynamic I don’t like, so she’s a toxic lesbian instead.

It’s amazing how switching the genders immediately triggers the “am I allowed to do that?” alarm in my brain. Oooh, romantic conflict between women, is that sending a bad message? If I make Izzy a femmephobic butch woman, is that implying that I think all women need to embrace stereotypical femininity? It never occurred to me to interpret every single thing related to female characters in my writing as either and only good examples or condemnation until fandom started doing it.

I think this is at least the third reunion I’ve written and I love that it’s utterly unlike the others. I have NEVER speculated that Ed might want to steal some of the Gentleman Pirate’s shtick and impress a potential aristocratic victim with fancy clothes and manners, but it suddenly seemed totally rational, probably because I’m weak for gentlemanly butches. I do read a lot of metas, though, and people have been pointing out that Ed’s not angry about Stede leaving, he’s sad, so I was trying to envision what the reunion might look like if we deliberately avoid the angry!Ed characterization. It’s a lot quicker.

Asjdkljsakldjlsa Stede is the kind of person who desperately loves the idea of having her chin raised with the point of her rival’s sword, she absolutely engineered it to happen and she was hoping Ed would be angry enough to hold her that way for a while. Maybe even to slice open her chemise gown a bit. So there’s an audience, she trusts them all to look away if there’s too much skin to be decent.

I’m casting Juliet Stevenson as Izzy. I think she’d play the role well. Maybe Mamaengaroa Kerr-Bell for Ed, although she’s slightly on the young side? I don't know who to cast for Stede yet.

This is not the last of Izzy! I just feel like in canon, we’re going to see something like what happened in Ted Lasso s2 with Nate, i.e. leaving to become more of a villain. And then presumably coming to realize that a huge mistake has been made and making amends. I am actually a proponent of Izzy redemption in the long run, don’t take this ending as my thinking the best thing would be for Izzy to disappear forever. I may come back to this AU ’verse and write her return.

Where is Lucius in all this? Still hiding or something, I don’t know.

#ofmd #my fic #our flag means death #ofmd genderbend #ofmd fanfic #ofmd fix it #ofmd fic #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #genderbend #rule 63 #genderswap

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wandsandwheezes · 4 years ago

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Assassini | G.W

Warnings // 3.5k // SMUT 18+, Sex, knife play, assassins, murder, attempted assassination??, contracts, ownership, breath play, begging.

A/N // Hi I am literally obsessed with assassins creed that is the only thing that prompted me to want to write this. this is not by any means my best work i just couldnt get the idea out of my head. that is all. thank you @gcdric for helping me as historically accurate as possible.

Your chest heaved as you stepped through the opening double doors and into a stunning reception area; rolling stone walls and a beautiful glass ceiling that showcased the fantastic hues of the Florentine sunset. You knew what you had to do, after all you would have never taken on the task if it didn’t fall within your capabilities. You rubbed your hands together before smoothing out your dress, you felt a fool coming to a high-class party on your own, knowing that the image of a stunning and well presented lady such as yourself standing on her own was sure to cause a scene among men, but with such an important target you couldn’t afford to be chasing around or keeping a date in tow; there was simply too much to lose.

Feeling the cool metal of the dagger sheathed against your thigh brought you back down to reality, your mind had begun to wonder of a life away from the horrors that came with the trade, what it was like to be a trophy wife on the arm of a wealthy man. That was not the life you had been blessed with, instead you spent your days between contracts, taking out whoever you needed to to get the pay, taking your prize gracefully before you were onto the next. People feared your ability to be able to take a life without remorse and without question, that was the reality of who you were; a cold blooded assassin.

The latest contract had been practically shoved down your throat, only just finishing up business before you were being shipped off to track the next target. No rest for the wicked. You were on your way to the grandest bash of your career, it would be packed with every wealthy man you could think of, every bachelor prancing around trying to find a wife but your eyes were dead set on finding one man - George Weasley. A very wealthy man, but ruthless, known well for the money of his family name but known better by the blood money that kept him feared by many. It was a contract that only a fool would take, failure ended in torture. You were no fool and you would not fail.

You knew the person who had last attempted the Weasley Contract - not the brightest man but someone who was notorious for getting the job done, it all came as a surprise at the order when the news of his death spread through the halls like wildfire. His tactics were good; sneak past the guards and get him dead in the night, his downfall was that George knew he was coming, waited for him even. You were glad however, that despite taking on the failed contract, you had the element of surprise on your side, nobody suspects a woman, not even George.

You caught sight of him standing with his hands pressed against the railing as he leaned over the balcony, eyes surveying the room as he spoke to someone standing beside him. George was tall, that much was obvious from the way he towered above most people standing around him, he had a chiselled jaw, dark striking eyes and long messy orange hair. He looked like a god, a pedestal he had placed himself on, and you knew that you had to get closer to him, better yet get him alone.

You had never once whored yourself out for the sake of a job, your years upon years of training gave you a sharp enough edge that you wouldn't ever need to rely on a feminine touch but tonight was different, the way his eyes scoured the crowd, you knew he was hungry for some female attention and if you had to give in to anyone for the sake of the job, it would be him.

You wore a beautifully detailed red gown, the corset pulled tight around your waist emphasised your ample breasts, threatening to spill at any moment and left not much to the imagination. Your plan was to catch his eye and you knew this was the dress that would do that. You followed his gaze and placed yourself directly in his line of vision, careful not to make yourself too obvious as to not attract unwanted gazes. When he caught sight of you he swore he could have stopped breathing, you truly were a vision of God.

He couldn't take his eyes off of you from that moment on and you had to admit that having a lingering male gaze did make your cheeks flush, suddenly feeling stuffy under the many layers of dress. George instructed one of his men, rather curtly, to bring you to him, a task that was handled quickly and with hurry as one of his aides approached you. “Mr Weasley has requested your company.”

Perfect, everything was going exactly to plan. As you were led up a grand staircase and past the guards that hadn’t even given you a second look. Now that you were on the private balcony, surrounded by members of the Weasley family and their company who were all schmoozing without any care in the world for the hundreds of guests below them, each one hoping they would be lucky enough to get that special invitation. Standing just behind George you were able to see with your own eyes just how much he truly did tower over you. Something inside of you bubbled and you refused to believe that it was anything but pure happiness for your plan going as well as it had.

“What’s a pretty Lady like you doing here on her own?” He asked smoothly, eyes not falling away from the gaze they held over the bustling crowd. As you looked over the balcony you could see that the room was packed, spotting the way the men flirted with any and every woman they could lay their eyes on, couples falling to the edges of the room in passionate lip locks, uncaring for the vast group of people around them.

“What makes you think I’m alone?” You quipped back, watching as a smile fell over his lips, finally pulling his eyes away from the crowd to face you. The moment your eyes locked again, this time inches away from him you felt that same bubbling feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“No respectable partner would let their Lady come to a party with her breasts heaving like that, well… not unless the Lady wants to be seen.” His eyes scanned over your upper body before meeting your eyes once again. You weren’t sure why you were holding your breath but the second his knuckle was grazing over your exposed collarbone, brushing your hair over your shoulder, you finally let out a slow, shaky breath.

“And to think I was just wearing a nice dress.” You sighed comically, turning back to lean your hands against the railing, taking a moment to compose yourself without having to stare into his eyes. Never in George’s life had a woman thought of talking back to him, so having you quip back at him with a tongue as sharp as his own, practically running circles around him in conversation made him even more determined to have you.

“You’re a quick one, smart I assume, probably raised by men, or at the very least a strong minded woman. A fighter too, you have the shoulders for it, money doesn’t matter to you much from your lack of jewellery- Stop me If I’m wrong.” With every assumption that spilled from his lips, you realised that you had blown your cover, fear immediately building in the pit of your stomach until it reached your eyes. “So what brings you here, If not for a man, what for?”

“Who said I didn’t want a man?” You finally looked back at him, a teasing smile on your lips. You watched his face ease, taking a brave step closer to him as you realised that he truly didn’t have a clue. You were brave for doing this, letting him see a vulnerable side to you, one that could leave you easily exposed.

