#in the tags of the original post i say “more women should be arrogant”

[avicecaro]

constant use of negative language to describe yourself — making an identity out of your unhealthy habits or unhappiness, calling yourself ugly or stupid (especially as a "joke"), giving a voice to the negative thoughts that claim no one likes you (which makes those who do like you feel hurt or unappreciated), constant casual remarks about suicide or self harm that we know just instill the thought deeper in your mind — these aren’t required responses to anxiety, depression, insecurity, etc. your friends do care about you and should. when you need help, your support system should offer it just as you support them.

but a constant stream of self-deprecation, on top of being flat out uncomfortable to be around, creates a cycle of degradation —> validation —> degradation. every time you look in a mirror or a photo and you say out loud "god i’m so ugly. i’m disgusting. i hate myself." you see happy couples and you have to remark "no one would ever love me like that, lol." you’re waiting for someone to disagree. and they do. the people you love tell you that these things you say about yourself are untrue and unfair. and tomorrow you say them again, and pause in wait for their reply (though you quibble with that as well). but this is an exhausting cycle — for everyone involved. part of eliminating these thoughts from your mind is to stop giving them a voice, and to stop relying on them as a way to receive affection and affirmation and identity. it will drive people away, and you will tell yourself that it’s proof you were right all along. it’s not.

insecurity is boring. self deprecating jokes are annoying. saying nobody likes you is driving away people who like you. no one has the patience to perform nonstop emotional labor and they should not be expected to. choose to be less cringe <3

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Whisky Secrets (sequel)

Here's something different. Before I ever thought about posting fanfic here, I used to write things inspired by fanfic I found by some of the incredible writers I found on tumblr. I've never posted any of them but I've really felt like writing something for Aleister Black/ Tommy End lately.

So I reached out to one of my original favourites on this site, @ghostofviperwrites and asked her if she'd mind if I published this sequel I wrote to her story Whisky Secrets. She gave me the ok (for which I thank her very much).

You absolutely have to read her piece first or this won't make any sense. It picks up literally at the point where hers leaves off and the entire premise is based on what she wrote. I think this goes in a very different direction than what she had in mind, though.

Since this is an old story, some of the characters are very different than they are now. It was set at around the time I wrote it. Based on events in the story, it's pretty clear when that was.

It's a bit dated but I hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Aleister Black x OFC (hints of Roman Reigns x OFC)

Word count: 7,031

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, incidental roughness that some might find stressful

You rested on the sofa for too long, knowing that you had to get to work, that you were already behind on an assignment that was due that afternoon. As much as you desperately wanted to cling to the scent and the feeling of him being there with you and the idea that he might someday want to be there with you for longer, you knew that you were only wasting time by indulging in a fantasy. Once again, you reminded yourself, he saw you as a friend, a landing pad after he was finished his adventures. And so you dragged yourself to the computer and tried to focus.

It was a fluff piece you’d been hired to write: places for new residents of Orlando to meet people. You’d accepted it because the pay was good and it had seemed easy. But what the hell did you know about meeting people? You’d barely met anyone and the only ones that you’d call friends were the ones you met when you’d done an in-depth profile on the WWE and their development territory NXT. Of those, only Aleister had remained close and even then, you couldn’t say that the two of you had ever properly opened up to each other. Nevertheless, you’d stayed in touch with a number of them, occasionally meeting for coffee or drinks. None of this was in any way useful when it came to recommending locations to connect with strangers.

You’d tried to start the article the day before but now when you opened the file, you discovered that you’d only come up with a half a dozen corny titles and one word of text:

When?

The word was too painfully appropriate.

When were you going to run out of luck and be unable to find further work as a journalist?

When were you going to admit that what kept you here, rather than moving to another state and pursuing more secure work, was the fact that you were in love with a man who was only interested in your capacity as a friend and caregiver?

When was your hopeless love going to break you beyond repair?

Annoyed with yourself, you deleted the word and tried to start again. You could meet people at the gym classes that were ubiquitous in this city. You could meet people at get-togethers for shared hobbies like hiking or pottery or basically anything. No one had to meet people by getting thrown into their orbit and being unable to extricate themselves.

About half an hour into your resentful hammering on the keyboard, you were startled by your doorbell. For one sweet instant, you imagined that it was Aleister dropping by to pass some time with you. Then you realized that he never came to you without an invitation unless it was dead drunk in the middle of the night. Even when you invited him, it was only every fourth or fifth time that you asked that he agreed to come over and watch a movie or go for a walk in the nearby park. There was no way it was him at your door at eleven o’clock in the morning.

In fact, the person at your door was Bayley, chipper and warm as always, returning the spare laptop you’d lent her a few weeks before.

“Thank you so much,” she beamed, thrusting the computer into your hands. “You are a lifesaver. I’d have lost my goddamn mind if I hadn’t had this while mine was in the shop.”

“It was nothing,” you insist, smiling at her unconstrained warmth even though you didn’t feel very positive about your life at that moment. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

She nodded cheerily and stepped across the foyer. You never really knew how you fit in with the women of WWE, even though you’d spoken to many of them in depth. Bayley stood out because she was determined to be your friend despite your introvert’s reluctance. And, indeed, she was irresistible. Much like her in-ring character, she cast sunshine wherever she went and her glow was contagious, even in your darkest and lowest moments.

You motioned her into the kitchen, offering her a choice of lemonade, iced tea or water. Her eyes immediately fell on the empty whiskey bottle you’d left on the counter, her expression growing more serious as she focused on it.

“Getting started early?” she cajoled.

“A friend left that here,” you replied guiltily.

She narrowed her dark eyes as she looked at you. Sweet and optimistic as she was, Bayley was not naïve. She knew exactly what friend had left the bottle behind and she knew how you felt about him.

“I’ll have a glass of lemonade,” she said, the smile slowly returning to her face.

You joined her and the two of you jokingly touched glasses before drinking.

“So, a few of us are getting together tonight,” she said hesitantly. “I thought you might like to join us.”

Your first instinct was to ask if Aleister would be there, but you thought better of it. Instead, you responded, “Well, I have an article I need to finish.”

Of course, your article was due by the end of the afternoon, which meant that your evening was free regardless, but part of you wanted to be at home in case Aleister came staggering over again.

Bayley’s jaw set in a determined expression you’d only seen from her in the ring. “We’re having a party for Roman, to celebrate him going into remission.”

Well now you felt like a bit of a bitch for making excuses and didn’t know what to say.

“It won’t just be wrestlers there. Some other journalists are even coming. And I know that it would mean a lot to him if you were there.”

When you’d done your article on the WWE, you’d interviewed Roman Reigns and he’d been incredibly generous with his time. He’d even contacted you after your interviews to confirm that you had all the detail you needed. He was the face of the company and had done everything possible to make sure that the company had provided what you required. He’d clearly wanted to make sure they’d left a good impression and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his PR skills. Although you knew it wasn’t true that it “would mean a lot to him”, you were touched by the idea that he remembered you and might like you to be there to celebrate his great news. At the same time… you needed to be there for Aleister.

“Look,” Bayley insisted, “I’m going to text you the details for the bar where we’ll be. It’s not a big deal, just a bunch of us getting together to be happy for our friend.”

There was no way that you could refuse that, so you shyly thanked her as she gulped the rest of her lemonade and made for the door.

“I’m serious,” she said as she departed. “You work so damn hard you deserve a night off. Finish what you’re doing and come have fun with us.”

As soon as she’d left, you once again sat down at your computer. Before you could return your attention to your work, however, you couldn’t resist checking Instagram.

Someone had tagged Aleister in a photo on Instagram.

Yes, you were that pathetic that you always checked.

With trepidation, you clicked the link to look at what was there. As it too often did, the notification came from an airbrushed-looking woman, her collagen-enhanced lips pressed against his. She looked arrogant and proud, while he looked smug and inebriated.

“Guess who I got to hang with last night?” the caption gloated.

You knew damn well what “hang” was a euphemism for. He never cared that the Barbie dolls he hooked up with advertised their conquest on social media. He was single and hot. Why should he care if people knew that he always scored with the sort of women other men lusted after? Why should he care that it ripped your heart to shreds every time you saw him with another woman so unlike you in every way?

The woman had posted a few other photos of the two of them together, embracing. Every part of her magazine-ready body was on display, save those parts that would have gotten her in trouble. Her artificially perfect breasts were spilling out of a tiny tube top while her endless legs were shown in their full glory between the edge of a skirt that likely required her to trim her pubic hair and the sky high heels that raised her enough to press her lips to his without having to stretch herself awkwardly. She was nothing like you, with your unkempt hair and loose, bohemian dresses, your comfortable ballet flats and blandly natural face. She had all the glamour that you lacked and he ate it up.

The images of the two of them cut into you like a laser and, for once, all you desired was to break free from the pain of feeling. A few minutes later, when Bayley sent the text she’d promised with the details of where you could find the party tonight, you immediately responded.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

To hell with Aleister and the designer women he adored, you told yourself as you returned to your article with a vengeance. Tonight you were going to do whatever it took to break the spell he had cast over you.

*

It was just after nine when you found yourself teetering to the entrance of the bar where the party was taking place. It was marked only by a subtle sign, no words, just a stylized anchor, and it was hidden away on a tiny street that was hardly more than an alley. In your fit of pique, you’d finished your article two hours before your deadline and then, having examined the options in your closet and found them wanting, headed out and spent entirely too much money on a new dress that clung perfectly to your breasts before flaring out to highlight the movements of your body, while covering just the bare minimum to maintain decency. You’d also picked up a stylish pair of ankle boots with heels higher than you were used to and that posed a legitimate threat as you made your way down the roughly paved road to the speakeasy-style bar.

A little further down the alley, you see a couple leaning against a car, taking turns swigging from a liquor bottle. The woman is one of those glamorous animals that makes you so insecure, laughing in drunken delight in a way that only confident people can. In one quick movement the man spins her around and bends her over the hood of the car. He immediately takes out his cock, stroking it a couple of times before he thrusts into her, one hand on her back while the other holds the bottle that he continues drinking from. And it’s a moment before you realize that it’s Aleister, fucking away at a woman whose name he won’t remember in a few hours.

