#knowing the chance is small doesn't make it better

[howi99]

A Knight second chance 10

Jaune: *in a reclining chair* ...

Glynda: *patiently waiting for her student to open up* ...

Jaune: *Sigh* Professor Goodwitch, i honestly don't know what to talk about with you. You can ask my family about my past all you want. I think i'm fine.

Glynda: Someone who is "fine" doesn't almost destroy someone's mind with memories, Jaune.

Jaune: *rolling his eyes, while internally cringing to what he is about to say* She's a simple robot, Miss Goodwitch. I highly doubt she was made with the expectations of getting flooded with memories, feelings and sensation.

Glynda: Jaune, i can see your own disgust at what you just said. *Sigh* You don't see her as a machine. You stayed with her, awake, for two days straight so you could "fix" her. *Shaking her head* People don't act like that for a "simple robot".

Jaune: Tsk, fine. But still, my points stands: She never experienced human sensation, only an approximation. And she never experienced anything bad. The worst she lived through was boredom.

Glynda: *clearing her throat* You told Specialist Schnee that Penny lived through your biggest traumas. Something that shook her so much, she changed her demeanor completely. She lost most of her wanderlust and innocence, from what Specialist Schnee said.

Jaune: Well-

Glynda: *sigh* Jaune, i-

Jaune: *cutting her* Tell me, what is your favorite fairy tale?

Glynda: *surprised* What?

Jaune: *sigh* Mine was the girl who fell through the world. *Chuckle* I loved the characters, the settings, everything... *Looking at the shelves covered in books inside of Glynda's office* It was a nice story.

Glynda: *frown* Was?

Jaune: *scoff* Well, it doesn't tell the truth. *Shaking his head* There is no knight in rusted armor, saving the day on time, there is no cat giving you advice to go on in life and there is no tree that can help you become a better version of yourself.

Glynda: *sigh* Jaune, it's a children's book-

Jaune: ... *Mumbling* And yet, you believe those one...

Glynda: *frown* Excuse me?

Jaune: *sigh* Nothing.

_ Later _

Pyrrha: So, how was your session with professor Goodwitch?

Jaune: *sigh* As good as it will be for the foreseeable future... *Looking around* By the way, where is team RWBY?

Pyrrha: *shrug* Haven't seen them since yesterday-

Team RWBY, entering the cafeteria with nice silk scarf and a confused look upon their face

Nora: *waved at them* Hey, where were you all?

Weiss: *sigh* Blake heard there was a White Fang rally near the industrial district. She thought it was suspicious but... *Look at Blake*

Blake: *Blushing* How was i supposed to know!?

Russel: *from another table* Hey, those are the scarves my girlfriends make!

Ruby: *waving at him* She was super nice too! She said she would come visit you with a new shirt design!

Russel: Thanks for the heads up!

Yang: So anyway, turns out it was a charity event made by EX members of the White Fang, those who were part of it before they turned into a terrorist organization.

Nora: Oh~

Ruby: *giving them scarves* Weiss bought enough for our class... Twice.

Weiss: They are of the highest quality and the price they asked for was ridiculously small!

[avelera]

Was wondering if you had any theories about Viktor's childhood experiences and how exactly that shapes his politics?

I agree that Viktor is largely apolitical and pacifist, and I'm getting the sense that perhaps he believes politics/the council is incapable of solving the issues. After all, they haven't so far, and Viktor does respect Heimerdinger, so rather than Heimerdinger choosing to look away, Viktor perhaps believes it is impossible to solve the problems in the undercity through the council.

When I first watched season 1, I truly had no clue how they were going to be able to resolve the political conflict. The council kind of sucks, but so does Silco, and I don't think Ekko was powerful enough to fully take over.

I can picture Viktor also having no clue. He refuses to make weapons because he knows they'll be used against innocent people in the undercity (and I think he's also opposed to violence as a solution in general), but at this point he doesn't have an alternative solution. He refuses to side with the council, but he doesn't have an alternative. I doubt he even knows Silco is in charge or that he's someone they might negotiate with at this point (I think the council only learns about Silco when Caitlyn returns), so instead he chooses to stay out of it.

And with his cult, I'm getting the sense Viktor still had no clue how to end the conflict between Zaun and Piltover, so he doesn't try, but instead tries to create a safe place for people who, like him, want to escape the violence. It obviously doesn't work out the way he intends, but I do think that was the idea, and perhaps he hoped because of the remote location and his peaceful seperation from society, no one would really bother him. And when they do, he concludes mass hive mind is the only answer to the violence (because he still had no clue how to resolve any of these conflicts)

And all this gives me the idea that Viktor really is desperate to escape that violence, and makes me wonder what he lived through during his time in the undercity that inspires his actions, since we know so little apart from the time he met Singed.

This got a little long, sorry about that, but wondering what theories you had.

I think there's a core assumption to the question that I'd like to isolate out in the hopes it helps me explain how I see Viktor's views.

There's an assumption inherent here that in political times, everyone must be political. But let me point out, most people are not. All you need to do is look at voting turnout numbers to see most people are not political, especially not at the local level where direct action happens. When was the last time anyone reading this voted in their local, municipal election? Do you even know when the next one is?

Now let me add another aspect to this: Piltover is not a democracy. It is by definition an oligarchy, in which power is held in the hands of a small, elite group.

So, in such a world, why would anyone like Viktor think it's even possible for an individual to impact politics? Which is why I think Viktor always saw the only way of impacting the world for the better as being through where his own gifts lay: in science.

But I do think it's more complicated than that. And I want to take the chance to further explore the political landscape as Viktor would have seen it throughout Arcane and why that would be enough to make him take zero interest in politics and have zero hope for its efficacy at solving the problems he wants to solve for people, and that he wants to solve for people regardless of their political background or national identity, because Viktor is shown to be colorblind when it comes to those concepts.