“I’m sure you know who I am, don’t you sweetheart? Yet I haven’t a clue who you are.” He was smooth, able to pull your name from your lips without even a second thought. Perhaps it was a bad idea to lead this way, fearing that a part of you would grow attached to his smile or addicted to his perfect laugh.

“Well, count yourself lucky that you’re up here then, all you’ll find is boys down there.” You weren’t surprised that George was the cocky sort of man, part of you found it endearing that he obviously had some sort of saviour complex about him, figuring that he would selfishly have you to himself and ‘save’ you from being surrounded by the inferior.

“I’d be luckier alone with you.” You leaned in, whispering just low enough for him to hear. You were feeling brave enough to get suggestive with him, hoping that he would catch your tone and give you some time alone. You felt his hand pressing against the small of your back as he pulled you in closer, your mind wondering as soon as you could breathe in his scent, a part of you forgot why you were truly here as it became drunker off of the male attention.

All it took was one look from him to his aide and you were being led by him, past his friends and family up another set of stairs. You heard the sounds of chatter, laughter and clinking glasses fade away as you were ushered into a private room, the doors swinging shut behind the two of you, finally realising that you were alone with him.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?” He sighed, pulling at your wrist to tug you into his chest, his hot breath fanning in your neck as you stood pressed against each other, uncaring for the huge amounts of space that the room had to offer. Being so close him made you lose all of your inhibitions and suddenly the contract no longer mattered to you, the one thing that did however, was bedding the man who had you in a trance. In all your years of working contracts, nobody came above the job but now as your lips were inches away from his, George Weasley was more important.

"I'm here for you." You muttered, hand snaking up to tangle in his long, messy hair, giving the locks a gentle tug that made his eyes darken. Feeling him guide you backwards, taking small steps with him until your back hit a wall. His strong hand travelled its way up your leg, hoping to hitch it up to hook around his hip as he pushed every layer of fabric up so he could get a good look at the gorgeous thighs he wanted wrapped around his head. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his fingers stop over your dagger, pulling it free from where it was held.

As his eyes surveyed over the intricate detailing of the handle, you couldn't help but avoid his gaze, startled only by the chuckle that fell from his lips. "A mark of the brotherhood… They send you to bed me and leave me vulnerable?"

You shook your head, watching as he pressed the dull side of the blade against your throat, his commanding eyes forcing you to look at him as he pressed himself closer to you. "They sent you to kill me?"

He pulled the dagger from your throat, shoving it into your hand as he laughed, pulling away from you, letting the skirt fall back in its place as he turned around to walk away from you and deeper into the room. It was obvious that he wasn't afraid by you, certainly less the prospect of you being able to kill him. You didn't like being underestimated, much less by someone who would be easy for you to kill. You pushed yourself away from the wall coming up behind the man and tackling him to the floor, hips straddled directly over his as you pressed the knife against his throat, watching the way his eyes lit up with surprise, his hands finding your hips to grip onto tightly.

"I like you, you've got a lot of nerve, probably one of the most gorgeous women I've ever laid my eyes on so tell me what's the contact worth?" He chuckled, hands tugging to grind your hips against his tentatively, watching as you fumbled to keep your thoughts straight. Composing yourself as you ignored the pleasurable feeling of your hips rocking against his, instead pressing the dagger closer to his throat. You were about to respond to his question when he cut you off quickly.

"Whatever it is I'll double it, hell I'd even triple it under two conditions." He spluttered quickly, hands stilling as he realised that you weren't to be messed with. You cocked your head to the side, pulling the blade from his throat as you considered what he had to say, dragging the tip of your dagger gently over his jawline and down his chest with a sickly sweet smile, the alluring confusion evident in your tone of voice "Conditions?"

"Condition one, Work for me and I'll pay better than any contract ever could and two, you're mine to have." He suggested, his tone coming across as commanding making it seem like you truly had no choice in the matter but you knew better.

"I don't belong to anyone, Weasley, especially not someone I work for." You bit back, watching as he laughed softly, hand gripping at your waist as he flipped you over, the dagger clattering against the floor as he pinned your hands down, back pressed firmly against the cold surface, feeling him press his lips to your exposed neck. "You belong to me now, seems a waste of such perfect breasts for you not to be."

"Were you going to whore yourself out for me? That's precious." His lips travelled down, peppering wet kisses along your collarbone as his hands still gripped onto your waist. Any semblance of fight in you disappeared the minute his lips were on your skin, a sick part of you adored how he wanted you but an even sicker part wanted him to take you.

"Where's the confidence, darling? Not ready to submit to me already, are you?" His voice was thick with arousal, hands finding their way to your hips again as he slowly ground his hips into yours, teasing you ever so slightly as he pushed himself closer to you. Somehow George had managed to shock you into silence, your head filled with nothing but the the image of him fucking you into the morning, not even room to think of a quick remark or retorting comment to quip back at him.

“You’re insufferable.” You breathed out, letting his strong arms pull you off of the floor, hoisting you up on his hips to trap you between the wall and his chest once again, his hand this time was quickly up your skirt once again, feeling the wetness that pooled between your legs that confirmed you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. “And yet you spread your legs for me with ease.”

He didn’t dare tease you any longer, pulling himself free and sinking into you like there was no time to lose. Just when you thought you were full, he had more to give and you were feeling stretched out beyond belief. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pulled loud moans from you with every deep and slow thrust, the pleasure coursing through you had you rolling your head back which he only took as an invitation for him to wrap his hand around your throat, groaning lowly as his eyes flicked over the way your face contorted with overwhelming pleasure, “You’re so fucking tight.”

“George, please.” He hummed at the way your voice came out with the strained begging, feeling pleasure build in the pit of your stomach as you realised the churning movement you had been feeling throughout the evening had been butterflies, the building want and desire for the man who was now fucking you loudly into the wall.

“I like hearing you beg, what do you need, sweetheart?” He hummed, pressing his lips to your exposed neck, right over where your vocal chords were, feeling the vibrations of your moans flow through his lips, pushing him over the edge to pick up his pace, focused intently on making you cum as he found himself growing addicted to the way you squeezed around him.

“I need to- George, It feels so good.” He shook his head, pulling completely from you, letting your feet drop to the floor as he spun you around so that your chest was pressed to the wall, whines still falling from your lips as his hands were back up your skirt, pulling your hips into the right position to push himself inside you again, this time his hands pulled at the strings of your corset, tightening it to a point where it only added to the pleasure he was making you feel.

“You only get to cum when you ask for it.” With every thrust, it felt as if he was tugging your corset that little bit tighter. Pushing you closer and closer to the release you craved, so desperate for it that the only word that fell from your lips was ‘please’. Not what he wanted to hear. One of his strong hands pulled your hair into his fist, pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder, a smirk evident on his lips through the tone he used, “Please, what?”

“Please, I need to cum, George” You whined, hand coming up to wrap around his forearm, nails digging into his skin as his pace picked up finally, the hand still attached to the strings of your corset giving a final tug as you released around him, becoming a mess of spluttering moans for him as he pulled out of you, spinning you around once again to thread his fingers into your hair and pull you into a passionate kiss.

Something about the way his lips tasted made you never want to pull away, finding yourself chasing his lips as he pulled away to gaze over your features, a smile on his lips as he took in just how beautiful you were, feeling like for a moment he may have truly met his match, watching as your chest heaved while you slowly drank in the high he had given you. “Next time I hope to see these beautiful breasts in all their glory,”

“Next time? Thought you knew I have to kill you now.” You laughed as his fingers tucked your hair behind your ear, an action that sent a shiver down your spine. You watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, head shaking slightly to sway the hair out of his eyes, an action that made you melt at the knees.

“Very funny, now about your first contract.” He spoke quickly, tucking himself away and making himself presentable before pulling you deeper inside of the room, standing you by a large painting, tilting your chin up to avert your gaze to a particular individual, “Know who that man is, angel?”