The sight makes you want to curl up and die, makes you want to say that you’ve made a mistake and run along home so you can bawl your eyes out while you wait for his inevitable drunken arrival. But, if nothing else, the damage that you’ve done to your credit card in order to make yourself look just a bit more sexy and edgy than usual, as well as the glasses of wine you had already consumed to fortify your courage, push you forward. This is a test. In order to pass, you need to be able to ignore the man whose indifference is killing you and enter the world of others, where someone who wasn’t up to the standards of the rarified model girls might be willing to give you a second look.

Aleister doesn’t even glance up as you enter the bar a few feet away from him, can’t feel the dark weight of your eyes on him or the force with which you tear them away as you step through the door.

As soon as you do, you are once again frozen with the idea that you’ve made a mistake. When Bayley characterized this as a “get-together”, you’d assumed it meant a group of people spread out around a few tables chatting away and toasting Roman’s health. Instead, what greets you is a basement club full of people with a dance floor alive with writhing bodies. You recognize a few journalists but for the most part, the space is taken up with every WWE and NXT star you’ve ever heard of. It’s a convention of beautiful people and you can’t help but feel dowdy even in your overpriced finery.

You slowly descend the stairs, fully intending to look around, say hello to a few familiar faces and then bolt for the exit, but you’re immediately greeted by a familiar voice that fairly shrieks. “Oh my god woman, just look at you!”

It’s Sasha Banks, standing at the edge of the stairs with Bayley, who gives you an exaggerated round of applause.

“Miranda, you look amazing,” Sasha continues breathlessly. “Seriously, you’re putting everyone to shame.”

You don’t feel like you’re putting anyone to shame, least of all Sasha in her body suit that hugs every curve of her perfect little hourglass, but you blush at the compliment.

“Come on,” Bayley gushes, “we need shots to celebrate your hotness!”

She pulls both of you through the crowd to the bar and somehow is able to get the bartender’s attention almost immediately, ordering two rounds of tequila shots because, she tells you and Sasha, there’s no point in getting just one round when you know you’re going back for seconds. The three of you toast and toss down the shots and then immediately do so again and you have to admit that you’re feeling the warm glow already. Sasha, apparently feeling something herself, wraps her arms around you and once again reassures you that you are devastatingly beautiful.

Another shot is thrust into your hand, this time by Dash Wilder, who’s arrived with his Revival partner Scott Dawson. Wilder has always been attractive to you, so you give him as radiant a smile as you can manage and you swear he blushes a little just before he downs his shot. Dawson is hugging Sasha and Bayley close to him, allowing Dash to edge a little closer to you and you’re feeling a little high on yourself when another voice cuts through your circle.

“Miranda? Holy fuck I can’t believe you’re here!”

Roman Reigns pushes right through the bodies close to the bar and grabs you firmly by the shoulders, his eyes gradually focusing on yours. He’s grinning with an intensity that clearly comes from his being a little past feeling no pain but it doesn’t hamper the thrill it gives you when he wraps his arms around you and nearly crushes you in a hug.

“I mean, shit, I don’t think I’ve even talked to you since you did that interview,” he pouts. “Thank you so much for coming.”

You smile as another shot is pushed into your hand, biting your lip self-consciously. You down about half the shot before Roman grabs it from you and finishes it, breaking up with laughter. He signals the bartender for another round, keeping an arm around your back until the tray of shots arrives. You’re all toasting each other and you wonder why you ever questioned yourself for coming here because this is exactly what you needed.

“Come dance with me,” Roman chuckles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the dance floor. He’s clearly floating on a sea of drunken bliss, goofing around and happy to have someone to have fun with, someone he didn’t expect to be there. Even if you wanted to resist his offer, you couldn’t because, while he isn’t doing anything that might hurt you, his grip is strong enough and the rest of him powerful enough to compel you forward.

The two of you deliberately dance like complete nerds in high school, awkward movements and ironic posturing until you’re both laughing so hard you can barely stand. It’s then that you realize that you’ve become the focus of some attention; Roman goddamn Reigns, the face of the company, the locker room leader, the man who everyone has come to celebrate, is dancing with you. Most of the people here have no idea who you are but because you’re with Roman, you are somebody. Basking in the subtle attention and envy, you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the music, swaying to the beat until you feel a large pair of hands on your hips.

You open your eyes to see Roman pulling you closer to him with a devilish grin before spinning you around and pulling your back against his massive chest. You continue to move but at a slower pace, your movements limited by how close he’s holding you and the sensual way in which his body moves against yours. Keeping one arm loosely around you, he lets his other hand fall against your thigh, lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It makes you gasp.

“You never responded to any of my texts,” he murmurs gruffly in your ear.

You remember at least half a dozen messages asking if he could clarify anything or if you needed any additional material for your article. You hadn’t needed anything else but you suddenly feel terribly rude for not answering.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “you were very professional and I should have at least told you that I had what I needed.”

His voice drops even lower as he speaks. “I didn’t mean to be professional about them. And I was hoping that you didn’t have everything you needed.”

He pulls you up and firmly against him and for the first time you can feel his hardening cock through his pants. You can’t help but thrust your hips into him, barely able to process what’s happening to you. The two of you are still ostensibly dancing, although it’s more like a rhythmic grinding to the music as he reaches down and pulls the hem of your dress up, rubbing your thigh and then your ass as he presses his lips into your neck. His hands are everywhere on you and you’re aware that your entire lower body is basically on display for anyone who cares to look but you don’t care because it feels like you’ve won the lottery. You moan at the feeling of his growing excitement against your flesh, both his large hands grazing up the front of your thighs and for a moment you think that you’re ready to beg him to take you right there when you’re violently spun away from your dance partner, a bruising grip on your arm.

It’s Aleister, eyes incandescent with rage as he tells Roman, “I need to speak to her for a minute.”

Roman looks confused and tries to speak to you but Aleister drags you away and a gaggle of women immediately descend on Roman, desperate to take your place.

Aleister flings you against the wall, glaring at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen outside the ring.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

“I was dancing before you interfered,” you snap back at him, rubbing your arm.

“Dancing?” he repeats with derision. “That’s what you call that?”

“I was having fun.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

For the first time since you saw him with his woman of choice outside, you feel ridiculous, like a girl trying to look glamorous by donning her mother’s clothes.

“I wanted something a little different.”

“A little?” he hisses back. “Do you realize what you look like? You’re all tarted up and letting some guy grab at you and get you half naked in front of a bar full of people.”

“What I look like?”

“Everyone could see practically your whole goddamned body. They could see what you were letting him do to you.”

“You mean to say I look like a whore.”

Aleister crosses his arms and glances away, refusing to confirm what you’ve said.

“So what, Aleister? So what if I’m letting a man touch me and show me that he wants me? Who cares who else sees? Maybe that’s what I want!”

“Are you so stupid that you think he wants you for anything other than a one night stand?”

The accusation stabs at your heart and your confidence but you’re determined not to let him see that.

“Again, so what? Maybe I’m happy to have this big, gorgeous man want me. Maybe I’m fine bringing him back to my place for a few hours of fun because at least it means someone is thinking of me as a sexual being for a change.” You pause, knowing the danger of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself. “Maybe I’d be fine if he just took me outside and fucked me over the hood of a car.”

For a second, you think that Aleister is going to strangle you. The look on his face is like the moment before the sky erupts in thunder and lightning. Truthfully, you expect that he’ll turn on his heel and walk away from you and never come back, and perhaps that’s what you need him to do so that you can get over him.

Instead, he grabs you, pinning you to the side of his body and pulling you towards the door. His movements make you stumble, and the more you try to resist him, the more ungainly you look.

“She’s dead drunk,” you hear him assure a few people, “I’m going to make sure she gets home.”

And while it’s true that you are drunk, you’re not nearly as drunk as he’s making you out to be. The second he has you outside, you try to twist away from him and go back, only for him to wind you closer, pulling you off balance so that you look even more inebriated.

You hear him whisper to Seth Rollins, who’s observing the spectacle through the corner of his eyes. “Look, tell Roman that she’s falling down drunk and I just had to get her home. No disrespect meant.”

Seth has a confused expression on his face but nods and tells him, “Sure thing.”

Realizing what Aleister is doing, you once again try to rush past him, but he blocks you, gripping your arm and pulling you after him so that you really do appear pathetically unable to take care of yourself.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” you shout at him, figuring that there’s no reason to worry about who might hear you, there being no further you can sink in their estimation. “Why can’t you just let me enjoy myself?”

“Jesus, Miranda, you’re loaded. You can barely stand up.” He emphasizes this by jerking your arm forward, which almost causes you to keel over onto your face. “You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“No,” you insist, pulling yourself to a halt. “I knew what I was doing. I knew what I wanted. Sure I’m a bit tipsy but-“

“You don’t want that,” Alesiter snaps, threading his arm through yours and continuing down the street. “You don’t just want to whore yourself out for a night because you think it might help your self-esteem.”

“You don’t get to decide what I want, Aleister.” You’re crushed against his side and he’s moving so quickly that your feet only graze the ground every third or fourth step. “Let me go. I’m sick of playing the surrogate mother for someone who’s incapable of seeing me as a real woman. I want to go back there. I want to have someone make a show of wanting me. I want to get fucked so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Aleister shakes his head like a parent frustrated with a misbehaving child. “Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“So let me be ridiculous!” you yell back, trying unsuccessfully to extricate yourself from his grip. “What the hell is it to you? Are you worried that for once I’m not going to be there when you need a place to collapse at four in the morning?”

The two of you reach the corner where the alley meets the street and he swings you to face him, glowering at you with a terrifying expression, gripping your biceps so hard you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. He says nothing but stares at you until he whips his arm out and hails a taxi seemingly out of nowhere.