As far as we can tell, the only people with political power in Piltover are the 7 Councilor. The major Houses have some influence, but that's it. Minor Houses, like House Talis, can't even trade upon their meager levels of influence in their own son's trial. Ximena, the presumed matriarch of House Talis in the absence of any extended family for Jaye being shown, has to trade on sentiment. That's how little political power is spread around.

One thing that Vander and Silco were almost certainly pushing for in their protest at the bridge was for "Zaun" to have a political voice at all. This effort was ruthlessly quashed. The undercity doesn't have a representative on the Council, they don't have any Houses, they are effectively voiceless except through riots and protests.

And, as they say, those who make peaceful revolution impossible make violent revolution inevitable.

Furthermore, organized crime tends to spring up and flourish in places that don't have a law of their own, or a law that common people can rely on. See the Italian mafia in the US, which in part sprang up from the fact these communities needed to be self-governing and self-protecting because the official law of the land wouldn't protect them. But then, of course, the criminal forces that stepped into that power vacuum may gain wide acceptance for keeping the peace and providing other social services, but then in order to hold onto power, they're going to prevent the actual authorities from stepping into their territory. Once they have a hold there, there's no elections either, there's no way to cast out a malfunctioning organized crime unit that's providing those social services.

This is more or less what I think happened with Silco. He stepped in and created a society in the undercity, one that he was able to run because Piltover turned its attention outward with the Hexgates, it no longer needed to rely on the labor of the underclasses in the undercity so they left them to their own devices.

But Silco's government was corrupt. I think that gets lost in a lot of Zaun vs. Piltover debates. Silco's Zaun was just as much an oligarchy as Piltover, they had their own Council with the chem-barons who are directly paralleled in the "Sucker" sequence in 2.02. There is no "Piltover is better" or "Zaun is better" they are both corrupt.

Where in the world would Viktor get the idea that the solution to the political problems between Zaun and Piltover would be solved by handing more political power to people like Silco? Why in the world would he reach the conclusion that two oligarchies would be the solution?

And even in such a world where maybe, self-governance would help some people in the undercity, why in the world would Viktor believe he would personally be able to make that happen?

In a society with no democracy, when the one attempt to gain a voice for the undercity was ruthlessly quashed most likely while Viktor was still a student in the Academy, where in the world where Viktor have developed a sense that he could have impact on politics or wouldn't simply die in the attempt if he joined a political movement, thus improving nothing? And if you can't buy into politics in any meaningful way, why pay attention to it?

Viktor has found his keys to the kingdom in science. He has one avenue to excellence, which is solving the material difficulties facing the undercity like cleaning up the air and making the labor there less backbreaking and difficult. He has a narrow focus. Indeed, one of his flaws is that it's kind of "his way or the highway" he doesn't appear to even seriously entertain other avenues besides science for improving lives in the undercity.

This is particularly interesting because he was an assistant to Heimerdinger, albeit in his role as Dean of the Academy I believe. Yet Viktor doesn't see Jayce's role as a Councilor as an avenue towards meaningful change, why?

I genuinely can only speculate there. Why doesn't Viktor ever try to advocate for the undercity when he has access to Heimerdinger? Or, as two scientists, do both just see it as the role of science to better lives down there, rather than political action? Heimerdinger does seem remarkably politically disinterested for someone who is the nominal head of the government. All the wheeling and dealing happens behind his back. Perhaps Viktor is just as oblivious, who knows? Maybe Viktor's lack of political interest is what made Heimerdinger like him enough to employ him as his assistant in the first place.

Now to further answer your question, I'd say Viktor isn't even trying to politically solve anything because it's unthinkable that he would be able to. That's why the undercity independence play I think makes him cautiously optimistic, if you see his face during the vote right before the rocket hits. He never really thought politics could solve this but maybe it can. Maybe the key is to just let the undercity go its own way. I'd argue Viktor seems a bit skeptical when he announces that Jayce brokered a peace with Silco, I don't think Viktor likes Silco, or likes the idea of handing the reins of power to him. But he does appear optimistic when the vote begins to go that way, in I would argue is one of the rare positive political moments for Viktor (the only other that I can think of is when he speaks favorably of Vander's vision for Zaun).

Then the rocket hits, which must be a gut punch of further disillusionment. It's not just Piltover that's preventing Zaun's independence, it's Zaun, it's the cycle of violence, it's the fact that the conflict has gone on for so long and is so ugly that a solution is no longer possible without more bloodshed.

This inevitable bloodshed includes Jinx and Cait's forces wiping out the remaining chem barons, thus in my opinion making the conflict a moot point, because there's no one on the other side to negotiate with anymore. There is no potential Zaun government anymore if there's no one to hand power to, there's no democracy to set up (not in Piltover either, so there's no example of one). Zaun dies with Silco and goes back to being the undercity, an impoverished community within Piltover. Its Shimmer economy dies, which was the only technology that gave it a prayer of competing with Piltover on the battlefield too.

Quick aside, I get that people are mad there isn't more Zaun vs. Piltover in S2, but that's already dead as a conflict in 2.03. Zaun gets decimated as a political player. It has no leadership, no weapons, nothing that allows it to act as an independent state anymore. Piltover won and it did so because Jinx's rocket gave them the motivation they needed to cut off the head of the snake, the snake Jayce was willing to negotiate with to give them their independence.

That's gone now. There is no Zaun. There's no one to give power to. There's no military, no forces, no money. It is not a state anymore. Sevika is trying to rally the various disaffected factions in 2.04 and even that is slow going because of the old internal hatreds. And even if everyone did rally, all Sevika is hoping for is to make enough of a cohesive Zaunite identity to be able to bring grievances to Piltover. She can't even organize that. Zaun doesn't have an identity anymore in 2.04, and not enough internal organization to begin to form anything resembles a town council let alone the government of a nation.