You swallowed thickly, eyes gazing over the large, pristine painting, well aware of who he was. The man that had set the contract over George’s head. You nodded at his question, his arm slinking around your waist as he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your ear. “Good, I want information; You tell him I’m dead and find out what his next move is, if you get me that, I’ll know you’re loyal, just for that I’ll pay you more than you’ve ever seen.”

“George, he’s the one that requested this cont-” You spoke quietly, his hand tugging you closer to his body, a deep sigh falling past his lips, leaving you in silence for a few moments until his warm toned voice spoke up once again.

“I know, and you’re going to find out why, understand?” He sounded genuinely upset, the man who had ordered the hit on him was a close family friend, but yet someone who craved the power that George had. Part of you knew that it wasn’t just Cedric Diggory that wanted him dead but he was the only one with enough money to make the bounty worth it, and yet you had found yourself wound up on his side. “Good girl.”

Your chest was still heaving as you stepped through the opening double doors, this time hand in hand with the man who you had come here to kill, something had changed in your time alone and you knew that you would be the last person to hurt him. You were running off the high of belonging to someone, a new contract and the willingness to submit. You were George’s new personal weapon, a force that even he didn’t know the true extent of. Better to have you on his side than against him, as good as you felt against him after all.

taglist // @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @pansydaisy @vogueweasley @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @witch-and-a-half @loony-loopy-lupinn @rip-us @hopemalfoyweasley @pigwidgexn

#george weasley x reader #george weasley fic #George Weasley #george weasley smut #george weasley angst #harry potter smut #harry potter fic #harry potter writing #Harry potter #Smut #ginger hair

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anthemxix · 3 years ago

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So... how far did Cia go exactly? I haven’t played hw but I’ve read several fics, and she’s always very... extreme.

hi anon! thank you for your ask!

by “extreme,” i’m thinking you mean stories where she’s a psycho who tortures link or forces unwanted sexual advances on him. which makes for fantastic angst! but that characterization of cia has never felt quite authentic to me.

in the game, she has a roomful of his portraits, like a shrine. that’s extreme. she technically starts a war because of him, which is very extreme, but i don’t think that’s about lusting after him, as people often joke. she says some off-putting stuff, and you could infer that she behaves in an inappropriately “seductive” way, but. she doesn’t really. do anything, like fics might imply. she’s creepy and lewd. i’m sure she makes him uncomfortable as hell. but as for what she does, the extremeness in fics is mostly fan extrapolation.

that’s my short answer! but i kinda got carried away while responding to this, and. um. wrote a lengthy character analysis of cia? XD i thought about not including it, but i spent so much time thinking about/writing this that i’ll go ahead and share.

in my opinion, hw does not present a clear picture of cia, and it skews fan interpretation of her.

(putting this under a cut because it got long 😅)

the story the game gives at the start is straightforward. there's a "guardian of time" (whatever that means) who watches over everything but never interferes. she admires the purity of the hero's spirit. she comes to love the heroes, then to want them. she's lonely. she doesn't want to just watch anymore. she wants to experience love.

gradually her desires become something darker. she doesn't only want the companionship, she wants to possess.

ganon sees this darkness in her heart and causes a split. the darkness separates from her, becomes its own person (a la dark link). the "good" part is lana, the "bad" part is cia.

for ganon, this is all part of a larger plan. in hw, his spirit is divided into four fragments that have been sealed away in different eras. he manipulates cia and gets her to open time gates so he can gather all the fragments together. a key fact: one of the fragments has been sealed away by the master sword, so ganon needs a hero to draw the sword.

cia willingly allows herself to be ganon's pawn because in so doing, in starting a war to force the hero to emerge, she thinks she'll get what she wants. throughout the story, she gives more and more of herself to ganon, fracturing her own spirit further and further, because she is so desperate to claim the hero for herself, to own him. lana repeatedly warns her to stop before she does irreparable damage to herself, but she doesn't listen, and ultimately she...well, dies, i guess. fades from existence. (that's how the original hw ending goes. they added stuff on later that changed this.)

ok, so. we have some interesting stuff going on here. arguably, cia is a tragic figure. a victim even. her underlying motivation is loneliness. viewing it through this lens, the story becomes an exploration of what isolation does to a person. how desperate it can make us. how we become willing to sacrifice anything for love--and i mean "love" broadly, not in a romantic sense. how it makes us vulnerable to manipulation and abuse.

let's also not forget the whole reason she focuses on the hero's spirit to begin with. after witnessing all the atrocities of history, she admires the purity and goodness and self-sacrifice of the hero. it has nothing to do with link being attractive. in her temple (the temple of souls), she has statues of different heroes from different eras, including wolf link and oot/mm link. she is certainly not lusting after an animal or a child, i assure you.

so why does she have frickin portraits of hw link, specifically, (not any other hero's spirit incarnations) plastered all over her walls, if not for lusty purposes? why does she dress so damn seductively? i'm not claiming lust isn't part of it, but i think there's more. she wants to feel surrounded by him, you know? she wants to feel like he's looking at her the same way that she looks at him--with desire. it's delusion.

and holy hell, she's nothing if not deluded. some examples of her actual in-game dialogue: "no matter what betrayals I may suffer, at least I know the hero will always love and protect me." and [to herself, as she's losing a fight] "the hero is still by my side... the hero is still by my side..."

and it's sad. she pretends that he loves her, that he will protect her, because she doesn't have any real love in her life. she doesn't have anyone.

and what's even sadder is that she's condemned to all these feelings and delusions because that's who she is. she is corruption and darkness personified! she's doomed to this lonely hell, to being ganon's servant, to self-destruction.

that's how tragedy, and tragic figures, are defined: hubris. characters that have an innate flaw that inevitably leads to their downfall. that's what a traditional tragedy is.

don't get me wrong here. i'm not saying she had no choice, or that she had to start a war. she can be tragic and we can sympathize with her while also accepting the fact that she's corrupted beyond redemption. morality isn't black-and-white. our understanding of characters, or of real people, isn't black-and-white.

...but. BUT. there is a major "but" here. the game sabotages its own character and its own story. the game opts for the path of least resistance. screw grey areas of morality, screw the tragedy of loneliness, screw exploring vulnerability and abuse and hubris... they sensationalize. cia is a joke.

have you seen her frickin outfit? her character design? she's an uber-sexualized caricature. all those portraits of link in her temple can easily be viewed as a joke, too. "lol, look at this crazy, horny bitch." hell, they even have her say innuendos about the master sword, like, “come show me what your sword can do” or something to that effect. 🙄

it's all very surface level. they don't go deep at all with cia. they give us no substance, only these little bread crumbs of information that i've laid out for you. and not only that, they set this up so that it feeds into old stereotypes. the salient details easily allow us to interpret cia, consciously or not, as an embodiment of feminine hysteria, a woman guided by irrational emotion and obsession, fixated on winning the ultimate prize of a man's love.

so koei tecmo's own confused presentation of this character muddles up fan interpretation and has us falling back on the familiar stereotypes we know and understand. that’s the basis for these depictions of cia as extreme. that’s what fans are extrapolating from when they try to imagine how she might act or what she might say. so in the end, she isn’t really depicted with accuracy. she’s like a caricature of a caricature at that point.