He launches you, there’s no other word for it, into the back seat of the car and snarls your address to the driver as your tears start to fall. The cabbie is noticeably uncomfortable with your quiet whimpering and seems confused by the fact that Aleister does nothing to comfort or engage you. He sits with his arms folded, scowling, until you arrive at your building. Reflexively, you reach for your purse only to have Aleister swat your hand away and pay the driver himself. You try to keep pace as he yanks you towards the door, but stumble because of your unsure footing in these strange heels and because your vision is glazed by the tears you’re fighting to hold in.

When Aleister pins you against the door and rummages through your purse to find your keys, it somehow feels more invasive than Roman gripping your ass for an entire bar full of people to see. You feel, for a moment, that he is looking at you with tenderness. But when the door opens, he simply guides you through it. As you hear it click shut, the last of your strength, physical and emotional, gives out and you drop to your knees, finally allowing the tears to fall. It’s a full-on ugly cry, punctuated by guttural, anguished sounds you’d never allow anyone else to hear. Despite everything, you desperately want to hear the door open again behind you and to hear him say that he’s realized he loves you.

But no, in the end, he’s just found it gross that the woman he sees as his caregiver might have another side. He found you pathetic in your overpriced dress and shoes. He knew that you were desperately trying to act like something you could never be: like someone who could compete with the perfected Instagram beauties he fucks every night. You could never be that. He knew that you were just a sad little woman decked out in a gaudy outfit. You’d never be that sexy, desirable person who stopped men dead in their tracks, no matter what your dance with Roman had temporarily led you to believe.

You’re on your knees for what seems like hours, choking on tears and snot and trying to restrain yourself from howling. Just as the sound overpowers you and a low wail escapes your lips, you’re startled by a pair of arms, familiar, tattooed arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

“Shh. There’s no need for any of that,” he grunts into your hair.

And while you’re shocked and thrilled that he actually stayed behind to make sure that you were ok, it’s also even more humiliating that he’s seen you fall apart so spectacularly. Your body feels limp with defeat and unable to react at all as he gathers you up and carries you into your bedroom, setting you gently on the edge of the bed. He rests his hand on yours for a moment and you’re able to stem the flow of tears until he stands up and heads back towards the door. This time, you’re determined to hold in the worst of your misery until you’re sure he’s gone, even though you can’t stop the tears from running down your face.

But after a few minutes of straining to hear the door close, you see Aleister return, a damp washcloth in hand, and he sits once again beside you on the edge of the bed. He presses the cloth, cool and soothing, against your cheeks and then holds your chin as he delicately wipes it across your face. It takes you some minutes to realize that he’s removing your smeared makeup, cleaning you off so that you look good as new, so that you look more like the plain girl who lets him into her home in the middle of the night, his touch filled with a tenderness that you never imagined him capable of. When he’s satisfied with his work, he tosses the cloth aside and wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against him. The sweetness of his friendly gesture makes you want to cry all over again but you choke it back, knowing that you’ll have plenty of time for that when he’s gone.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he whispers, the sound of his voice making you feel weak.

You nod and roughly pull back from him, unsure of your ability to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him and begging him to wreck you. You fumble with the zipper of your boots until Aleister slides off the bed and onto his knees and removes it for you. He glides his hand along your calf, up to your thigh and then moves to your other boot. As he slides it off, he presses his head against the side of your knee, giving the skin a light kiss before rocking back on his haunches. You know he’s being gentle with you because he feels sorry for you. He finds you pitiful, which is even worse than finding you asexual.

The feelings are too much for you to take and all you can think of is that you want to get into bed where you’ll be safe and where you can sleep off the nightmare your evening out has become. You clumsily shed your dress, stockings, bra and panties without thinking much of the fact that you have an audience. Why should it bother him seeing you naked, after all? Normally, you put on some nightclothes but you don’t even have the strength to bother. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Aleister has turned his head towards the door. He’s embarrassed for you, the way you would be if a parent or sibling was undressing around you.

You crawl under the covers with a grumbled “good night” and immediately start to feel yourself drift off. You’re jolted back to wakefulness when Aleister climbs in beside you. In all the time you’ve known him, as many nights as he’s come and collapsed on your sofa, you don’t think he’s ever seen your bedroom. Now, having seen it, he’s apparently happy not to leave it, indulging in the comfort of your bed without even asking permission. It makes you a little self-conscious that you’re nude but it’s hardly the most humiliating thing to happen to you tonight, so you let yourself ignore it. If you can just fall asleep, this night will be over and you can begin the process of trying to forget it.

It’s only a matter of seconds, though, until you feel his body pressed against yours from behind, one hand coming to rest flat on your stomach and pushing you back against him so that you are acutely aware that you are not the only person naked in the bed. The hand on your stomach flutters downward until his fingers are moving lightly over your pussy, like he’s plucking the strings of a harp. His other arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you flush against him, close enough that you can’t mistake the feeling of his erection against your back.

He presses his lips and tongue against your neck, making you whimper as you try to keep your heart rate stable. Your little noises seem to motivate him further, his touch becoming more insistent and one of his legs snaking over yours, pulling it back to give his hand greater access.

“Such a little fool,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking insistently along your fleshy folds. “Thinking I don’t see you as a sexual being.”

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, making you cry out- more from the shock than the pain. His mouth continues to move around your neck and shoulders, nipping and sucking on the skin there, his grip on you tightening until it’s nearly painful.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.

“Leaving marks,” he says matter-of-factly.

You’re at a loss for what to say, but are saved from having to answer as he pushes two fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. You’re embarrassed that he must have felt how wet you were just from being in his presence but he says nothing, quickening his pace and giving satisfied little growls when his touch elicits gasps and cries of pleasure from you.

It’s pity, you remind yourself; what he’s doing to you, he’s doing it because he feels sorry for you and because he’s drunk and horny despite his encounter earlier in the evening. But the thought gets whisked away as he brings you closer and closer to what you’ve desperately needed from him for so long. You let out a little shriek when he removes his hand, unable to believe he’s so cruel as to bring you to the precipice and then deny you. But he simply flips you onto your back before pressing his fingers inside you once more, watching your reactions to be sure he’s hitting just the right spot before burying his face between your legs. His tongue, lips and fingers work together like an orchestra. Your knuckles are white from the force of clenching on the sheets and you’re biting down so hard on your lip to muffle the sounds you’re making that you’re worried your teeth will end up permanently embedded. He unexpectedly raises his head and stills the movement of his hand inside you and the shock is almost enough to make you start crying again. You look down at him, his eyes sparkling in the low light with an expression you can’t read.

“Why won’t you let me hear you?”

Because you don’t want him to know how good his merciful little gesture is making you feel. Because you don’t want to admit to yourself that it’s better than you’d imagined. Truthfully, whenever you’ve thought about the mechanics of sex with Aleister, you imagined that it would be fast and rough and hedonistic, much like his other sexual encounters seem to be. But he’s chosen this moment to take his time, to focus on his partner, rather than go for a quick, dirty fuck in a darkened corner.

You don’t tell him any of this, instead croaking out, “I’m shy.”

He raises himself up and over your body with the effortless grace of a serpent, pressing his head close to yours and kissing along your jawline.

“What do I have to do to make you not be shy?”

“I don’t know… I just… am.” You wriggle a little under him, turning your face away when he looks directly into your eyes.

He cups your face in one hand and runs the other, still wet with your juices, over your breast, teasing the nipple and making you shudder involuntarily.

“Am I moving too fast?”

You shake your head, not quite trusting your voice.

“Is there something that you’d enjoy more? Something you want me to do for you?”

You give him another little shake of the head.

“You don’t have to be shy with me. Whatever you want, I want you to tell me so I can give it to you. Anything.”

For the first time, he kisses you on the lips, his tongue, that still tastes of you, slides against yours and the hand at the side of your face slides to hold your neck, cradling your head so that you don’t have to tense any muscles to stay in that position. Your body has nothing it needs to do but experience the sensations he’s creating. Of course, you still answer his kiss, hungrily flashing your tongue against his, reveling in the light scrape of his lip ring against your lips. His hand glides back down between your legs, and even the proximity is enough to draw a couple of little mewls of pleasure. You feel him smile a little against your lips at the noises and he pulls away from the kiss.

“Am I making you feel good?”

You nod as he starts to work his fingers around your entrance once again.

“Do you want my mouth down there again?”

You nod even more vigorously than the first time but he shakes his head.

“Tell me. Say it out loud.”

You open your mouth to do so and he immediately thrusts his long fingers into your g-spot and your clit at once, making you yelp in pleasure. It’s almost enough to make you cum on its own but he eases the pressure before you reach that peak.

“Yes?” he asks again.

“Yes, fuck, yes!”

“Then let me hear you. Please.”

He returns his attention to your core and has you making all manner of unholy noises in short order. He expertly teases you and then holds back, so many times that when he does finally take you over the edge, you feel like you might pass out from the intensity of it. Your gasps for breath sound cavernous in the quiet room.

He keeps the palm of his hand firmly against you as he leans forward and presses his lips into your neck, letting out a satisfied purr every time an aftershock rolls through your body.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve fully come down, he raises himself up on his arms, giving just the hint of a smile when you grab onto his biceps to steady yourself.

He’s so rigid that he doesn’t even need a hand to guide himself into you. He simply presses forward in one slow but sure moment, his eyes closed as if it’s a kind of religious experience, not opening them until he’s fully seated inside you. It’s been long enough since you’ve been with anyone that the feeling of being stretched draws a little whimper from your throat. He remains still, his eyes open and bearing down on you with a delirious kind of excitement, aching prick twitching inside you, desperate to proceed but waiting for a signal that he can.

And it’s at that moment that you allow yourself to think that this isn’t pity or a drunken mistake, that he’s as hungry for you as you have been for him and that what’s happened tonight has just served to connect a circuit. The fiercely possessive look in his eyes as he watches you, the fury when he thought someone else was claiming you, the need to mark you to make you his, the flush of pure lust on his face and chest… it is just a little frightening, something you suspected was in him but never that it was focused on you. But you’ve always known you could handle his darkness if he let you in. So you thrust your hips a little and wrap your legs loosely around his waist to show him that he can continue. Just as he starts to move, he cups your face and presses his mouth to your ear.