So in that backdrop, where in the world would Viktor have any notion that he can impact events with politics? Or any desire to when the most promising political hope Zaun had, which he had a hand in, was destroyed the second it arrived by a Zaunite who didn't want the deal? This is a difficult, intractable problem.

Of course Viktor would see the best way to "solve" this problem is to not engage with it at all. It's to sidestep it entirely. Go back down to the individual level, help those in need, give them a place away from conflict in which to flourish and live peaceful lives. He essentially starts a monastery during the political Dark Ages of the collapse of order in the undercity, a very natural human response.

Then, he decides the best way to solve this problem is just to stop it. Get everyone on the same side, even if it's into a hivemind. That's why he's willing to take poor shimmer addicts from Zaun like Huck and rich Councilors like Salo from Piltover.

I also think his view is informed by his parallels in the real world in that he's apolitical because he's a scientist, and to a scientist all these lines of caste and creed and nation are meaningless on a biological level, we are all people. That's how I think Viktor sees it. It's part of why I think too, somewhat speculatively, that Viktor only talks about being from the undercity as a place of origin for him, not as an identity, because I think he thinks all such identities are nonsense, they're missing the point of the general advance of humanity, something many scientists around the world feel. I'm more quick to ascribe an attitude I see amongst scientists, engineers, and astronauts to Viktor than I am to ascribe a political identity to him. I don't think he sees political identities are relevant.

For example, besides noting Jayce's privilege when they first meet, he never denounces Jayce as being from Piltover or sees it as a barrier to them working together. He never singles out details of Jayce's identity by birth as being relevant. Because such details are meaningless in science. He only even brings up Jayce's background, I think, the one time when they first meet to point out to Jayce that while he has lost the benefits of his patron and House Talis name, there's still a path forward for him, the one Viktor started with. He mentions it as a reason that Jayce doesn't need to commit suicide when he loses those things. But he doesn't blame Jayce for having them.

At no point, even when Jayce is othering the people of the undercity, does Viktor other him right back as being from Piltover. In my view, Viktor's response is actually, "Hey, a member of your in-group is also from the undercity, stop framing everyone from there as outgroup/other, you know better than this." And Jayce immediately acknowledges that Viktor is right. They are immediately back on the same page that political identity lines are meaningless when it comes to improving lives (aside, real world people who play identity politics do realize we're all aiming for a world where everyone can flourish regardless of their identity, right??).

However, he does admire those like Vander who imagined a peaceful end to the conflict by establishing a nation of Zaun, however it should be noted, I think Viktor saw Vander's effort as inspiring but tragically doomed to failure. Hence, the need for Glorious Evolution, when the most well-intention dreams have no hope of ever happening. Seeing people like Vander fail is part of the disillusionment that makes Viktor further decide to disregard and supersede all politics through his own scientifically endowed magical power.

So anyway I hope this very long, involved essay helps explain a bit better how I view Viktor's politics, specifically his lack of them.

Edit: I just realized you also asked about Viktor's childhood. I have less to say there because we know so little but I would add:

Viktor was othered by people in the undercity as well as people from Piltover. I think that would lend to his view that people are just people, there are no real lines of politics or point of origin that matter. People will isolate him for his disability in both. No one is better than anyone else. It's just that people in Piltover by and large have more resources than those in the undercity, but both will look down on someone like him and avoid him.

You also have the fact that Viktor emigrated to Piltover presumably while still fairly young, either a teen or a young man, one would guess, based on his intellectual ability. I don't think he inherently sees the two cities as being separate, more like just two different areas of town, one of which is disadvantaged. Like moving from a poor neighborhood in Brooklyn to Manhattan. If Brooklyn began to lobby to become its own city or state, separate from Manhattan, some would see that as a good thing from self-governance perspective, others might see it as nonsense, which is where I think Viktor would mostly fall, but more importantly, I don't think he has faith that Brooklyn and Manhattan becoming separate states would really solve anything that matters, when the issues are things like air filtration systems, which can be solved with science.

As for things like, did young Viktor face violence? I think if he did, it would just add to his sense that a lack of resources breeds violence and the undercity needs prosperity to flourish, prosperity brought by scientific innovation. Politics again isn't going to solve these problems.

And I would finally add, Viktor found success and a sense of belonging in Piltover. I don't think he's as down on the place as people make him out to be sometimes. Jayce is from Piltover. Heimerdinger is too, these are two people who accepted Viktor and arguably who have loved him. I think as a result, Viktor would just see Piltover and the undercity as two places of origin within one city, a city he belongs to and wants to help improve by focusing on those in need.

[olenoidedserratuspilled]

I am once again being nosey and butting in on other people's conversations. I'd advise against clicking on read more.

Trans people have been eating each other alive for a long time, and it's gonna keep happening, unfortunately.

Yes they have, all the more reason not to look for any united front or community.

lots of transmascs (and other trans folks) suck just as bad as the transfems letting you down.

Again, lots oall the more reason not to look for any united front or community.

If you want solidarity, you have to start by offering yours.

And if your solidarity isn't accepted? What then?

One person can't make a difference, we both know this, so in order to clean the metaphorical river you'd need to join with the people already working to clean it. If they don't want you to join, what then?

we cannot under any circumstances afford to entertain separationist ideas or feelings.

The separationist ideas will keep growing whether you entertain them or not. People desire an outgroup to rally against, and once they're rallied against an outgroup they'll look for more and more people to lump into that outgroup. Once you've been lumped in, there's no way out. Can't reverse entropy.

You need to remember that even the ones who are wrong about you are still more right about themselves than you could ever be

And you're still more right about yourself than you could ever be, but they don't care about that. They believe they're more right about you than you are, and many will get aggressive if challenged on this. Why take that risk just on the off chance you might enact some small change?

If you start tuning them all out because of what they're getting wrong about you, you will lose a massive part of the story, and your picture will always be incomplete.

The people tuning you out seem to be doing just fine, so having an incomplete picture can't be so horrible.