…or at least, that’s my opinion. 🥴

#if you actually read all this: ty ilysm ❤️#i feel like it's a real toss-up coming into my ask box #like will i answer you same day or 3 weeks from now?#will i write like 2 sentences or an essay?#will i respond with angst? or in a goofy uwu way?#or will i write an unnecessary rant/analysis that's only semi-related to your question?#lmao i'm sorry #bless you all for taking your chances #anthem answers #loz #hw

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 4 years ago

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Hi, first off I ship Zutara and I come in peace. I was pointed your way by a friend when I asked for people who ship kataang who are nevertheless willing to hear different views. I have lurked on blog a week and finally got up my nerve to ask how you or any other Kataang can deny that the last part of book 3 was completely Zutara but then stopped abruptly with no buildup? You can finesse tone on text so I'm not being sarcastic or bitchy, it is a serious question (1/5)

In The Southern Raiders, Katara realizes she has been wrong about Zuko. In Ember Island Players, she realizes Aang is not as mature as she thought he was, and in the finale, Katara does not care a whit that Aang is gone. I am serious and as someone who is no Aang stan but likes him, I’m actually annoyed by how little anyone cared about his disappearance. It went from “Aang’s gone!” to “Okay whatever, let’s find Iroh so he can kill Ozai.” (2/5)

Katara was all over Zuko (honestly, again not being a jerk) in the finale until for whatever reason, she wasn’t. She was giving him a pep talk about Iroh, she was going with him to Azula, she was healing him and saying he saved her not the other way around. I genuinely don’t get why this isn’t seen as romantic. I will grant you that Zuko would not have allowed Azula to kill anyone but I feel the point here was Zuko realizing his life was pointless if Katara was killed. (4/5)

And then literally at the end, Mai shows up after Zuko not talking about her at all for six episodes and declares herself Zuko’s girlfriend. And Katara kisses Aang after being annoyed with and by him arguably since The Southern Raiders. I get that Kataang “won” and I’ve made peace with that, but ... I can’t understand why Kataang shippers are okay with such a crap story. I swear on my gmom [sic] if they’d done this for [Zvtara], I’d be mad as hell. So I don’t understand, I really don’t. (5/5)

As always, I shall begin with a disclaimer: anon, you do not have to agree with this post. No one has to agree with this post, as it is strictly my own thoughts on the subject matter raised here! As per usual, I will not be putting this in the main tags - much less the Zvtara tag! - because I have basic fandom decency, lmao. If you (the general you, not anon specifically) do disagree with this post, that is totally fine, I simply ask that you are polite in expressing your disagreement (if you choose to do so at all! no one is expected to, lmao. i promise).

Alright. Formalities are out of the way!

I’ll admit I giggled a little bit when you say you lurked on my blog for a week, because I’ve actually talked about this subject numerous times in the past! I just found it funny you hadn’t stumbled across any posts about it yet, lol. So, as a heads up, know that I will be providing several links in this post since - again - this subject and related subjects have been analyzed a multitude of times before. I highly recommend reading them all! Mostly because I don’t intend to spend forever restating what’s been said over and over and over lmaooo. I will provide the resources, but it is up to each individual to take advantage of them.

To begin: your ask actually contains a few logical fallacies, anon! I do not mean this as shade or to belittle you - I fall victim to this issue all the time myself. Anyone who writes analyses or participates in debates does! Humans are imperfect and often like to cut corners to reach a conclusion. It is nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about because - as the existence of your ask in inbox indicates - you are willing to learn more. So kudos to you, my friend!

Alright. So what logical fallacies am I talking about here? (For the record: specific definitions of logical fallacies were taken from here.)

1. Hasty Generalization.

“A hasty generalization is a general statement without sufficient evidence to support it.” Numerous claims are made in this ask that I have absolutely no doubt you believe to be true, anon, but there really isn’t any concrete evidence to support it! I will go into more detail later, of course, but let’s quickly look at one example:

“In Ember Island Players, [Katara] realizes Aang is not as mature as she thought he was…”

For the time being, I will ask but one question: from the show itself, not fanon, how do you know this?

2. Causal Fallacy

Ah, this guy. My own worst enemy, tbh! “A causal fallacy is any logical breakdown when identifying a cause,” of which there are several types. “One causal fallacy is the false cause or non causa pro causa (‘not the-cause for a cause’) fallacy, which is when you conclude about a cause without enough evidence to do so.” In your ask, you claim:

“I will grant you that Zuko would not have allowed Azula to kill anyone but I feel the point here was Zuko realizing his life was pointless if Katara was killed.”

Again, for the time being, I will ask only one question: from the show itself, not fanon, what led you to believe this statement?

“Another kind of causal fallacy is the correlational fallacy also known as cum hoc ergo propter hoc (Lat., ‘with this therefore because of this’). This fallacy happens when you mistakenly interpret two things found together as being causally related.” In your ask, you claim:

“Katara was all over Zuko (honestly, again not being a jerk) in the finale until for whatever reason, she wasn’t. She was giving him a pep talk about Iroh, she was going with him to Azula, she was healing him and saying he saved her not the other way around. I genuinely don’t get why this isn’t seen as romantic.”

I will ask one question: from the show itself, not fanon, why would you believe these are indicative of romance? (Consider the context the show is situated in, too - e.g. the war, Katara being Azula’s only available match in skill, etc.)

The reason I bring up the issue of logical fallacies is again not at all to make you feel bad, anon!! You were simply trying to express your point to me and I greatly appreciate you taking the time to do so. See, your ask actually presents a larger fandom trend:

Misconstruing fanon as canon.

What you have offered to me, anon, are fanon conclusions. To clarify: there is absolutely nothing wrong with fanon. I adore fanon interpretations (an example I have used in the past is Kuzaang - like, I don’t care that there’s no canon basis! I do what I want lmao!), but a line has to be drawn between exploring fanon interpretations and expecting everyone to take that fanon as canon. Again, anon, this is not your fault! It is not any one person’s fault, lmao. It is an issue of fandom as a whole, and all of us fall victim to it.

With that in mind, I will break down the different components of your ask. I will also do my best to be brief - as aforementioned, I and others have analyzed this issue numerous times before, lmao. To avoid confusion, it would be best to read through each or at least most links as they are provided!

Firstly, there are two posts I have made in the past that almost directly answer your overarching question here in this ask. Please read them prior to continuing, as I will occasionally reference them:

This post explains how Zvtara was not built up from TSR/EIP-onwards, and how their supposed “canon enemies to lovers arc” is a completely fanon construction.

This post explains the issue of the “canon Zvtara” rhetoric from rabid zkers (and you, anon, are absolutely NOT one, in case you were worried).

Alrighty. With that out the way, let’s get into it!

“In The Southern Raiders, Katara realizes she has been wrong about Zuko.”

Gotta start by saying that TSR is not about Zuko. TSR is, first and foremost, about Katara. Katara does not realize she was wrong about Zuko, because here’s the truth - she wasn’t wrong about him. Zuko did horrible things to the Gaang. Katara was not wrong to hold him accountable for that. What Katara does realize is that holding such rage so close to her chest is bad for her. This rage was not solely anger against Zuko, either; it was of course about Yon Rha, too, but it was also anger towards Kya and Katara herself. Essentially, TSR is where Katara realizes she has to forgive herself. Zuko is only one part of her journey (similar to Aang’s role in the episode, if a different end of the spectrum).

This post explains how TSR was fundamentally about Katara.

Additional resources about TSR:

This post explains Aang’s comments to Katara in TSR and how Katara herself recognized their validity.

This post explains why both Aang and Zuko were important to Katara in TSR.

This post is an extensive breakdown of Aang and Katara’s relationship within TSR.

“In Ember Island Players, [Katara] realizes Aang is not as mature as she thought he was…”

You provide no context for this claim, so I’m going to work with the assumption this is about their reactions to the play itself and the infamous kiss!

There is something important we must keep in mind when discussing EIP: the play they watch is literally imperialist propaganda. It is meant to demean the entire Gaang, and indeed it does exactly that. You mention Katara and Aang specifically, so I will recap what I have explained before about their depictions in EIP: Katara, an indigenous woman, is hypersexualized and portrayed as overly emotional (and thus “irrational”). This reinforces the Fire Nation sentiment that women of the Water Tribes are less intelligent and less suited for “responsibility” than Fire Nation women. Aang, a pacifist and the sole survivor of genocide who is also canonly the male character most comfortable with femininity and spirituality, is portrayed as a flighty, airheaded woman (this is a well-known imperialist tactic meant to emasculate the target, seeing as masculinity was often equated with power in fascist regimes; thus, they effectively belittled Aang before the FN audience). This reinforces the Fire Nation sentiment that the Air Nomads were foolish, weak people who deserved to die.

In other words, of course Aang and Katara were upset about how they portrayed in the play. It is understandable that tensions would be running high and consequently that mistakes (we all know the one) would be made.

This post explains how EIP belittles each member of the Gaang (and why the play is not indicative of Zvtara).