“You deserve so much better.”

“Stop trying to make those decisions for me,” you moan, feeling your insides flutter with his movements.

“I’ve never felt anything like that jealousy.” He’s staring into your eyes as he confesses. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder pressing deeper inside you and gasping at the feeling. “Knowing that everyone could see how sexy and beautiful you are… And I’m an idiot for waiting for that to happen before I did anything, I just…”

He grimaces and slows his pace a little, obviously trying to prolong the sensation.

“You mean it?” You have to ask because you still can’t quite believe that this has been on his mind for all this time when he’s shown no sign of it to you.

“God yes,” he answers through gritted teeth, once again allowing himself to move faster and more urgently.

You can’t completely banish your fears that he’s going to regret this in the morning and just shut you out again but every second with him is pushing them further away. You lace your fingers through his hair, nipping at the shell of his ear as he lets out his own stream of desperate, lusty noises, running your nails gently down his back as he approaches his crescendo.

His head drops to your chest and he cries out as he releases inside you.

“Fuck I love you, fuck I love you, fuck I love you.” He repeats it like a mantra that brings him back down from his high, saying it a final time as he looks into your eyes.

Slowly, he rolls onto his side, gathering you close to him like he thinks an errant breeze might carry you away.

“I have…” he begins quietly, “… there’s a lot that goes on in my head… Bad things, I guess. I thought you’d run away. Or that I’d pull you down with me. I still don’t know that won’t happen.”

He looks so vulnerable that it makes your heart hurt but at the same time you have to stifle a smile.

“Well I’d rather you let me try to deal with it. I’m a lot tougher than you give me credit for being.”

His expression grows a little guilty and he nods. He wraps his arms tighter around you and you do the same until the two of you are lying in your bed, wound around each other.

[alwida10]

Signs of abusive relationship that can be found in the Thor-Films

@alstee We talked about aspects of a narcistic personality disorder we can find in the Thor-films in this thread. The original thread is adjectant to a gif-set, which is why I don’t want to post there. The people who make those gifs are forced to “listen” to the discussion even if they don’t wish to be associated with the anti-Ragnarok party and I don’t want to pull someone into the discussion.

Also, this got kinda long, therefore I put it under the cut. :) 

The following text is a quote from you, @alstee, taken from said thread, because I would like to have all relevant points in one thread together.

If anyone is interested, I’ve been skimming through the book The Narcissistic Family: Diagnosis and Treatment by Stephanie Donaldson-Pressman, and it’s super interesting! It’s aimed at therapists, but it’s easy, if sad, to read as a general audience person.

I’ve heard internet anecdotes of people who had to try several therapists before they found one that could actually help them, because the first ones ended up validating/siding with the NPD parent’s perspective (big WHOOPS, continuing that gaslighting) and/or didn’t really get what kind of damage and toxic family dynamics they were actually dealing with.

Now, reading through the book, there are example cases where the patient starts seeking therapy for specific problems, not having the slightest idea that their parents did anything wrong or unusual in their parenting, until a neutral third party correctly identifies the cognitive dysfunction in what the patient is saying, and digs deeper to trace the path of that dysfunctional thinking right to the source.

Also, tell me these two following bits don’t scream MCU Loki:

(This first one explains Loki’s whole behavior in Thor 1 and Thor 2, to a T.)

(And this one is in a section about romantic relationships, but I can see this whole thing running through Loki’s subconscious in every scene where he has Thor or Frigga standing in front of him.)

(@lucianalight​ You have written excellent meta posts about this which opened my eyes in the first place – I had read about this topic years before, but not made the connection to Odin’s family; I hope you don’t mind a tag here?)

 <End of quote>

So, I am not completely done reading ‘why does he do that? - inside they mind of angry and controlling men’ by Lundy Bancroft so I raise no claim to completeness. Two short remarks at the beginning: The book describes situations in romantic relationships and is therefore not exactly pointed towards sibling relationships as we see in canon MCU between Loki and Thor. Since I believe abuse to work in many situations similarly, I am still using it to interpret the brothers’ relationship. But this is of course a point that can be discussed.

Second: the book describes situations in which a woman is abused by a man. Therefore, a “he” in the text refers to the abuser and a “she” to the abused. Loki would in this context be labeled “she”, since most signs point towards him being the abused one. The book states very clearly that abuse can happen in same-sex relationships as well and is just as bad and worthy of condemnation as abuse in hetero-relationships. The wording simply eases the reading process because you always know if the author refers to the abuser or the abused.

1.       Is Loki really abused?

I marked the points yellow which I think might be true in his case. Here some gifs why I think so:

Source of the gif and a nice meta about TDW

The gif is relevant both for “are you afraid of him” and “do you feel like the problems in your relationship are all your fault”.

Source

Also, when we see Thor and Loki for the first time in Thor 1, Loki doesn’t appear to have any friends of his own. As to the aspect of isolating him from his family:

Source

2.       Disrespect is the soil in which abuse grows.

I think we know Thor doesn’t respect Loki like he respects other people such as the Avengers and other Aesir.

Gif source.

But Thor doesn’t know of Loki’s heritage until the end of Thor 1. So where does this come from?

This whole topic is connected to the first of my introductionary remarks. Abuse in romantic relationships is so common, because there is an imbalance of power in combination with the feeling of being above the other. Due to our social conditioning, the man is mostly more powerful than the woman, and there are far more abused women than abused men. People often argue a woman could abuse a man just as well. The author meets this point that this is true on a surface level, but abuse is mostly based on entitlement. Men, who are raised in a belief of superiority, feel entitled to be catered by their wife and entitled to use force if she refuses or fails to do so.  

So, we are back at Odin again, who certainly knew about Loki’s heritage and didn’t fail to act upon this knowledge. And not only his dismissive attitude towards Loki carries over to Thor, but also to the staff, as we see in the famous “spilled wine”-scene of Thor 1. So Odin basically taught Thor that he’s better than Loki.

And based on this learned disrespect, Thor feels entitled to enforce the respective behavior in Loki.

Thor shows signs of this power over Loki very early. Loki is the only one of his group he doesn’t ask to accompany him. He just assumes it. And Loki complies. He orders Loki around on Jotunheim, but Loki doesn’t comply this time. We can’t know if Thor would have gotten back to him, because he gets banished before he has the change to. We see Thor quite often demand something from Loki in the following films without Loki obeying. It mostly gets violent after that. But since it still are superhero films we can’t count this as abusive behavior because it’s somehow ‘normal’ in this context. I don’t remember Thor using physical force to make someone else do as he wishes in the films. Interestingly, if he does so it would rather invalidate the theory of him being an abuser, since most abuser make sure only to exhibit this kind of behavior in private, because they don’t want to hurt their public reputation. So if he would threaten people more often, it would rather mean that he’s a brute than an abuser.

Since we already discussed the narcistic personality disorder I would mention that both things can appear in combination:

You might have noticed that I did refrain from using examples from Thor – Ragnarok up to this point. This is intentional. Because most points that indicate Thor would act in an abusive way are relatively rare in the first films (Thor 1, Avengers and The dark world). Thor 1 even sketched out a redemption arc from his arrogance (which is the basis of entitlement) and even though he has his flaws in TDW he isn’t giving in to most of his urges. In the boat scene he threatens to punch Loki, but he doesn’t act on his urge. This is means he does, in fact, NOT feel entitled to do so. He remembers Frigga and recalls he should not. An abuser is different from an angry man because he thinks he has the right to hurt the other one.

This tone changes in Thor - Ragnarok:

I will try to make this as conceive as possible and therefore use a list of methods abusers use in interactions (split into two parts because it was to long for one picture):  

Sulking, Refusing to talk: Thor’s behavior in the cell when Loki visits to talk.

Ridicule: He throws stones at Loki in the cell.

Source

Distorting what happened in an earlier interaction: 

Source

(Ok, this one is not sure, since we don’t know what actually happened. But he says first “I dumped her!” and then “It was mutual dumping” which fits the point that past actions get distorted.) 

Using a tone of absolute certainty and final authority: In his talk with Hela about her past.

Source

Everything is your fault: Thor demands Loki to lift his magic before Odin’s death. He implies Hela’s return is Loki’s fault. He blames Loki for the situation in the nine realms.

He changes the subject to his grievances: When he talks to Bruce about his fear being on a planet and changes to the point that Bruce has to help him fight Hela.

Part II: 

Provoking guilt/Turning your grievances around to use them against you: 

Source

Playing the victim:

Source

Threatening to leave you:

Source

But the major point will always be the physical violence. Here some quotes concerning that:

Source 

[caninescreations]

Hot Take

™ Ok this actually looks like it might run a little long so I’ll put it under a readmore? Whoops haha all my thoughts are jumbled up. It’s HP house headcanons for furries for @survivalstep​ 

Sonic: Hufflepuff OK admittedly Gryffindor!Sonic is an extremely valid, if predictable Hot Take. As far as Archie comics Sonic is concerned, it’s pretty true. However, consider instead game canon Sonic, who literally drops everything anytime a stranger needs his help [see: Black Knight, Secret Rings, Unleashed]. Gryffindor might indeed be the house of valor and honor, but Hufflepuff is the house of trust and loyalty, and I can think of no-one better than Sonic “do I need a reason to help out a friend” the Hedgehog. Except, maybe...

Knuckles: Hufflepuff He isn’t just a dedicated friend. This echidna is pretty much the end-all be-all of what Hufflepuff aspires to be. Hardworking, good-natured, honest and loyal, and most of all absolutely devoted to his causes; this guy juggles protecting the Master Emerald and constantly having to help Sonic and co. save the world [almost] without breaking a sweat. Get you a furry who can do both.

Tails: Ravenclaw Before you click away hear me out I have reasons for this; I know, I know. Ravenclaw isn’t just for “the smart ones”. You’d be right about that! Ravenclaw is for those who are driven by their thirst for knowledge and an individualistic mindset. That is to say, those who thrive in Ravenclaw do so because they use their talents and skills for self-improvement. Tails, throughout the series, has grown from just being Sonic’s tag-along sidekick into a hero in his own right [compare StH 2 to, say, Lost World], not only honing his mind like a sharp blade but boosting his confidence to the point where Tails barely feels like he needs Sonic to be “a good hero” [*coughInB4Forcescough*]. I will never forgive people who put Tails in the right house for the wrong reasons.