We can't make things better for trans people if our picture of transphobia and trans experiences is incomplete.

That's too bad, because the people with incomplete pictures seem pretty confident that they can. There are few of them now, but there'll be more of them soon, and there'll be less people with complete pictures or willing to gain complete pictures soon. Eventually our only options will be an incomplete picture or no picture at all.

By and large, one single Anon giving up on looking to transfems for allyship doesn't change anything. It would if many people did the same, but OP does provide a very good argument against doing that, so I don't believe they will.

Even if they did, every conflict has its surrenders. Especially ones that seems to grow ever more hopeless.

This post isn't aimed at Anon because Anon won't see it. It's aimed at an entirely hypothetical person. It's a post for nobody. On the off chance Anon does see it though:

This is what the people demanding your solidarity think of you. You're still free to give it to them, it is your solidarity, but do so knowing what you're getting yourself into.

I'm starting to feel like.. i should stop looking to transfems for allyship. the way so many of them talk about and treat transmascs... i'm probably better off on my own than trying to form any kind of united front or community or whatever with them. the number of times i've seen transfems putting transmascs down lately is just.. it's ridiculous..

Trans people have been eating each other alive for a long time, and it's gonna keep happening, unfortunately. On the bright side, not everyone's like that! And lots of transmascs (and other trans folks) suck just as bad as the transfems letting you down.

The thing about it is that if you want a better trans community, you have to help make it. If you want solidarity, you have to start by offering yours. If you want the river to be clean, you need to go pick the litter out of it. I know it's hard and unpleasant a lot of the time, and it's scary because you might get hurt, but you still have to try. Being scared or tired or even hurt doesn't get you out of trying.

There are a lot of people already trying together, and a lot of them are transfem. Seek them out in every way you can. (I often reblog from them, if you need a place to start, and I think I've put some lists under my #recs tag over the years)

And don't let the seperationism get you. I'm so serious right now, we cannot under any circumstances afford to entertain seperationist ideas or feelings. Start reckoning with it if you haven't yet, and don't let yourself stop reckoning with it.

You need to remember that even the ones who are wrong about you are still more right about themselves than you could ever be, and you need to listen to what they're saying about themselves anyway. If you start tuning them all out because of what they're getting wrong about you, you will lose a massive part of the story, and your picture will always be incomplete. We can't make things better for trans people if our picture of transphobia and trans experiences is incomplete.

I'm sorry you've been hurt. You deserve better. I hope you're able to connect with folks who make it easier soon.

[blondieeu]

easy lovers. yuji i.

yuji itadori who waits for you. he waits because he knows if he doesn't, he'd ruin everything.

yuji itadori waits for you out of respect for your relationship, because he listens when you tell him you seriously want to be with this guy - even if he knows that douche isn't the one, and he is.

yuji itadori admires you from a distance, just far enough that you don't notice how much you take his breath away. though, he's still close enough to relish in your beauty. you shined like the moon and didn't even realize it.

yuji itadori doesn't only see your beauty on the outside. every single day. even in the small moments when he gets a chance to be around you - he can see the beauty in your kindness and the way you act within the world. you were his universe.

sometimes, he wonders if he's making the right call. if he'd been too patient, or too kind with his heart. but every time he thinks about making a move, he just remembers what you said—how bad you wanted it to be that damned guy. he couldn't bare to be the reason you regret picking someone else, let alone him.

At times, he wonders if he should move on, and find a girlfriend of his own. it wouldn't be hard, he wasn't unattractive or anything - but it'd be even worse to make someone who loves him feel like they're the second choice because he knows he'll always end up picking you instead.

yuji itadori tries not to think of it, or even let it show, but sometimes when you look at him and talk about your boyfriend, it feels like someones squeezing all the air from his lungs, forcing him to breathe manually—in. out. in. out. in. in. in. Over and over. Until the weight feels absolutely unbearable. He wonders if the quiet ache in his chest will ever ease. How long will he have to keep pretending?

every now and again, he even pretends that when you're talking about your boyfriend, you're just talking about him. all the places he took you out, the snacks you shared, the love you made - but reality quickly sets in and his heart sinks when you mention his name.

yuji watches you, and wonders why you decided so quickly that it would be your boyfriend and not him. why couldn't it be yuji? what makes your boyfriend so special, or better than him? he listens to the way you talk about him, as if you're trying to convince yourself that you're 'destined to be.' yuji knows, deep down, that this isn't it. you deserve someone who sees you, and understands you the way he does. but he’s not the one to say it, so he waits for you to notice.

yuji itadori who waits for you with absolutely no expectations because he knows that love—true love—and when its real, doesn't need to be rushed. it just exists, like the quiet glow of the moon in the dead of night. soft, steady, and always there—for you, specifically��no matter what.

blondieeu xx

[featherlight-touches]

Ooh ooh maybe some lee Wanderer for the birthday boy? :)

(it doesn't have to be done by today obviously dw)

As for ler... I do love me some ler Aether

Just some platonic fluff :)

aaah! of course! I already started something for his birthday but got wrapped up in other things. Here it is! A big happy birthday to our Wanderer. 💚 I hope you enjoy!

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

Wanderer sat perched in the branches of a towering tree beside the Sumeru Akademiya, his gaze distant as he lost himself in memories of past birthdays. He had once again slipped away on this day, his birthday, seeking solitude and peace away from the expectations and attentions of others.

The green leaves rustled softly around him, their gentle sounds a soothing balm to his troubled mind. In years gone by, he had celebrated this occasion surrounded by those he considered friends. But now, with the harsh sting of betrayal still fresh, those joyful times felt like a foolish dream, a naive illusion shattered by the cruel realities of the world.

With a solemn sigh, Wanderer closed his eyes, letting the sunlight dance across his face as he tried to push away the bittersweet recollections. He had learned the hard way that trust and companionship were fleeting and he refused to let his guard down again.

“There you are!”