This post talks specifically about EIP and their portrayal of Aang and Katara.

Now onto the kiss. As everyone knows and no one has ever disagreed with, Aang was wrong to kiss Katara. Point blank!

But what people do misunderstand is Katara and Aang’s feelings regarding the kiss. Given your above quote, I assume you believe Aang kissing Katara supposedly made her realize that Aang wasn’t as mature as she once thought. On the surface, this seems like a logical conclusion! But digging deeper reveals… well, there’s nothing that indicates this conclusion at all. Even jumping ahead to the finale, when Zuko has doubts over Aang’s return, Katara demonstrates her faith in Aang (although of course she’s nervous - I won’t deny the obvious, lmao) as she says, “Aang won’t lose. He’s gonna come back. He has to.”

In other words, nothing in canon suggests that Katara believes Aang is immature because of what happened in EIP. She still trusts in his return, as she did even before she knew him (and arguably is more confident in him now, given the 60~ episodes of them growing closer). Furthermore, when Aang does disappear, Katara doesn’t have an outburst about how “immature” it was for him to “run away again.” The viewers know Aang didn’t run away, of course (fans who insist he did are not worth arguing with, anon - they don’t understand the show, rip), but that is a luxury the rest of the Gaang is not afforded. And yet even though Aang has vanished off the face of the planet, Katara still believes he will save the world. If anything, that signifies the utmost confidence in his skill and maturity!

To go back to the kiss itself, this post explains the true source of Katara’s conflict in turning down Aang (hint: she says it herself in the episode! you know, the whole war going on) and why the EIP kiss did not sink Kataang’s relationship.

Additional sources about EIP:

This post explains how the EIP kiss was resolved through narrative parallels.

This post explains how the EIP kiss is so often blown out of proportion.

“… and in the finale, Katara does not care a whit that Aang is gone. I am serious and as someone who is no Aang stan but likes him, I’m actually annoyed by how little anyone cared about his disappearance. It went from ‘Aang’s gone!’ to ‘Okay whatever, let’s find Iroh so he can kill Ozai.’”

As I already touched upon, Katara didn’t need a soliloquy to emphasize her connection to Aang once he disappeared. She trusts that he will return. She says so herself. I guess I just don’t understand how you got from Point A, Katara has consistent faith in Aang, to Point B, Katara and the rest of the Gaang didn’t care about Aang’s disappearance. It’s honestly a bit more like Point A to Point Z, lmao! If you would like to expand on your logic here, I would love to hear more!!

There are a few specific aspects I want to note about your rationale, though. You argue the Gaang moves from ‘Aang disappeared’ to ‘let’s find Iroh,’ but the Gaang actually went from:

1. Aang disappeared!

2. They search the entire island for him.

3. Okay, they couldn’t find him, so they track down June and have her try to find Aang.

4. June says to them, “No, I mean he’s gone gone. He doesn’t exist.” (And she clarifies to Sokka that she doesn’t mean dead, either - she means Aang has totally blinked out of their world.)

5. Only after all of this do they decide to track down Iroh.

The Gaang cares immensely about the fact that Aang is gone, and you could actually argue they waste time by trying to track him down. They don’t give up until June essentially tells them that some Spirit World shenanigans were involved. Even if you don’t think they reached that specific conclusion, I have to ask: What else were they supposed to do? They were told Aang didn’t exist! How are they supposed to fix that?

Well, they can’t. So they do the next best thing: they find Iroh, the man who knows Ozai better than anyone and is also one of the most talented firebenders in the world. In my opinion, that’s a very logical step to take.

I’ll be blunt here, lol: in my opinion, nothing of what you listed in your ask is inherently romantic.

Okay. I am going to assume you’ve read the first two posts I linked earlier (“Zvtara did not have an E-L arc” and “the ‘canon’ Zvtara of rabid zkers has issues”), because I do not intend to rehash everything they contain, lol. Consequently, I presume you realize by now that there was no canon romantic interest between Zuko and Katara.

And as I always say, just because there wasn’t a canon romance doesn’t mean people can’t take fanon routes! Of course they can! That’s the entire point of fanon! But fanon is not canon, and I am strictly referring to canon in my discussions.

You claim Katara was all over Zuko, which in itself I don’t think is an accurate assessment, because she doesn’t really do anything with Zuko outside the three points you bring up (other than the June gag, which I addressed in one of the aforementioned linked posts). So I’ll go ahead and break down each instance you provide!

1. “[Katara] was giving [Zuko] a pep talk about Iroh”

Katara asked Zuko if he was okay. She asked him if he was genuinely sorry. She reassures him that Iroh will forgive him. That’s… all. Not to diminish the significance of this conversation, but it’s not exactly an intimate, romantically-charged discussion (unless fanon-ized). But on that note, let’s tackle the canon significance of this moment!

Katara knows firsthand the challenge of forgiving Zuko. And she knows that Zuko understands how hard it was for her to forgive him (note: Katara’s anger was totally justified, and anyone who disagrees is probably a rabid Zuko stan lmao). She also recognizes that Zuko is terrified it will take Iroh the same struggle to forgive him that Katara went through. This scene is not related to romance at all. It’s about compassion. It’s about Katara and Zuko’s friendship having progressed, slowly but surely, to the point where she’s not afraid to extend empathy to him anymore (seeing as the first time, beneath Ba Sing Se, did not go so well; you know - Aang died and all). It’s about Zuko recognizing his own fallibility (and the audience recognizing how much he’s grown). He questions how he can even face his uncle after all he’s done to the man, which is a far cry from his entitled attitude in TSR, where he demanded to know why Katara didn’t trust him when everyone else had forgiven him.

To make this moment, this moment about Zuko’s relationship with his uncle who is all but a literal father to him, this moment of vulnerability, of guilt, of remorse, of growth, to claim this powerful moment is about a nonexistent romantic relationship? In my opinion, that is incredibly reductive to what this scene is supposed to signify. And again, there is nothing wrong with people exploring such a possibility in fanon, but in canon? Nah. It doesn’t track.

2. “[Katara] was going with [Zuko] to Azula”

Don’t forget that at first, Zuko planned to take on Azula alone. He doesn’t request Katara to accompany him until Iroh tells him that he’ll need help. As such, Zuko’s immediate agreement with Iroh is reflective of his personal growth (Book 1 and 2 Zuko would have argued and insisted he didn’t need any help). It also demonstrates, however, that Katara was not obsessively on Zuko’s mind. He doesn’t choose Katara until Iroh points out that Zuko will need assistance in taking Azula down. This means that Zuko’s choice of Katara to join him is a tactical decision, not an emotional one. And by all accounts, it’s a damn good decision! Zuko witnessed firsthand beneath Ba Sing Se a) how powerful Katara was (e.g. that wave after Aang died) and b) how Katara was the only one who could take on Azula*.

Of course, besides the fact that Katara was the only match for Azula, who else was Zuko going to choose? Sokka and Suki, while talented in their own right, were no competition for Azula. Toph, while the greatest earthbender in the world, was needed to metalbend the airships. Katara was the only (and the best!) option.

Also, on their trip to face Azula, the only thing they talk about within their three lines of canon conversation are Azula and Aang. Not exactly a romantic flight, lmao.

*Zuko never saw Aang fight Azula on the drill.

3. “[Katara] was healing [Zuko] and saying he saved her not the other way around”

Actually, this is what the transcript says:

Zuko: Thank you, Katara.

Katara: I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.

You’re right about how their lines refer to them saving each other, but you posit it as a romantic moment, when the lines are actually pretty straightforward. Zuko thanks Katara as she heals him from the partially-redirected lightning strike, and Katara thanks him for trying to redirect the lightning away from her and in doing so saving her life. In terms of canon, there’s nothing romantic about this, lol! (Which I talked about extensively in the E-L post, if you need to reference it again.) The reason being is that you have to take the show itself into context when you do analysis. If there was no canon romantic buildup between Zuko and Katara, why would these lines in canon (not fanon! fanon is free rein, lmao) be interpreted through a romantic lens?