Shadow: Gryffindor Y’all didn’t think I would, did you? You looked at this poor boy and thought, “wow, how dark and brooding! Surely this Clearly Evil Goth Boy belongs right in the snake house!” You’d be dead wrong. Slytherin is the house of ambition and cunning- both attributes which can apply to Shadow, but do not mark his interactions with the world. Shadow doesn’t do things for the sake of reputation or status- he does them because of his own motivations that have to do with attachments to other characters [however skewed those motivations might be, depending on where you are in his character arc]. Shadow does things out of a sense of duty, and a need to protect the world and the friends that have been so dear to him. One might even say he performs for the sake of.... honor. [At least that’s what I hope given that he’s SOMEHOW letting himself be employed by the institution that deemed his creation a dangerous liability and slaughtered a dwarf-planet’s worth of scientists out of this perceived threat. More salt on that in a separate post, maybe lol] More than that, the flaws of this house should not be ignored; self-righteousness [wanting to blow up the planet for being Cursed ™ ] and arrogance [”you’re not even good enough to be my fake!”] can be found in equal measure in Shadow’s character, and tempering these with his desire to protect the world [for the sake of his sister, then for his friends and eventually even himself[!!!!]] really solidify this house for him above all others. Although I was tempted to put him in Hufflepuff, too. Generally, people shove characters into Gryffindor when they’re either heros or brash and impulsive fighters, but one of the core aspects of this house is the concept of chivalry [the original version having to do with like. knighthood and devotion to a certain person/code and stuff, not the modern kind that has to do with justice and being Decent to women, although those should go without saying].

Amy: Gryffindor With all the groundwork explaining the tenants of Gryffindor in the characters I didn’t put in that house, it’s time to look at the other one I actually did! Amy Rose, tracker extraordinaire and hammer enthusiast, belongs in here because of her exceptionally strong moral compass [an excellent foil to shadow, who spends an entire game about him learning how to rebuild his own identity and stand free of toxic outside influences] and her steadfast beliefs. In a way, I’d call her the truly quintessential Gryffindor, fitting not just the stereotypical “reckless adventurer” cookie-cutter mold but also the [dare I say] firey compassion that can come with dedication to justice.  Amy is worth more than just her crush on Sonic. She lives full, and loves hard, and refuses to take no for an answer, and it’s this zest for excitement that drives her to self-improvement. I know her characterization has been a bit, er, shaky... [I’m looking at you, Lost World \:] but underneath the weird obsession that the writers keep attached to her like a malignant growth is someone who’s core aspect is simply wanting to help in any way she can. 

Maria: Slytherin Now don’t get me wrong, I know the games and the comics don’t give us much of a personality to work with, but have some of my tea anyways. Maria Robotnik has spent essentially her whole life in quarantine thanks to the ill-defined illness that got slapped onto her for woobification status. This, in addition to the fact that her only two friends were a boy several years younger than her [which in 12-year-old time, makes him a Baby] and her grandfather’s genetic experiment who happens to look like a cute waddling hedgehog, is a good recipe for someone who wants more from life.  This isn’t to say that this trait is specific to her, specifically. Everyone wants something more. But she, like her grandfather and her cousin before her, is a Robotnik, with all that entails. What exactly that entails is a staunch disregard for rules and conventional means of thought. One of those makes a great trait for a Ravenclaw, but you don’t see that house listed by her name, now do you? Nope. Where Ivo saw the world and demanded accolades for his brilliance, and where Gerald saw opportunity to heal an disregarded national law in order to achieve it, Maria sees the obstacles in front of her [the “rules” to which her world and her body abide, one might say] and refuses to accept them. Most of my theorizing is, I will admit, baseless conjecture, but what isn’t is her death. Her home is being invaded by forces she believes to be on her side; she sees them rounding up scientists and experiments in equal measure, executing both with little division between the two. She does what any child can only do in such circumstances- she runs. And she takes what is important to her. A Hufflepuff might try to appeal to the soldier’s better natures. A Gryffindor would step in and oppose them directly. A Ravenclaw surely would try to discover the cause of these events, in the hope that it might provide a solution. But a tried-and-true Slytherin is not only ambitious, but cunning and loyal as well. In a hopeless situation, where the world is crumbling around your ears and there is no hope, a Slytherin finds a way to preserve what is dearest to them. Maria takes Shadow. She puts him into the escape pod before herself because she understands that her goals, her dreams, are unachievable under her own power- that seeing the world again would mean nothing without her beloved friend by her side- and chooses to protect him even on the pain of death. 

A Slytherin is not just ambitious. They are clever, resourceful, determined, and fraternal in nature. Selfish, yes, but that in and of itself is not a bad thing. Slytherins care for themselves because it is smart. They care for others because loyalty is the foundation of a strong community, and it is only in a community that individuals can truly thrive. 

Anyways JK Rowling gives the whole house a bad rap just for an easily-definable “evil” box that she can pull characters out of willy-nilly but I’m super salty abt that lmao

[michellerps]

INTIMATE//Lex/Max, Lex/Selena, Lex/Dottie, Lex/Ben, Lex/Jackson, Lex/Noah, Lex/Billy

Sharing clothes/jewelry/personal items - Lexi & Max 

It was probably silly, but Lexi felt a little off when she was in a ring without Max and Cory. Her wrestling journey had began with them all those years ago, and it continued with them at her side. Being in their corner was where she felt most comfortable, so having to wrestle solo felt so unsettling. But that had to be the case that night. Max and Cory were there, as well as Billy from their group, but while Billy was in singles action, the boys had a tag match, and Lexi had a womens match of her own. With everyone busy, it meant they were all going out by themselves. It wasn’t that Lexi wasn’t capable of performing on her own, because she was. She just preferred having the Turners with her. Maybe one more than the other… 

Her match was third of the night, and as the first match began, Lexi was moving around the locker room making sure she was ready to go. It was as she looked at herself in the mirror, making sure her gear was all done up right and that her boots were tight enough and she hadn’t missed a piece of hair when she had curled it earlier, that she realized she didn’t have any Elite representation on her gear anywhere. Her gear was mostly solid colors, black and dark purples. The only words on it at all being her in-ring surname, ‘Fox’ written across the back of her shorts. The story that night was for her to tone down the heelish part of her character, tricking Selena into thinking she was sweeter than she was so she could attack her post-match. But Lexi didn’t want that to come completely out of nowhere. She didn’t want to completely erase her connection to The Elite, or have people question her alliance to the group throughout her entrance and match. Sitting on the bench near the mirror was Max’ black vest, adorned with various stitches and symbols, the most important one being the team’s ‘The Elite’ symbol right on the front. It very clearly belonged to one of the Turners, anyone could tell just by looking at it. Lexi picked it up and pulled it on, tugging at the bottom of it and checking herself out in the mirror. It looked good on her, if she did say so herself. Felt nice, too. 

“It’s a little big, but still cute, right?” she mused out loud, glancing past her reflection’s shoulder at Max who was behind her in the room. “I want to get one of these made for me now. I don’t have enough Elite gear.” She had plenty of Elite shirts and Turner shirts that she wore, but no proper wrestling gear. “For now, maybe I’ll just have to steal yours…” She raised her eyebrows, now turning her body to face him. “Is that okay?”

Max’s response was to stick his tongue out at her, for the thieving comment presumably, prompting Lexi to do the same in return. “Is that a no?” she asked.

“Lex,“ he said. “I’d give you the shirt off my back.”

A smile lit up her face as she leapt across the room over to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Max. I don’t want your shirt though. Just the vest.” She laughed, removing herself from him. “I just want to represent you guys, you know? Plus…” She shrugged. “It’ll be like having a part of you with me out there.”

Wanting to have a few minutes to talk to Selena before their match, she stepped away from Max and headed for the door. “I’ll keep it safe and return it to you before your match. Don’t worry.” She blew him a kiss over her shoulder before disappearing into the hall.

Comforting - Lexi & Selena 

The bell rang, signaling Lexi’s defeat, and as Selena stood and had her arm raised in victory, Lexi slowly sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. Embarrassment and sadness was clear when she showed glimpses of her face, but she tried to keep it hidden, ducking her head and letting her hair fall into her face. She looked innocent, and upset. Weak. And that was exactly what she was going for. During the entire match, she had played up a babyface role. Despite dawning Max’ own vest with a ‘The Elite’ symbol clear as day on it during her entrance, clearly still aligned with those boys who were in fact at the show that night and very much up to their usual heelish antics, Lexi herself was all smiles and waving to fans. She toned down her arrogant taunts and showoff-y behaviors, didn’t once try to grab the ropes as leverage in a pin attempt, didn’t rake Selena’s eyes. It was a good, clean wrestling match between two pure babyfaces. Well - one pure babyface and one heel trying to look like a pure babyface. And if Selena’s form hovering above Lexi was any sign, it seemed like her act had been convincing. 

She looked away from the other woman and pointedly wiped away a tear that wasn’t there. She felt a hand on her shoulder as Selena kneeled across from her, trying to comfort her after the loss that seemed to be so devastating for her. She was whispering something to her that she couldn’t quite hear over the crowd, but it didn’t matter. She knew what she was meant to be saying. Sweet, encouraging words. Lexi nodded in response to them, as if they actually meant anything to her, and accepted the hand that was offered to her, allowing Selena to help her up. The victor leaned in to presumably say something else, but before she could even open her mouth, Lexi lifted her head, suddenly full of confidence, and her fist met Selena’s face. With Selena stunned, Lexi made her next move. A swift, stiff superkick, sending her crashing to the mat. 

Behind the scenes, the six man intergender tag for next month’s show was already booked. Now, everything was being put into motion. 