A familiar voice was suddenly heard from below, piercing through his moment of attempted serenity. Wanderer’s eyes snapped open and as he peered down, he was greeted by the warm smile of Aether, who stood at the base of the tree.

“I’ve been looking all over for you!” Aether called up again, already beginning to climb up the tree without an invitation. The nerve.

Wanderer watched in silence as the traveller completed his ascend and then seated himself on the free spot beside him.

“No Paimon? That’s surprising.” Wanderer commented. “Aren’t you two usually attached at the hip?”

“She’s with Nahida right now. I said it would probably be better if I went to find you alone and she didn’t seem to mind.” Aether shrugged.

“Well, you found me, so you can head back now,” Wanderer dismissed, returning his gaze to beautiful view before them and missing the pout that formed upon Aether lips.

“Come on, I just got here. I didn’t even get a chance to say happy birthday yet.”

“Too bad. See ya’.”

“Don’t be like that!” Aether tried with a small laugh. “Why don’t you come down from here and spend some time with us?”

“I can’t think of anything else I would rather do less,” Wanderer confessed and smirked at the disappointed look that took over Aether’s face. “Did Lesser Lord Kusanali send you to come looking for me?”

“N-No, what makes you think that?”

“She suggested for me to do the same thing early this morning. To spend time with my new ‘friends’ and enjoy my birthday. I would hardly call these people my friends. If anything, they’re people who persist to gain my attention at any opportune moment.” Wanderer ranted, tilting the edge of his hat downwards to hide his face giving away any emotion on the matter. “To throw around the word friend so loosely is laughable.”

“What do you think it means to be someone’s friend?” Aether asked curiously, which caught Wanderer a little off guard. He took a moment to mull over the question, his mind reminiscing to the people who used to call his friends in a different time.  

Aether wondered if he hit a sensitive subject for the anemo user and cleared his throat to gain his attention again. “Well, I know we’ve had our differences, but I can confidently say that with everything we’ve been through together recently, I think of you closer to a friend than an enemy now.”

Wanderer’s eyes stared into Aether’s for a moment, searching for any insincerity but was surprised when he couldn’t find any. He seemed genuine, but Wanderer remained silent, letting the calm breeze flow between them in a rare moment of tranquillity.

“So…” Aether’s voice interrupted the silence. “How about it? Want to come down and spend time with us?”

Wanderer sighed. “You just had to ruin the moment, didn’t you?”

“It will be fun!” Aether declared, grabbing onto his wrist and attempted to pull him. Wanderer scowled at this attempt and tried to pull his hand back from his annoyingly strong grip. “Come on!”

“Let go!” Wanderer found himself being pulled into Aether’s lap, a hand coming up to remove his hat.  

When he turned to glare at the traveller, who now had his hat resting on his head instead, he saw the mischievous glint that flashed in Aether's eyes. Before he could question it, he felt fingers begin tickling at his sides and then danced along his ribs. Wanderer let out an involuntary laugh, surprised by the sudden playful assault.

“Whahahat are you dohohoing?!” Wanderer squirmed, trying to rid himself of the fingers that had him hostage. “Stohohop it!”

“Oooh, is somebody ticklish?” Aether teased in a particularly irritating sing-song voice. “Maybe this will convince you to spend time with us.”

Wanderer felt his face heat up through the teasing and found himself unable to respond through endless peals of laughter. He squirmed and kicked his legs to try and rid himself of the ticklish sensations shooting through his body but to no avail.

“Ae-Aether! Wohohould you- AHA! Nohoho!” Wanderer practically howled once Aether’s fingers reached his underarms. Aether had the audacity to laugh, which only added to the reasons Wanderer had to murder him there and then. “OKAHAY! Stohop! I YIELD!”

“So, you’re going to spend your birthday with us?” Aether paused to confirm, before letting his finger tap gently and teasingly along the tired male’s ribs, forcing an annoyed twitch.   

“You’re so annoying.” Wanderer growled, catching his breath from the laughter. “Fine. If it will stop you from torturing me, I’ll go with you.”

Aether giggled. “Great! Oh, and Wanderer?”

“What?”

“Happy birthday!”

[lordfries]

Now You See Me [Ch I]

Characters - Bucky x F reader

Summary - In the unforgiving deserts of North Africa, 1942, you’ve spent months proving yourself as a nurse in an army that doesn’t quite know what to make of you. When Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes arrives with a reputation for charm and easy confidence, he’s everything you don’t have time for—until the realities of war force your paths to cross.

Word Count - ~20,000 (so far!)

Warnings - Fluff, eventual smut, angst, war themes, descriptions of injury, blood. Reads fairly gender neutral for the most part, but it is written to be F!Reader and that'll show during future naughty scenes ... Unless the people request a gn option!

El Bucko doesn't show up until the second chapter, so I'll post that immediately after and link below... The tag is NYSM lordfries, for those that don't want to see updates for it.

If you want to get the latest chaps, they're up on my Ao3!

You’re not entirely sure how this soldier has managed to get his left hand stuck inside an empty ordnance casing, but the absurdity of it hits you the moment you stride into the ward. Your jaw tightens, and your frown deepens as you take in the sight: a sheepish-looking young man sitting stiffly on the cot, his trapped arm resting awkwardly on his lap. When he sees you, he gives a small, apologetic wave with the encased hand.

His uniform is spotless, not a wrinkle in sight, and his boots gleam like they’ve just been polished—textbook “fresh recruit.” You suppress a sigh as you glance down at the clipboard in your hand, flipping a page for confirmation.

“Private…” you drawl, eyes flicking up to meet his as you find the name, “…Ambley, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice is eager, the kind of politeness that makes you suspect he’s trying to soften the blow of whatever lecture might be coming his way.

You read aloud from the clipboard, tone flat. “Presenting here due to an ‘unfortunate miscalculation of hand-eye coordination’?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods earnestly, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.

“And when, exactly, did this… miscalculation occur?”