Well, they wouldn’t be interpreted as such. Plain and simple.

“I genuinely don’t get why this isn’t seen as romantic.”

Because looking through a canon lens, they aren’t romantic. That’s all. You are of course welcome to view them as such through a fanon lens!! It’s just about recognizing the line between canon and fanon.

“I will grant you that Zuko would not have allowed Azula to kill anyone but I feel the point here was Zuko realizing his life was pointless if Katara was killed.”

I asked earlier what content in the show itself led you to believe. I have wracked my own mind, and I cannot think of anything that would point to this conclusion. Zuko was in Katara’s good graces for 5 episodes. That’s 8% of the show. Not exactly a lot of time for Zuko to start believing his life would be pointless if Katara was killed, is it?

This post explains the improbability of Zuko having a crush on Katara within canon.

This post explains how Zuko’s racism towards the Air Nomads in TSR and the finale is, well, exactly that - racism (and not a sign of a crush on Katara).

And, of course, as has been said a million times, Zuko taking the lightning for Katara out of romantic interest would completely undermine his redemption arc. Since it has been said over and over and over, I will be brief: Zuko taking the lightning is significant because it is a selfless act (one of his only in the series), and it directly parallels his selfish act of choosing not to intervene when Azula killed Aang with lightning beneath Ba Sing Se. This moment demonstrates Zuko’s growth, how he has learned to accept unconditional love from Iroh and the Gaang and Mai and even Ty Lee and sure, even from Appa and Momo, too. To make this moment of pure selflessness about a nonexistent romance? To force a fanon romance in replacement of canon redemption and canon platonic significance?

Such a decision speaks wonders about a person’s priorities, in my opinion, as well as how amatonormativity impacts them.

Furthermore, Zuko’s choice cements Katara’s position as his surrogate sibling, as she is Azula’s primary foil. Zuko chooses the sister who heals over the sister who harms. I won’t go too much into it here, because it has already been talked about extensively before! Thus, I offer you this post that explains how Zuko and Katara - in canon - are positioned as surrogate siblings as well as Azula’s role in this matter. I also offer this post that lays out through screencaps how Zuko and Katara - in canon - treat each other like family.

Additional sources about the final Agni Kai:

This post in part discusses fanon misinterpretation of the final Agni Kai and why such a lens is not true to canon relationships.

This post explains why the final Agni Kai is not intended to be romantic.

This post explains how the final Agni Kai is primarily about Azula and how reducing it to be a big Zvtara moment is detrimental to both her and to Zuko and Katara themselves.

“And then literally at the end, Mai shows up after Zuko not talking about her at all for six episodes and declares herself Zuko’s girlfriend.”

This point could probably get a post of its own, lol, but fortunately I and others have already written a few! I will link them below - first, however, I question your choice of “declares.” Technically, yes, Mai does say outright that it doesn’t hurt how the new Fire Lord is her boyfriend, but your phrasing implies Zuko resisted her proclamation. When… he doesn’t. In fact, he embraces it, asking if that means she doesn’t hate him anymore (read: he asks if they’re back on good terms again). Zuko clearly doesn’t have a problem with the girl he loves wanting to be with him again - so why do some parts of fandom so adamantly insist he does? (Not you, anon - I am referring to the rabid fanoners, lol.)

Also, regarding how Zuko hasn’t talked about Mai for six episodes, we’ve gotta be realistic with this assessment in terms of canon:

1. It was the crux of the war. They were either going to live or die. There was no time for romance at this point! Sokka and Suki weren’t professing their love on the battlefield, lmao, so it’s not exactly strange that Zuko didn’t bust into a monologue about how he missed Mai. I think they were just a little bit distracted by the possible end of the world, lol, and all that jazz.

2. Zuko probably thought Mai was dead. He knows what Azula is like. He knows his sister doesn’t have time for people who get in her way (Aang can testify to this, lmao). So can you blame him for not wanting to think about how the girl he loved had died (to his knowledge) to save him?

You gotta cut the kid some slack, lol. Anyways! Additional sources about Maiko:

This post breaks down the notion of Maiko and “deserve.”

This post rationalizes through a canon lens why Mai’s arrival at the palace surprised Zuko.

This post is the mother of Maiko metas, explaining in tremendous detail why their relationships works, is relevant to canon, and was well-implemented for what its role was.

“And Katara kisses Aang after being annoyed with and by him arguably since The Southern Raiders.”

What in canon has led you to the conclusion that Katara was annoyed with Aang? What specific moments from TSR to the finale made you think Katara was annoyed with Aang and remained annoyed with Aang? Are there any, or are you thinking about fanon interpretation? (Canon vs fanon strikes again!)

In TSR, Katara explicitly thanks Aang for understanding her perspective. Nothing there is indicative of annoyance (and as in the links provided earlier, she was not angry at Aang/Zuko/etc. so much as she was at herself. well, she was a little bit angry with Zuko, lmao). In EIP, Katara is understandably angry at Aang’s decision to kiss her, but Aang completely backs off, and we see in the part 1 of the finale that there are no hard feelings or weird tension between them. Katara in fact actively expresses concern for Aang after Zuko sporadically attacked him when she demands of the firebender, “What’s wrong with you? You could have hurt Aang!” Even when Aang and Katara do butt heads later in the episode as Aang tries to think of a way to defeat Ozai without killing him, Katara doesn’t stay frustrated. Like I said - when she and Zuko are flying to Azula, she demonstrates her unwavering faith in Aang through her belief that he will return. So… where is the annoyance that you feel was present?

With all this mind, i.e. looking strictly at canon, Katara wasn’t annoyed with Aang during this time. Thus, Katara kisses Aang because she loved him. Because he backed off and gave her the space she needed to make a decision about if she wanted to be with him (hence Katara being the one to initiate the kiss). Because the issue was never about if she reciprocated his feelings (they both knew they loved each other) but rather it had to do with the war. At the end of the finale, the war is over, and there is nothing that prevents them from being together. Simple.

This post explains how Katara’s feelings for Aang develop throughout the series (and were not neglected, as rabid zkers like to claim, for some reason? again - you are not one of them, anon).

This post also covers Katara’s interest in Aang throughout the series.

“I can’t understand why Kataang shippers are okay with such a crap story.”

I mean, you definitely don’t have to ship Kataang. It may not be your cup of tea, and that’s totally okay! But as the above links demonstrate, Kataang was a fantastic story. It was well-implemented into the narrative from Day 1. The soulmateism is unparalleled!

Also, it’s worth noting that A:TLA itself was essentially pre-written. The writers knew how the story would end from the get-go, including that the show would end with Kataang. A few Zvtara gags were thrown in to add a sense of “who will Katara choose?” drama as the show aired, but Zuko and Katara were never planned to end up together. One reason so many newer fans are fine with Kataang from the start is that there’s no tension of waiting a week for a new episode when you can watch all 61 episodes straight through on Netflix, lmao. It’s even more obvious now than when A:TLA was airing that Aang and Katara will end up together, if that makes sense. (Although I talked about this in the E-L post linked earlier, so you probably understand this point already, as it was explained in detail there!)

All of this is to say that Kataang is not a “crap story” in terms of writing (again, personal taste is a different matter) because it was woven in from the beginning and had powerful narrative significance! (Kataang represented numerous complementary components of the series, such as yin and yang, push and pull, air and water, Oma and Shu, etc.)

Now. If you really and truly want to understand why Kataang shippers like Kataang, anon, consider reading some Kataang fanfics or exploring some Kataang headcanons. I read fics involving Zvtara more regularly than you might think, lol, because… well, it’s just a ship. I understand the appeal of romantic Zvtara and I can actually appreciate it when it’s well-written! I’m sure if you’re willing to put in just a little legwork (you don’t need to go the whole mile, lmao - ‘tis just fandom), you’ll realize why people like Kataang, even if it isn’t exactly your thing. You have the range, anon!! You got this!

I hope I managed to answer your questions, my friend! As always, you do not have to agree with anything I have said here. It is totally fine if you and anyone else disagrees! Everything above is simply my own perspective on the matter. Thank you for taking the time to read my response and all the different links I provided! I hope it has expanded your understanding of the subject at hand!