Going to an event together like carnivals, festivals etc. - Lexi & Dottie 

With Max and Cory being occupied that afternoon with a meet and greet at the venue hours before call time, Lexi had some time to kill on her own. Her original plan had been to hit the gym, then text Reggie or Dottie or one of the other Elite boys and see if they wanted to grab some lunch. All those potential plans flew out the window on her drive to the gym when she past a sign that read ‘Carnival in town! Turn left here for food and fun!’ Unable to resist promises of food and fun, she turned left. A short drive later, and she could see it before her. There was a Ferris Wheel, other fair rides, dozens of booths stretched out covering the field they were set up in. Even with her windows rolled up, she could hear laughter and smell something sweet, maybe a funnel cake? Parking her car, she pulled out her phone. Knowing how she was, Lexi knew she was capable of having a good time by herself. But why should she have to when she knew someone who would be just as excited about this as her, and could make it ten times more fun? ‘Dottie!! You need to come to me ASAP. I found a CARNIVAL!’ She followed that text up with one giving a location, and it was less than fifteen minutes later that Dottie’s car was pulling up a few spots away from hers. Lexi then got out of her car, practically skipping over to her. “I smell funnel cake,” was the first thing she said to her. “Let’s get one to share.” She linked her arm through Dottie’s, and the two wandered into the crowd of carnival goers. 

They didn’t emerge until an hour and a half later - and it was hardly by choice. They had to be at the venue in thirty minutes, or else Lexi would have stayed until nightfall. She was just thankful she didn’t have a match and was only managing tonight, because her stomach was so full of fair food. She’d had half a funnel cake, chicken and dumplings, nachos, something called a beef pocket that had tasted better than it sounded, and three chocolate covered frozen bananas. And as stuffed as she was, she was disappointed she had to leave before she could get an order of fried mushrooms and cauliflower. The food was close to being the highlight, but spending the day with Dottie had easily taken the cake. Between all the eating, they had gone on a few rides together - Dottie even holding Lexi’s hand when they got to the top of the Ferris Wheel and her fear of heights kicked in. Lexi had won her a stuffed dolphin as a thank you. “The signs all say they’re gonna be set up all week,” Lexi mentioned as they headed towards their cars. “What do you say we come back tomorrow? We can make it a group thing… or it can just be the two of us. Let’s face it, the others might just slow us down.”

Playing with hair - Lexi & Ben

It was a crowded car on the way from Berkeley to Reseda, with Max and Cory in the front, and Lexi crammed between Dalton and Ben in the back. It was a surprisingly peaceful drive though. The show had ended a few hours ago, and their post-wrestling adrenaline had started to die down. Cory was already past out in the passenger seat as Max drove, with Dalton on his phone, quietly whispering into it, not loud enough to disturb anyone. Lexi had her arm around Ben, his head lulled back against her shoulder as her fingers ran through the ends of his hair. She wasn't too tired herself, but she felt calm and relaxed enough to close her eyes and just enjoy the softness of the moment. She really liked Ben, and it was nice to have him close. But when she opened her eyes again after a minute or so had passed, they settled on the rearview mirror, where she caught Max looking back at her. The look on his face was unreadable, and while she couldn't tell how he was feeling, she knew how she was feeling. 

Slowly, she removed her hand from Ben's hair, and her arm from his shoulders, and gave him an apologetic smile before turning her head and leaning into Dalton instead. "Hey, is that Noah?" she asked in a hushed tone, thinking she recognized the Irish man's accent on the other line. "Tell him I said hi." 

As much as she did like Noah and wanted him to know she was there and thinking of him, that wasn't the reason she'd pulled away from Ben. It was just an excuse, one that she felt guilty about. Not just because she had interrupted Dalton's phone call selfishly, but because yet again, she was pulling away from a boy because of feelings for Max that should have been dead and gone back in high school. If something was going to happen between them, it would have by then, right? That was what she kept telling herself, but those feelings were always there in the back of her mind, preventing her from letting anyone else get too close. Especially where Max could see. 

Watching tv/movies together - Lexi & Noah

Despite having been involved in The Elite with Noah since the group’s early days, Lexi hadn’t spent much alone time with Noah. Not lately anyway. At first, she hadn’t known him well and although she got nothing but good vibes from him, she was still a bit shy back then and had clung to her childhood friends’ sides anytime they were all together in Japan. Then, even as she became more comfortable around him and started coming out of her shell in general, she grew closer to other members of the group. Whether it was her flirty friendship with Billy or her relationship with Ben or her best friendship with Max or her sibling-like friendship with Cory, there was always someone who she went to before Noah. Not because she didn’t like him, but just because that was how things ended up being. That was, until she had to fly to Japan solo, and her closest friend in the country was suddenly Noah. It was her first time there without Cory and Max, since she was there for a booking with an-girls promotion and they had shows back in the States, and Noah was the first person who came to mind when she thought of who might be willing to let her stay with them. She had friends down at the promotion and friends traveling in for the same shows as her who would probably be okay with rooming with her, but it made sense to stay with Noah. She’d stayed there before with the others, he only lived forty minutes from the venue she’d be working, and plus, this could be a good chance for them to bond a little more. They spent a lot of time together in a group, but some one on one time could only be good for them. 

If this had happened back at the start of the group, she wouldn’t have asked to stay with him by herself, but after knowing him all this time, she felt a bit less awkward about it. When he said yes, she wasn’t shocked, but she was still thankful and a little relieved. The day of her arrival, Noah had work things to tend to, so it was Ezra who picked her up from the airport. The time difference had really messed with her, and she was ready for bed even though it was only noon in Japan. She forced herself to stay awake though, at least until Noah got home. She killed the time by putting her bags away where Ezra instructed her to and making a few phone calls, letting her parents and close friends as well as one of the bookers know she’d arrived safely. She had just hung up a Facetime with Max when Noah walked through the front door. She greeted him with a hug and a dozen thank you’s for letting her stay with him. After that, Lexi only lasted an hour before she crashed. She made the mistake of sitting on Noah’s bed and the next thing she knew, she was waking up to total darkness and near silence. The first clock she found said that it was almost midnight. Yikes. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, especially not in Noah’s bed. Even though she was going to be staying in his room during her trip anyway, she had been completely sprawled across it, totally out of it. There hadn’t really been much room for him. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes and stretching out her limbs, she slowly got up and tip-toed out of the room. She found Noah in the living room, sat on the couch in front of the TV. 

“Hey…” she greeted, whispering as to not startle him, or wake Ezra - whose shut door and darkened room told her he was asleep. “I’m sorry I crashed on you. I didn’t mean to take over your bed like that. Jet lag got the best of me.” She laughed, pulling the sleeves of her hoodie down over hands. “Man, my sleep schedule is going to be so screwed up now.“ 

Her stomach rumbled, too loudly to be ignored, and she chuckled again. It had been awhile since she’d eaten, but she had been too tired before to even think about food. But now that she’d slept for a solid nine hours, she was suddenly starving. There had been talks of getting a takeaway for dinner, but she wasn’t sure if that had happened, or if she’d been included in dinner plans since she was dead to the world. Covering her stomach with her hand, she took a step away from the couch. 

"Sorry. Don’t let my loud tummy interrupt…” She let out a soft gasp as she turned her head to glance at the TV screen. “GLOW! Oh, I love this show. I’ve watched the first season twice already.” Knowing how much Noah loved anything wrestling, it wasn’t really shocking to her that this was his show of choice for the night, but it was still a pleasant surprise. 

“Get'cha food and c'mere,” he said, gesturing for her to join him on the couch. 

She smiled, both at the invitation and the confirmation that there was food in the fridge for her. “If you got me sushi, I’m going to love you forever.” She hadn’t been much of a sushi person before, but a few visits to Japan ago, she tried some on a night out with Jackson and the boys, and he made her fall in love with it. It wasn’t a secret to anyone, especially considering she had mentioned wanting to go out for some at least three times to Noah during their text conversations prior to her arriving. Opening the fridge, she was thrilled to see he hadn’t forgotten. It was even her favorite kind of sushi, too. Collecting the sushi platter and the essentials she’d need, as well as a glass of water, she shuffled back over to the couch where she took a seat beside Noah. A bright smile was on her face as she started eating, fixing her eyes on the screen. “So, what episode are we on, pal?”

Sharing food - Lexi & Jackson 

"It’s like… raw fish though, right?” Lexi asked, leaning closer into Jackson’s side to peer at the sushi platter in front of him. “Is it even safe to eat? You won’t be sick after eating all this, will you? You have an important match this weekend…” She went from being grossed out to concerned friend mode quickly. It was dangerous to eat raw beef or chicken, how was it fine to eat raw fish? Plus, it looked yucky. “I just don’t get how you can eat that. It doesn’t even look good." 

"Because it’s not,” Dalton interjected from across the table, mouth full of Ramen. “It’s fucking disgusting." 

Lexi was inclined to agree with him there. She scrunched her nose up as Jackson lifted a piece of it up with his chopsticks, just inches from her face. "Jackson!” she squealed, backing up a little and knocking into Ben’s shoulder in their crowded booth. Group dinners were always fun, but they really needed to find a place with bigger booths for them. It wasn’t that she minded being so close to Ben or to Jackson, but it became an issue when Jackson was an inch away from poisoning her with raw food. “I didn’t ask for a bite, but thank you.”

“Try it!” he urged her, the sushi coming closer to her face. “Trust me. It’ll change your life!" 

"Jackson…” she started to argue, but then gave in with a sigh. The rice looked pretty good, and she saw what looked like seaweed inside, which she didn’t hate… And if Jackson hadn’t died from eating raw fish yet, which he definitely would have, maybe it wasn’t dangerous after all. Wordlessly, she closed her eyes and opened her mouth, welcoming the sushi that Jackson fed her. She chewed it thoughtfully, giving it a fair shot, and after a few moments, her eyebrows raised and her eyes opened.

“You know what…” she said once she’d swallowed. “I might have to take back what I said before…” She nodded at his platter. “Are you gonna eat all of that?” Her own dinner just didn’t seem as good as his did. 