“This morning, ma’am. Just after oh-eight-hundred.”

You inhale deeply, pressing your thumb and forefinger to the bridge of your nose as if it might physically help you process the absurdity. A muffled groan escapes you before you lower the clipboard onto the cot beside him and crouch slightly to inspect his arm. He smells faintly of soap and clean linens—two luxuries that feel nearly foreign to you now.

“Private,” you begin, gripping the metal casing and giving it an experimental tug, “I’m going to assume you and your friends exhausted every possible solution before deciding to grace the infirmary with this… situation.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. Absolutely. Me ‘n the boys tried everything we could think of.” He nods solemnly, rolling his shoulder with a theatrical wince. “It’s a bit sore now. Can���t be helped, I ‘spose.”

“Mhm.” Your scepticism is palpable.

This time, you pull harder, earning a strained grunt from the soldier.

Jesus… It’s really jammed in there.

You lean closer, tilting the contraption to get a better view as your brows furrow in frustration. For a moment, you try to imagine the sequence of events that led to this—was he just bored? Showing off? You almost laugh at the thought of him purposefully shoving his hand into the casing to avoid drills. The possibility feels less absurd the longer you think about it.

Still, you can’t entirely rule out that this was an accident. Maybe.

You straighten, tilting your head at Private Ambley as an idea begins to form. He watches you cautiously, the corners of his mouth twitching nervously at the sudden determination in your gaze.

“Stay here,” you instruct sharply, though there’s little chance he could wander off with his arm encased in half a bombshell. Grabbing the clipboard, you make a quick note before calling out to the orderly on duty.

“Corporal Ndoye!”

The man snaps to attention, leaning through the doorway. “Yes’m?”

“I need rifle oil, and plenty of it. Now.”

Ndoye raises a brow, looks past you to see Ambley grimacing and nods slowly. “D’accord. I’ll be right back.”

Private Ambley guffaws from behind you. “Rifle oil? That shit’ll stain my uniform, and I only just got ‘em.”

You glance back at him, arching a brow. “And yet, you’ve managed to lodge yourself in an empty ordnance casing, Private. So unless you’d like me to requisition a hacksaw, I suggest you trust the process.”

The corporal returns with a battered tin of oil, handing it over with a bemused look. You roll up your sleeves and set to work, placing a tray on Ambley’s lap before tilting his arm to pour a generous stream of oil around the rim of the casing. The private flinches, his shoulders drooping as the sleeve of his uniform blossoms darkly with the spreading oil.

“This might take a minute,” you mutter, rotating his arm carefully to ensure the oil spreads evenly. He sniffles, a faint sound of resignation. “Private, I can guarantee you’ll be getting much more than just rifle oil on these sleeves before long. Hold still.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he croaks, looking like he’s already regretting every choice that led him here.

Once satisfied, you plant your feet firmly and take hold of the casing with both hands. “Alright, Private. On three. One… two…”

You yank sharply on two, catching him off guard. He yelps, jerking forward as the casing pops free, slipping out of your grip and clattering loudly onto the floor.

“Three,” you finish dryly, leaning down to retrieve the casing. Straightening, you hold up the greasy hunk of metal as Ambley cradles his liberated arm.

“You’re free to go,” you say, wiping your hands on a rag. “Though if I ever see you in here for something like this again, you’ll be scrubbing latrines for the rest of your deployment. And don’t even think about dripping that all over my floor.”

Ambley stares numbly at his oil-soaked arm, watching it drip into the tray. You return to your station, gathering your papers and reports.

“Uh, nurse?”

“… You’re still here, Private?”

“Can I get a towel?”

You sigh and pass him the rag, planting your hands on your hips as you watch him give a sheepish nod and shuffle out of the tent, dripping oil all the way to the exit.

***

The infirmary smells of antiseptic and dust, a strange mix of clean and gritty that clings to everything. You tighten your grip on a roll of gauze, shifting it deftly as you unwrap the old bandage from a soldier’s forearm. The work comes easily, your hands moving automatically, though your lips twitch at the sound of familiar footsteps.

“Bah, that Ambley.” Corporal Ndoye sighs, his voice carrying that signature mix of exasperation and amusement as he approaches. “Though, if there is a way to make a mess, I believe you will find it, no?”

You glance up briefly, raising an eyebrow. “If that were a talent, he’d be running this camp by now. Not me.”

Ndoye’s grin widens, showing teeth, and he leans casually against the edge of the nearest cot. “Perhaps he has hidden ambitions. One day, you will see, eh?”

You shake your head, tying off the fresh dressing with a precise knot. “If his ambitions involve using up the last of our supplies, then we’ll have a real problem.”

Ndoye chuckles, the sound rich and unhurried. “You are too kind,” he says, his tone amused. “The patience of a saint, I think. I would not last ten minutes with that one.”

“Patience has limits, Dan,” you reply, brushing past him to the supply cabinet. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but is there a reason you’re not at your post?”

Ndoye tilts his head, his hands resting loosely on his hips. “Ah, yes. I bring you news… Word around camp is that reinforcements are coming soon.”

You pause your ogling of the cabinet, glancing at him. “Reinforcements? From where? How many?” The thought twists uncomfortably in your mind, considering the lack of supplies and bare rations you’d all been living on already.

“From everywhere, it seems. America, England, Australie… Some from Brooklyn, even.” He smirks, tilting his head at you. You’d spoken to Ndoye of your hometown from time to time, describing the gritty streets, the scent of hot pretzels mingling with smoke from chimneys, and the way the borough never truly quiets, even in the dead of night. It was a world away from the sun-scorched camp you both now called home. He seemed to enjoy the stories too—a far cry from his quieter upbringing in Senegal. You’d grown fond of his stories as well, as fantastical and unbelievable as he often made them sound.

“Let me guess,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Heroes in their own minds?”