#i spent all day writing this lmaooo #TWO WHOLE HOURS SPENT COMPILING LINKS #amy answers #anon #amy analyzes

250 notes · View notes

vvanini · 3 years ago

Note

whats your favorite obscure hc about each of the losers?

Fucking perfect thank you

1- Mike he reads books or articles like “how to understand woman”, “why women like jerks”, not because he wants to woo woman or is a nice guy or anything but just because he thinks it’s interesting

I don’t think he’d date anyone

Gives great dating advice tho

Reads manga Likes Junji Ito

“The manga/book was better” kind of guy

I don’t know why but I feel like he’d be this ENTP-ish dude who likes to gather information about a lot of useless things and likes to debate He likes film and game theories Watches MatPat for sure

Also he likes The Walking Dead and… zombies in general

Also I’m sorry but he likes Quentin Tarantino and Wes Anderson

He likes grindhouse movies and appreciates the gory details but is chill about it Likes cinematography in general

Watches video essays about movies

2- Richie

Unlike Mike, Richie isn’t chill about gory details and whenever someone gags while watching a movie he goes “You think that’s disgusting??? Lmaoooo that’s nothing.”

He’d be the type of guy who brags about being immune to disturbing shit

Google searches include “top ten disturbing movies of all time” “scariest movies ever” “movies worse than a serbian film”

Still likes pink guy and thinks Joji is a genius

Unironically loves the song “I Love Sex” by Pink Guy and listens to it at least once everyday

Uses Discord a lot

Always starts studying on the last day

I think he’d like history

Not like Mike tho, he just likes textbook history and world wars etc

Plays Hearts of Iron and League of Legends

Also :) he likes to code

he is a Linux >>>>>>>>>> Windows kinda guy

Likes breaking bad

And Rick and Morty

Understands politics really well

His music taste is… anime opening songs

Evangelion especially

Likes science fiction books

Pretends to be a flat-earther/conservative/anti-vax for the meme

3- Ben

LIKES BACKSTREET BOYS

and boy bands in general

he is old school and still carries an mp3 around

Doesn’t use spotify, he illegally downloads songs like a champ :D

Likes story rich games

Especially RPG’s. He really likes Planescape Torment and Baldur’s Gate

Kinda lame about women, like he hears Jordan Peterson say something like “the eternal image of the divine feminine” or some shit like that and he goes “wow poetic. agreed”

Doesn’t read “How to woo women” books like Mike but thinks about it a lot that’s for sure

Likes Audrey Hepburn

And Steinbeck

Saves different versions of the same song to his mp3. “The Less I Know The Better but you’re crying in a bathroom” “The Less I Know The Better Slowed & Reverb Listen With Headphones” “The Less I Know The Better Nightcore”

Shares playlists with Eddie

ALWAYS. ALWAYS waits for the person who’s tying their shoes

He notices if someone is walking behind the group alone and walks back to accompany them

If no one laughs at your joke, he does

Bleached his hair once and regretted it immediately Writes poetry in his free time and makes Stan proofread it

Into psychology

Hands always in pockets

Probably owned lots of lego sets as a kid

People go to him for dating advice because he is seen as this “romantic guy”, I mean he is but he gives terrible dating advice

4-Stan

He likes geography

Literally knows all the flags in the world and all the capitals

Blindfold him and give him a country name, he can show you exactly where it is on the map

Also he plays those google earth games where you get a random location and try to find out which country you’re in/ or try to find the nearest airport

Also I feel like he’d like planes a lot

Idk he just likes things that fly lol. Birds, planes etc.

Likes to read classics

LOVES H. P. Lovecraft

carries little poetry books with him everywhere and reads them he’s so cute

Dark academia is his aesthetic

Can play the piano

Likes to read Ben’s poetry :D

Dark humor

His ringtone is Le Festin :)

Has an instagram account but never posts, just watches people’s stories

Very photogenic tho.

He’s a man of culture. He likes visiting aquariums and museums

Hates zoos tho, thinks it’s evil to cage animals

Also I don’t know how to explain it but… He just likes to decorate his place? Like to the clubhouse he’ll bring stuff he likes and just quietly claims a corner as his own and make it as comfortable as he can

Has...beautiful hands

you know how some people cut the cothing labels because it irritates the back of their neck? Stan does that with everything he buys

5- Eddie

Likes Backstreet Boys because of Ben

Replies to texts immediately. Communication and social interaction gives him serotonin

I have no idea why but I feel like he’d have an obsession with Tekken and his favourite character is Ling Xiayou

Big fan of classic playstation games. Loves Spyro, Crash Bandicoot and Ratchet and Clank

He likes wearing long sleeves under t shirts

Listens to emo music, stares out the window and imagines scenarios matching the song he’s listening to

He considers MCR to be emo btw. Loves G note memes

Likes astrology

Can’t watch horror movies, and gets teased by Richie about it

However he likes media that is presented as funky/funny/happy but is actually depressing/disturbing

He likes courtroom dramas

Wears sunglasses indoors for no reason

Probably likes fallout and metro games

Has a collection of finger skateboards

#weirdcore #oddcore #nostalgia #grunge

buys and wears random college sweatshirts

Hates and loves study groups, hates it in the sense that he can’t focus on anything and just wants to hang out and talk, loves it in the sense that he CAN hang out with his friends and talk

Romanticizes everything

6- Bill

Has lots of taurus energy and is sleepy all the time

Has major Leonardo DiCaprio in The Basketball Diaries vibes

Dresses effortlessly

And likes basketball lol.

He just has… boy energy. If that makes sense. Boy next door

Likes to draw his friends

posts his drawings on Instagram

Has lots of OC’s but doesn’t know they’re called OC’s, just refers to them as “this character I created”

He likes being praised a lot ngl

His taste in memes is very similar to Richie’s

You know how they put a random word on top of a random image and it doesn’t make sense at all. He laughs at things like that. Like Richie sends him something like this:

ME WHEN I WHEN

[image of monkey]

BOTTOM TEXT

and he thinks it’s funny and loses his shit im sorry

Like someone sends a picture of Keanu Reeves to the groupchat and texts “g” and he thinks it’s funny???? He sees a picture of a cow in the backrooms and starts choking

He memorized every line in Boneless Pizza and can quote it wihtout stuttering. Like he would be sitting alone talking to himself saying shit like “ya pizza. Watchu want. 2 liter machine broke we got one liter tho. fuck you mean B.”

Never answers calls? Doesn’t like talking on the phone. He just has “Don’t fucking call me when you can text!!” energy

phone is always on silent mode

doesn’t do anything but attracts people anyway

7- Bev

Likes musicals

Theatre kid

Chews gum a lot

And swallows them :(

Likes cottagecore

Buys notebooks with cute covers but can never fill them so she just gives them to bill who turns them into sketchbooks

I think she’d give advice or reaussure people in a way that sounds kinda rude but isn’t really? Like she tells it like it is. Blunt

Likes Avatar The Last Airbender

Sense of humor is:

[Picutre of the fox from Zootopia]

why is he hot help 😭😭😭

wears baggy clothing + long skirts

#headcanon #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #stan uris #stanley uris #hcs #ask

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makyougenkai10 · 3 years ago

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STOP CALLLING EVERY 80′S SHOW SEXIST BECAUSE YOU DON’T LIKE THEM!

I was a little girl back in the 80's, when She-Ra and Jem were in their first run. Shows like these were incredibly empowering. We really didn't see competent women. We usually saw damsels in distress (think Daphne though she was slowly growing out that) or nerds (think Velma or Penny though they were more competent than their bumbling male counterparts). But here we got a woman warrior as competent as any of the men. In Jem, we got a woman CEO. These things were HUGE. People today trying to claim that shows like these are sexist are fucking idiots who should try talking to those of us who were the actual target audience of shows like this, and ask us what we think. Yeah, She-Ra had her crystal castle (I remember getting that castle, and it made my life up until that point), but she was also knock the bad guys in their place. She could have girly aspects while still kicking asses and not taking names. In this show, as well as He-Man, the people with the most power tended to be women. Yes, even in He-Man. By the way, in He-Man, the woman who often assists him (he kinda needs her held despite being frickin' He-Man), Teela, is the daughter is the sorceress of Castle Grayskull, and the sorceress is the one with the most power. That kind of show didn't treat kids like we were stupid and shallow. Neither did She-Ra. Those shows treated us like we were competent, which was amazing. This not-a-reboot is an insult to what She-Ra and He-Man really are all about. Even my 9-year--old thinks this new show is stupid, an likes the old one. (And no, it's not because that's my view--she's more likely to like something I don't just to spite me.)