Sitting on someone’s lap - Lexi & Billy

Lexi loved birthday parties, whether they were hers or not. Something about celebrating someone she loved just made her happy. However, the party she was currently at was being held in honor of, honestly, a total stranger. They’d met maybe once, and they had maybe one mutual friend. Yet somehow her and all her friends ended up at his birthday one night after a show in Reseda. But never mind the how or the who, she was just wondering what the night had in store. A party was a party, and she wanted to make the most of it. She was already four shots in thanks to Cory and Spencer when she spotted Billy sitting at the crowded kitchen table. Her and Billy had had something of a flirtmance lately. Nothing serious, she just thought he was gorgeous and someone fun to go back and forth with. What better way to spend the night than with him? In her tipsy state, she wondered if tonight could be the night they turned things up a notch. 

He appeared to be chatting with the group, but there didn’t seem to be any deep, important conversation happening. That was her justification for going over and interrupting him. One arm around his neck, she took a seat in his lap. “This seat taken?” she grinned. 

[musicgoon]

Recommended Reading

Providing A Freshly Curated, Weekly Link List on Christianity & Culture.

Find my weekly recommended reading with the RR tag. Dedicated link posts with personal commentary can be found through the link tag. Real-time news and article sharing happens on Twitter and my Facebook page.

I love seeing new things on the Internet and reading and your comments, so please keep in touch. And to get all of my articles, exclusive insight, and more from my many projects, subscribe to my newsletter.

On Fridays, I contribute a curated link column specifically for SOLA Network readers. I hope to highlight articles related to Asian American issues and blog posts written by Asian American authors. You can read my 21st roundup from last Friday.

Christianity

Our Worth Is Not in What We Own: Fifteen-Minute Gospel Presentation

Would You Attend a Gay Wedding?

The Question Abortion Advocates Won’t Answer: Five Ways They Avoid the Unborn

What Is the First Thing a New Christian Should Do to Learn More About the Faith?

The Great Reward in Thankless Service

Does God Love You? You Own Tangible Evidence.

What Should I Do After High School?

J. I. Packer’s Thoughts on Holiness

Is Reality Only for the Privileged?

On Temptations, Warnings, and Endurance

Confessing Sin Is Always Awkward, Sometimes Costly, and Absolutely Worth It

Where Did Family Come From?

The Cost of Pursuing Multi-ethnic Churches

What is the Greatest Challenge you Face in Ministry?

5 Questions to Ask When Your Child Professes Faith

Do Your Sermons Make Your Congregation Think You’re Angry?

How Men Can Grow in Godliness

How to Avoid Pastoral Arrogance

Michael W. Smith, Kevin Jonas Launch Liberty University Music Label

Does Pastoring a Small Church for Decades Make Me a Failure?

Listen Up! Practical Help for Lousy Listeners

Know Your Idols

5 Myths about End-of-Life Care

Pride Disqualifies a Pastor: Why Humility Is Vital for Ministry

The Mystery of Christian Marriage

When Your Worst Storm Comes

Pastor, Have You Written Your Church a Will?

Don’t Reduce Your Sheep to Their Usefulness

Why Teens Must Read the Bible for Themselves

Spider-Man: Far From Home and the Power of Personal Narratives

Korean Church Court Dodges Decision on Pastoral Succession

A Place at the Table

The Greatest Movement for Racial Diversity in All of History

Three Ways to Create a Culture of Mission in Your Church

5 Ways to Protect Your Eldership from “Yes Men”

Pursue Useful Knowledge

10 Reflections From 10 Years of Marriage

Culture

The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror Turns 25: How It Redefined What a “Disney Ride” Could Be

Live Nation admits to helping artists scalp their own tickets to make more money

Ai Weiwei on the global refugee crisis, the Chinese movie industry, and his new film

Tiny Apartments and Punishing Work Hours: The Economic Roots of Hong Kong’s Protests

How the Original ‘Lion King’ Came to Life

Phoenix Announce New Book

“I needed to do this movie”: Awkwafina on her star-making role in The Farewell

Slurp Up Spicy Chinese Noodles at This Delightful Strip Mall Find in SGV

The Music of ‘The Lion King’: Exploring the Many People Who Brought One of the Greatest Soundtracks Ever to Life

Sixteen and Evangelical

Sing Along to Your Favorite Tunes on Spotify’s New Disney Hub

‘The Lion King’ Music Video Debuts for Beyoncé’s Original Song; See Her Movie-Inspired Album Tracklist

Splash Mountain at 30: A Theme Park Masterpiece Based on a Movie Disney Never Wants You to See

Hans Zimmer On Returning to ‘The Lion King’, the Most Important Element of This New Score, and More

How magazines made Asian America

A Prosperous China Says ‘Men Preferred,’ and Women Lose

Planned Parenthood Removes Leana Wen As President After Less Than A Year

The Farewell director Lulu Wang on challenging “what Americanness means”

Announcing Culturally Relevant, a new culture podcast

Email newsletter platform Substack nabs $15.3 million in funding (and vows it won’t go the way of other VC-funded media companies)

[qualapec]

Favorite characters meme

@myheartgoesswimming tagged me in this!

“Post 10 of your favorite characters from different fandoms, in no particular order, and tag 10 people [if you want!] “

I’m a JERK who can’t help but rank my favorite characters,

Favorite male characters:

1. Jacob Frye Jacob had an absolutely unprecedented climb up my favorite characters list. He went from being this butch asshole in the trailers for AC:S to...I LOVE MY BI SON??? I don’t think I’ve purely identified with a character so much since Marian Hawke in DAII when I was a closeted 18 year old who didn’t think I’d ever come out. Like, I’m ultimately not too protective of my favorite dudes--I look at my list and I’m like, yeah, this is mostly garbage. Jacob is the one dude character who I have actually cried over people saying shit about him (I casually call Jacob garbage a lot, but not too long ago a good friend said “yeah, he fucks up everything. really everyone would be better off without him” and I cried harder than I thought I would).

I identify with Jacob because he’s a giant ADHD bisexual who messes up literally everything he does but still tries the best he can to be a good person and he’s someone who still legitimately cares about people who have hurt him deeply. At the same time, he’s not a queer character that wants to fully integrate with society either. He’s funny and loves his sister and she’s a better Assassin than he is. He’s a good person but his queerness isn’t clean--it’s rough and it hurts and it damages his relationships and it’s so real to me.

I’ve never felt happier about being bi and not totally good at things than the months after AC:S came out and Jacob was announced as canonically bisexual. Before that I’d been struggling a lot with the lesbians v. bi women thing, and Jacob just made me feel so good about myself and so hopeful. I love Jacob Frye.

2. Johannes Cabal I have never been more right about a character’s ultimate arc than I was with Cabal. He’s been on my list of faves for years, but the fifth book jettisoned him into second place among the guys. If he were canonically queer he and Jacob would probably be tied tbqh. I love this horrible man. I love his arc. Anyone who wants to write villains with a redemption should read these books. SPOILERS but I love how his arc isn’t about accepting things the way they are re: death. He never accepts the Bible, never goes to confession and gets his sins forgiven. He never gives up his desire for things to be changed and for the unfairness/injustice of death to be righted and his disbelief in religion as a savior. He never gives up his arrogance. He’s still really smart.

But by the end, he becomes a human who is worthy of having friends and is capable of doing the right thing and that means so much to me. I expected a giant Thing at the end where he did something truly villainous to show that he was Always That Way and Always Would Be, but it never happened. He slowly defeated evil within himself without even knowing it, and that matters to me.

END SPOILERS. The second trash wizard I ever fell in love with.

3. Loki (MCU). Oh, Loki. My queer rage analogue.

Some context: I saw Thor (2011) when my family was falling apart. I was mad, so mad. That scene when Loki confronts Odin was so profound to me--I read it as a coming out scene, and I know a lot of other queer folks did, too.

I’ve known I was bi since Dragon Age II, as dumb as that sounds. When I wanted nothing more than to romance both a dude and a lady. BUT I had planned to bury it. It was easier to just date men, so why not? When Loki was revealed as Canonically Bisexual, that was really when the word clicked for me. That was the moment I think I knew that word was truly inescapable for me.

Whoo boy. That scene in the Avengers when he shows up after creating a portal with the Tesseract and intends to tear the world apart...that’s the moment I realized how queer and angry I was. I was closeted and wanted to burn it ALL down. He would either win or be destroyed, and the fantasy of burning as I was was so satisfying to me--either way he was going to die as himself. I was sitting in the theatre and that was when I knew I had no choice but to come out. I was afraid. Anger was an easier feeling to have.

Loki. My reminder that I’ll take a queer villain over a Perfect Queer (TM) every day of the week and also for the rest of my life--I will never, ever care about a Perfect Queer, because that’s not what I am, that’s not the family I come from, that’s not the reality of my health or what I aspire to be. That rage gave me the courage to come out, and tbqh it gives me strength now.

4. Harry Dresden Harry is Trash Wizard Prime. I discovered him during a time when men were an absolute mystery to me--I didn’t grow up with many (any) good male role models. As a bi teenager, I started to notice men because that’s the thing girls attracted to men were socially supposed to do, and I realized I didn’t understand them.

I saw the cover for Dead Beat in a Barnes & Noble and I picked it up. He looked so dashing, so rogueish. And this chaotic good motherfucker is that. He cares about people and wants to do the best he can with his gift, even if he is imperfect, and that spoke to me as a teenager so much.

He was a male character who I felt safe with. Society hated him for his gift, and sometimes did its best to destroy him even while he was trying to be good (which, in retrospect, is one reason why I associate mages/wizards/witches with queerness). I felt like he was a man who would protect me as a girl who, at that time, thought of myself as het but who was very afraid of men (L O L. LOL. L      O       L. Biggest joke ever) and who had experienced trauma at male hands.

I felt deeply betrayed when, after Changes, he had intrusive thoughts about raping the women around him.

I don’t quite have words for how much that hurt. Cabal was never misogynist in quite that way, and Loki is a virulent misogynist, but in a way that strikes me as very real for some queer men (not okay, but A Thing That Actually Happens). And as someone with OCD who experiences damaging intrusive thoughts myself, I feel like should have understood.