Ndoye laughs, a deep and infectious sound. “Perhaps. Or perhaps just more men trying to survive, like all of us. We will see.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a small smile, closing the supply cabinet and leaning on it. “If they’re anything like Ambley, I’m filing for an early discharge.”

“Oh, no, no,” Ndoye says, shaking his head dramatically. “You cannot leave me here alone with these men. Vous êtes ma préférée, tu sais.”

“Favoritism isn’t very becoming of you, Corporal,” you reply, though your voice softens and you find yourself smiling anyway. You nudge the side of his arm lightly before turning back to your inventory. “Now go make yourself useful before someone decides to put you on latrine duty. You’re too clever to be shoveling shit.”

“Yes’m.” He grins, saluting lazily as he turns on his heel and strolls back to his post outside the tent.

***

The afternoon sun beats down mercilessly, turning the sand outside the infirmary into a shifting, golden glare that makes your eyes ache. Inside, the air is no better. Dust clings to the canvas walls and settles on every surface, mixing with the ever-present smell of antiseptic and sweat. You’ve long given up wiping it away—it’s a losing battle.

You pause your work to stretch your back, glancing toward the small table in the corner where someone left a tin cup of water. It’s lukewarm by now, but you drink it anyway, grimacing as the metallic tang coats your tongue. It’s the same water everyone else drinks, hauled in barrels from god-knows-where, and you try not to think about the strange taste.

Outside, the low murmur of voices drifts through the heavy air, punctuated by bursts of laughter that sound more forced than genuine. The men joke and jeer to pass the time, their voices rising and falling like the hum of insects in the desert heat.

You turn back to your task: reorganising the dwindling supply shelf. A neat row of bandages sits next to a tin of aspirin that’s been half-empty for weeks. The morphine ration is nearly gone, and you dread what will happen when the next serious injury comes in. A stack of neatly folded linens catches your eye, and you count them twice to be sure. Six. Barely enough to get through the week, let alone any emergencies.

A shadow falls across the tent, and you glance up to find Corporal Ndoye leaning against the entrance, his usual grin replaced with a more contemplative expression.

“Two visits from you this week. Now I really am starting to feel like a favourite. Is it a blister this time?” you ask, not bothering to hide your smirk as you set the needle down.

“Non,” he replies, stepping inside. “Though I am sure one of these fools will come running in with something soon. It’s been… quiet.”

The way he says it makes you pause. Quiet wasn’t always a relief in places like this—it could be the kind that preceded a storm.

You nod toward the supply shelf. “Quiet or not, we’re running low on just about everything. Any word on when those reinforcements might actually arrive?” You silently pleaded that with reinforcements, also came supplies.

He exhales, crossing his arms. “Two days, per’aps three. That is the rumour.”

“Rumours don’t fill stomachs or replace bandages,” you mutter, tugging at the edge of your apron nervously.

He chuckles softly, though there’s no humour in it. “No, they do not. But they give the men something to talk about. That is important, no?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the sound of raised voices from outside cuts through the moment. Ndoye’s head tilts sharply, his expression hardening. Without another word, he strides toward the tent’s entrance, and you follow, curiosity prickling at your thoughts.

Outside, two soldiers stand chest-to-chest, their faces red with anger. One of them, a wiry young private whose name you can’t recall, gestures toward the water barrel while the other—a broad-shouldered corporal—glares down at him.

“I told you,” the corporal snaps, his voice low and sharp. “You’re done. Don’t take more than your share.”

“It’s my turn!” the private shoots back, his voice cracking with desperation. “You’ve been hogging it all morning!”

Ndoye steps between them before you can intervene, his presence commanding immediate attention. He doesn’t shout—he doesn’t need to. The corporal mutters something under his breath, backing off with a scowl, while the private stumbles away, muttering to himself.

The tension lingers in the air as Ndoye turns back to you, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Reinforcements cannot come soon enough.”

You nod, glancing toward the horizon. The camp feels smaller than ever, its routines fraying under the weight of too many days and too few resources. You wonder, not for the first time, if new faces will truly ease the strain—or if they’ll simply add to the burden.

***

The mess tent is stuffy, the heavy canvas walls barely blocking out the relentless afternoon sun. The air is thick with the smell of old coffee and damp fabric, and every seat at the makeshift tables is filled. Soldiers crowd together, some leaning forward on their elbows, others sitting back with arms crossed. You linger near the back, clipboard in hand, the edge digging into your palm as you try to gauge the mood.

The commanding officer stands at the head of the tent, his silhouette sharp against the light streaming in through the open flap behind him. Captain Barlow is a wiry man, all angles and precision, his voice clipped and sharp as he addresses the gathered men.

“As most of you have heard by now,” he begins, his tone brisk, “we’re expecting reinforcements within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

A murmur ripples through the room, and you catch snippets of conversation.

“’Bout time.”

“Think they’ll bring any decent food?”

“Bet it’s just more green recruits.”

Barlow raises a hand, and the voices die down. “Before anyone gets too comfortable with the idea, let me remind you that this isn’t a pleasure cruise. The reinforcements are here to bolster operations, not babysit. Supplies will remain tight until the next convoy arrives, so don’t expect miracles.”

That earns a few groans, and someone mutters loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Then what’s the point?”

Barlow’s gaze snaps to the speaker, a young private sitting near the middle. The room goes silent. “The point, Private, is that they’ll be picking up where some of your comrades left off. Or would you like to volunteer for double patrol duty instead?”

The private shrinks under the weight of the captain’s glare, mumbling a half-hearted apology.

Barlow exhales sharply, turning his attention back to the group. “We’ll be taking in a mixed contingent—American, British, and Free French. Among them is a sergeant who’s been noted for his leadership in field operations. I expect you to show the same respect you’d show your own.”

You notice a few raised eyebrows at that. Soldiers already worn thin by heat and hunger don’t tend to take kindly to new authority figures, especially ones with reputations that precede them. It also meant yet another officer for you to size up and promptly keep out of your infirmary’s business.