She-Ra was never meant to be a “girly girl” show. Like He-Man, she was strong and powerful. This Reboot is a fraud. A poser. Wanting to be She-Ra without knowledge about She-Ra. It represents the type of women that made it. Selfish, insecure women.

“She Ra was meant to be an elaborate Ad for kids , so that Mattel could sells Girls She Ra dolls and toys... People should stop deluding themselves, the show was garbage at the time, there's no way, that anyone in today's age is gonna make something good out of it... Nostalgia give everything a nice Look, but it is dreadful to watch.”

it’s people like this who ruin things for everyone because they never experienced true happiness, because they’re over analyzing everything. Let people be happy and stop being a wet blanket.

I'm sorry, but am I missing something here? I thought “She-ra and the princesses of power” was meant to target "progressive feminists”. The very same people who attack Barbie for being too pretty, and seem to hate anything and everything that represents being feminine or girly, ya know, like wearing dresses, ball gowns in particular, and dances, because “that's not progressive”! Because being all glam up and pretty to go to a dance is somehow the most disempowering thing a girl can do these days, just ask Cinderella and Barbie. Yet prom is the episode people praise and is the one to get plot moving? Again, did I miss something? These characters look plain...I watched She-Ra back in the 80s and the story development was so much better. Once again this is an attempt to make characters, especially female characters, powerful when it is not necessary because if the creators had done their research they could have made something great for everyone to share and appreciate, but unfortunately it is all about the $$$$$.

At this point, I'm Convinced that These Rebooted iconic Cartoons are Intentionally Made to Piss off People who Grew up on the Originals. Just like the So called Jem Reboot did. I'm sooooooo, Glad Jem Bombed at the Box office.

And In the end, Nu!Ra is just another shitty tween girl show that we saw a-plenty back in the early 2000s. What Noelle is presenting to us isn't groundbreaking in the least and let me tell you from my own experience having seen those same shitty cartoons back then. Noelle is no better than the 'toxic males' she and others often site as being out of touch with female viewers because she's pulling the same stops but just adding a lot of unneeded sexual drama to a bunch of pre-teen characters. What Nu!Ra reminds me of is an even less comprehensible and more overly dramatic Trollz, the TROLLS reboot that was so bad that the Damm family (the family of the man who created the dolls) SUED DiC entertainment and later sold the rights of Trolls to, guess who, DREAMWORKS which is why Trolls made their semi-kinda-almost faithful rebound a while back. But if you remember TROLLZ it has the same elements to Nu!Ra right down to how the rights were just thrown around and even the whole magical girl elements and trying to make the series for girls despite both, Trolls and the MotU series, being an overall series that could be picked up by anyone, regardless of their gender. As a result, both failed because they were being handled by people who didn't understand the universal appeal to the series and tried too hard to look like they were doing something. With Trollz, the promise of girl-power sort of series was bogged down by the fact that our main heroines were all stereotype girl characters anyway even with their massives responsibilities. One of the biggest parts of the series was that only female trolls could use magic at all after a power split between the trolls and ogres, with the trolls defeating the ogres but then coming up with this confusing reason why only females could use magic. And even then, they couldn't balance how magic and technology existed because Trollz took place in what was supposed to be modern day 2000s but we're made to believe that magic exists yet it does so along the same modern conveniences that people had but somehow those things were POWERED by magic yet even male trolls could use some of them which sort of negates the reason to even use magic at all given the main five were the only ones who seemed to even use it outside of pulling pranks and using it for makeup. The show was that shitty and it was written by a bunch of out of touch guys who just assumed this was the only thing that girls would like rather than just making something, I don't know, enjoyable? Nu!Ra is suffering from the same problem but in this case, the show isn't being lead by some out of touch old guys but an out of touch old woman (I know age is a stretch with Noelle but it's the same sentiment) but rather going in with the misguided intentions the Trollz guys had, Noelle and her crew have loudly made it clear that this is what they want and that people have to accept it for how it is and accept them as well by obligation. The way Trollz was handled can come off as DiC and Hasbro being massively clueless and trying too hard to mix tech with Harry Potter but Noelle is just spiteful. She is using a show she had no hand in and never liked to begin with to flag around her inner unclaimed fantasies of her past, giving off a somewhat creepy look into a stunted, bitter person who wants to take everything she can from other people and wave it around gleefully when they can't reclaim it. Noelle already has success with Lumberjanes but it's one of those things where it's 50/50 in people sort of know it but then there are people who are like 'Wut?' about it. It's a niche comic that satisfies a certain demographic and when I did use to watch her when I began using Twitter, she was nice enough but the more and more she complained about OTHER people not giving her what she wanted, the more uncomfortable I got until I just unfollowed her. And as I watch Nu!Ra, those feelings of hers are just leaking out of my computer and onto the floor in a big, sticky, nasty mess. What we have been watching isn't She-Ra but rather an idea that Noelle and her friends shared among themselves and with the way it is going on, we can see for ourselves that it was a very weak premises that would have gotten no one but the small Tumblr crowd everyone jokes about. The problem with the OG She-Ra vs Noelle's version is just this; filmation made a series that anyone could fall into and I know it might sound weird but this is what I mean. With the OG She-Ra, the way it was written, designed, and overall played out was simple enough for anyone of any demo to get around. It didn't matter that She-Ra was an adult, White, and fit but what could get girls and boys into her were her ACTIONS and HEROISM. The outer image of She-Ra that we see is but a part of her and even if you see her looks as goofy for their time, kids loved her for being powerful and that goes ditto for her teammates and He-Man as well. Yes, their looks were good but it was like an added bonus. There was a full package given to you and if you didn't like one thing, there was at least something else you could find and adore. With Nu!Ra, all of that has been stripped away and replaced for the excuses of 'safe'. Let's ignore that She-Ra herself is a kid. If she had been given a somewhat similar ATTITUDE to Adora from the OG show, I would have been fine because she still would have been a HERO. She still would have held onto that heroic sense that makes her worth looking up to in the world her story belongs to but we don't get that. Adora isn't even a coming-of-age type of person as she is always clumsy, always antsy, always unsure and she never learns. She never grows as a character and that's the problem with EVERYONE. Everyone in this series is a broken, horrible person but unlike a GOOD series they don't have character growth where they are shown to develop from these kinks of theirs to become the heroes they are meant to be. Instead, all the aspects that would make them terrible people to be around are meant to be seen as their POSITIVE traits. We're supposed to love Glimmer because she is argumentative and dismissive, we're supposed to love Bow because he is useless and only comes in handy when the time calls for it. We're supposed to love all these horrible characters for their 'quirks' and why? Because these characters ARE Noelle and her friends. It's why they act so pained and hurt when you call out these characters because they ARE these characters and takes these comments as personal attacks on them. And the reason they don't grow is because they believe themselves to be fine just the way they are and it's everyone else who is at fault. This is the type of people they are and these are the types of stories they write. Nu!Ra is yet another example of why you shouldn't hand series off to armchair activist who have no idea how animation works or basic storytelling at that. The reason reboots and movies that have been done in this fashion don't work is because these people are not telling stories, they are making the audience listen about how they wish their lives could be. It's bragging and no one likes a braggart.

The reboot is a joke and an insult to the original She-Ra, its voice actors, and its creators. It could have been good, but Noelle and her friends/team ruined it. This series couldn’t have come to an end fast enough.

#She-Ra #80's cartoons myths debunked

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