I felt really betrayed when Harry’s character took that direction. It caught me by surprise. It was actually triggering for me--the message I got was “every man will hurt you” and I’ve spent years trying to unlearn that. I remember shaking after a certain chapter of the book after Changes. I remember thinking that Men Will Always Hurt Me if Harry would.

Recent books revealed it was the result of a demon in his head...but it still hurt a lot. I discovered those books when I needed a man to look up to, and I still feel like that trust was betrayed.

I wouldn’t really recommend The Dresden Files to any of my friends now--I still want them to read them to understand a very formative text for me. I love Harry Dresden. He is part of what made me, of what defined my morality. I love him. I want him to be part of a better story.

Also I will be 100% honest and say that his super cis straight dude descriptions of wanting to sleep with women really spoke to me as a young queer chick. I was really into “vagazzled” btw.

5. Cullen Rutherford WE HAVE ARRIVED AT THE OUTLIER.

Cullen has that Captain America vibe I usually can’t stand. He’s super lawful good and even upholds laws that he shouldn’t.

He’s also a drug addict who was deeply traumatized and needs his girlfriend to function (an ongoing theme with me). Even his very oppressive anger makes sense to me. It sucks, but I get it. That’s valid.

Also, I really hate it when people say his character arc made no sense. I’m sorry, those people flat out don’t understand narrative or think characters can escape their original packaging. Spoiler; that’s not an ‘arc’. Characters change, deal with it.

I think one thing I love about Cullen is that he was really, really tailored for women who are interested in men (note: not just Straight Women).

I think one of the biggest things for me is that he’ll do anything for the Inquisitor (his girlfriend). He was SUPPOSED to be bi via leaks from the company that made the game (if that was canon he’d be much higher on this list). But it does ultimately matter a lot to me that he was so specifically tailored to be a fantasy for women who are interested in men. He loves her. He will do almost anything for her. She helps him get over a serious addiction. Cullen taught (my bi/poly ass) about m/f narratives that I needed.

I guess I have a Thing for men who really need the women in their lives. Cullen gets the girlfriend role, and all the trauma that only men are usually allowed to have.

Honorable mentions:

Victor and Yuuri from Yuri on Ice. (If they had more canonical trauma, they would have lettered, and they may in the future. I love that Literally Wearing a Bi Flag Victor is a garbage human being who doesn’t understand feelings but still loves is boyfriend and doesn’t want that relationship to end. I love how Yuuri is an anxious gay baby.) Albert Wesker, a truly fine villain who was not done justice by those movies. Ned Wynert, who taught me a lot about writing characters from marginalized groups I am not a part of.

Favorite lady characters: 1. Marian Hawke. I almost don’t have words for how deeply formative Hawke is to me. She changed my life. I know she can be a different person no matter who plays her, but I think the things I fundamentally love about her are somehow universal.

For context on Marian Hawke--I was 18 and deeply closeted when I played DAII for the first time. I had committed to “never coming out” because I thought it would make my mom sad. I remember sitting in the uni library and thinking about Hawke and how bi aka queer (ADDITIONALLY poly) I was and I regret how that was the moment I decided I would only date men because it would be easier. That didn’t last. I didn’t know how much that would tear me up inside.

Hawke was the first gateway to my sexuality, but I thought I could avoid her message.  I knew I wanted to date both men and women.

Hawke herself is...me. Granted, you can control some of her actions as the player, but she still fucks up in a lot of the same ways no matter which version of her you play. She still tries to do the best she can (sometimes that’s a lot, sometimes not a lot, sometimes it’s oppressive). She cares. I can’t remember if she or Cabal came into the Trash Wizard (or trash mage) #2 slot, but she’s right up there on my fave trash magician list.

Because she’s so deeply formative, she’s another character I can’t be rational about. I HATE with every fiber of my being that she’s not static/unchangeable. I partly hate dude!Hawke so much because there are no female characters like my take on Marian that even EXIST. Soft butch, bi, diplomatic, kinda funny, kinda mad.

She tries her best, just like I think I do. She fails a lot, even when she means well. My Marian is bi as fuck. She changed my life. I don’t know who I would be without her (I mean, probably still bi as fuck, but still). I love Marian Hawke.

2. Evie Frye. I’ll just say it: Evie Frye fixed my ability to write female characters.

I was feeling a lot of pressure from other female writers (sadly, even particularly other queer women) to write WOMEN’S NARRATIVES. I felt like those had to be about rape and weakness and strength in spite of that. THAT IS A NARRATIVE THAT MATTERS, however I either struggle to identify with it, or I over-identify with it and I’m afraid to walk to my car.

Evie isn’t that.

She’s perhaps the greatest Assassin in history, short of Altair or Ezio, who made the brotherhood what it is. She lives and breathes that tradition. She’s most powerful when she is unseen, and in that way, I always feel safe with her. She’s the rightful heir to the entire series, so I feel like she will always be safe.

I learned so much about how to write myself and what I wanted and what I think a lot of other women want even if it’s not part of The Discourse, through Evie Frye. She defies stereotypes about what it means to be “woman”. She’s treated no worse than Jacob by the narrative, and she’s arguably treated as the inheritor of the Assassin tradition and like her skills matter just a bit more. The narrative could do without Jacob (as much as I love him) but it couldn’t do without Evie. She’s just as powerful as he is.

That we get to see her as both a new adult and a middle aged women is extra important. The fact that she spends her later narrative hunting one of the most virulent men in history (Jack the Ripper) means a lot to me. She is most powerful in her prime, while Jacob burns out later on, and that ALSO matters a lot to me. Shitty men are afraid of her, not the other way around. There’s no narrative where she lets the think they could rape her to win; she just wins. (Again, nothing wrong with female characters who use their femininity that way, but Evie just kills those fuckers, and that’s what I need in my life of believing in self defense).

I love her. She loves her husband, she loves her brother. She’s prim and proper and perfectly tailors her outfits and knows how to strike a killing blow. Evie is about a different kind of resistance than Jacob, but she’s still about resistance. She’s the first female character I’ve seen, in literal years, who is allowed to exist beyond her own femininity. She’s just allowed to exist and be really cool. Evie also means a lot to me.

3. Leonie Barrow This song really sums up Leonie Barrow for me. /They see you as small and helpless, they see you as just a child/ Surprise when they find out that a warrior will soon run wild/. She starts out as so?? Small?? compared to the overall narrative of the Cabal books, which are steeped in angels and gods and Lovecraftian abominations from whom the very foundations of the universe were forged. She’s the Innocent Girl at first. Her femininity, her innocence, does matter, but it’s not what I thought it would be. And by the end, she’s a shotgun wielding master detective, who Cabal CANONICALLY trusts to make the same logical decisions he would.

She is willing to kill to defend her friends even if she doesn’t like it. She will stand against the darkness and be afraid but she will smile.

She’s also almost /definitely/ canonically bi at the end of the fifth book, short of the actual word being used. It’s not a plot spoiler, but it gives me life either way. She’s not the girlfriend, she’s not the Woman, she’s something else and she matters in her own way. Her potential is limitless, and I’m inspired by her every single day. People talk about Stever Rogers as their human ideal, but I guess Leonie Barrow is my comfortable alternative.

Leonie Barrow saves people by her empathy--and she’s also willing to wield a shotgun. Outside of a magical girl narrative, she and Elizabeth DeWitt are the purest versions of the ‘weaponized femininity’ narrative I can think of.

4. Elizabeth DeWitt Oh, Elizabeth. I love her. I love her fucked up history. I love her fucked up present and her implied fucked up future. I wish she had a better ending. If I ever write fic, it will be to correct what has been done to her by canon.

Elizabeth is trying to escape her fate. Her ultimate arc may be about accepting a shitty end, but I don’t think that has to be the case, since I think so much of her story is about denying her future. Like her, I will always hope and strive for something better. She’s femme and hard and powerful and will break the world and make it whole again all with one wishing <3 .

She has the power of a god and the writers/developers/designers didn’t know how to handle that in an interesting way. I love her.

5. Talia (from Arrows of the Queen) SO

When you are reading about a clinically depressed character and you think, “I IDENTIFY WITH HER SO MUCH” that’s probably a sign. So many times, Talia tried to tell me how I was feeling, and it took me a very long time to listen.

I was easily clinically depressed when I read the Arrows of the Queen books. My uncle had just died without me coming out to him. I felt like a disappointment to my mom. My bachelors degree was on fire and it wasn’t totally my fault. There was nothing about myself that I didn’t deeply despise when I read these books, nothing that I didn’t feel the world would be better without. I didn’t want to die, since I have a very particular attachment to my mortality and no matter what, I’m attached to my life for my mom, but I felt so fundamentally worthless that it still hurts to think about. I haven’t been that low since then, and I hope to never be that low again.

I was depressed and I didn’t know it. I don’t think I was truly suicidal even then, even if I was experiencing almost daily suicidal ideation. I don’t think I would have died, but I still think Talia saved my life a little bit--she at least taught me that it’s okay to acknowledge my illness and seek treatment and that it’s okay to want to be happy. I’m so deeply grateful for that I don’t even have words for it, partly because, while I think I would have survived, I wouldn’t be happy.

Talia also got to fuck the most desirable male characters in the Arrows of the Queen trilogy. Even though she was quiet and was shy and was depressed. The message was this: I could have love even if I was mentally ill. I specify ‘male’ characters because Talia was straight, and also because a part of me feels less desirable to men than women, so that fantasy means a lot to me.

Talia is me at my most vulnerable. Talia is me when I want to reach into my own chest and tear myself apart. I love her. She matters. <3

Honorable mentions:

Pearl from Steven Universe (my favorite anxious lesbian, who got a great character arc that I never expected to be validating to both the lesbian-bi women dilemma and to her mental illness. I <3 Pearl). All the women in Overwatch. Sailor Moon and her soldiers. Tamora Pierce’s heroines. Lara Croft.

Tagging @swimthroughthefires @fakeandroid @doomquasar @amandaironic @strawberrylaugh @ghostofthemotif