Someone from the far end of the table speaks up. “What about supplies? Are they bringing any extra rations, or are we supposed to stretch what little we’ve got?”

Barlow hesitates for the briefest moment before answering. “They’ll have their own initial provisions, but until the convoy gets through, we’re all operating on limited resources. Make it work.”

The tension in the room ratchets up another notch. A sergeant seated nearby folds his arms across his chest, his voice low and rough. “Reckon that means they’ll be eating our bread and sleeping in our cots. Nice of them.”

“Sure that shit’s mouldy, but it’s our mouldy bread.”

A smattering of bitter laughter follows, but it’s cut short by Barlow slamming his hand down on the table.

“That’s enough,” he barks. “These men are coming to do a job, the same as you. If anyone has a problem with that, they can see me directly.” His gaze sweeps the room, daring anyone to challenge him. No one does.

You feel the weight of their frustration pressing against your own unease. The reinforcements could be a lifeline, but they could just as easily upset the fragile balance the camp has clung to. Your mind drifts to the dwindling supply cabinet.

“Dismissed,” Barlow says finally, and the room begins to empty, soldiers filing out in clusters. The low hum of complaints picks up again as soon as they’re outside, the tension spilling back into the open air.

You linger near the edge of the tent, watching as Ndoye approaches, his expression unreadable.

“Thoughts?” he asks, leaning casually against one of the wooden poles supporting the structure.

You shrug, though the knot in your stomach betrays your attempt at nonchalance. “Hard to say. Would be nice to have some more hands on deck, mix things up. But I don’t know… They’re being incredibly vague about the supplies.”

He hums in agreement, his dark eyes scanning the dispersing crowd. “You’re not wrong. New faces bring new stories, new tempers. But perhaps they bring something else, too. Hope, maybe.”

You snort softly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Ndoye tilts his head, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Always the skeptic.”

“Always the realist,” you correct. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Rodeo?” Ndoye tilts his head as you turn to leave.

“Rodeo. Erm… Horses, whips and cowboys and… You’ve really never heard of a rodeo?” You grin in disbelief, placing your hands on your hips.

“Why would you be whipping cowboys?” His eyes bore into you earnestly, though a smirk tugs on his lips.

“Dan…”

“Relax, mon chou. I jest.” He winks, striding past you. “Made you smile, though.”

You resolve to return to the infirmary. The supplies need organising again, and there’s no telling how the next few days will unfold.

Chapter II

[bacchanalianhamlet]

2 months seizure free ✌🏻

[rebornofstars]

hello!! just wondering whether anyone would be interested in a September-based art & writing event focussed on celebrating the female characters in the LU fandom?

i've been thinking about trying to organise something like this for a few months now, but i'm finally speaking up, because this morning i had an idea...

we could call it:

✨Sepfember✨

anyway, if you'd be interested in a september event, let me know!

[varjopeura]

.

[diomedrian]

It's so WEIRD that during the day I am like. Dead and lazy and absolutely do NOT want to move. And the minute it's five and it's dark outside, hoo boy do I not only have a to do list BUT ALSO the motivation and the energy to do it all

[beeseverywhen]

I mean like. Not to bring the mood down but... you guys know that's because American media is everywhere right? Like the world is unable to avoid some version of American accent on a regular basis. Of course ppl find it easy to mimic. This is absolutely not restricted to ppl in the UK, its really common for ppl who learn English as a foreign language to have perfect 'American actor' accents (cause the reason everyone's so good at the American accent that's expected of them as actors is cause at large there's little distinction between regions in the 'Hollywood accent' that ends up on TV and films and stuff. You guys have massive regional differences in pronounceation, but what makes it on to TV (in 9/10 cases) is a very standardised version of American English.)

But yeah. It's not just actors lol. Most British ppl can speak in a passable american accent, as can loads and loads of people worldwide. I'm not saying this to be like 'you should feel guilty! 😡' but it does always stun me when Americans are unaware of the impact their country has worldwide on all versions of English (and even on use of native languages. Many countries are using English more and more over their native languages and dialects , and yeah, historical colonialism has had an impact there.)

But in the last few decades things have progressed way way faster and that, is thanks to the impact of anglo/american/ect lead capitalism. I'm in no way dismissing the impact the UK has on this, but in recent years, its the US that is largely pushing that train .While the UK and several English speaking commonwealth countries are very involved in this kind of capitalist imperialism, there's a reason that more and more people are speaking American English. Not one of the many UK dialects, not Australian English, or NZ English. Across the world more and more people are increasingly speaking in the same standardised american dialect that's in so much of the media you export. Hollywood based media, with that standardised accent/ dialect and the standardised 'normal american life', has a stranglehold on the world and I just find it crazy that a lot of you guys don't even know.

It's stupid stuff like. So many countries are importing american cars and are widening their roads/ changing town planning to account for it (this is less of a thing in the UK but I see it more and more when I travel). Its the food becoming avaliable everywhere. Its the influence that for profit healthcare has even on countries with socialised health systems. Its houses being built to account for American style appliances. Fashion trends. Worldwide, everything is slowly evolving to be closer and closer to this 'American standard' which honestly? I really don't think actually represents the lives of real American people either. You've been turned in to products, the system has taken an unrealistic snapshot of 'American life' and it's being sold to you all day in day out, but it's also being sold to the rest of us. It's being pushed on us all.

Kids in the UK go through phases of talking only in American accents. Anyone born later than the 90s is carrying round 2 sets of spelling and vocab, cause we're all so used to the American way, that you barely know which one you're using half of the time. In the UK we have always had really strong regional accents yeah, and dialects differ between areas that seem tiny to you guys, I know. But like. Those dialects are being lost cause all UK accents are evolving to become closer to this standardised american and yeah not great, but at least we share a language! US American society is largely rooted in the same foundations as UK society, largely we have the same flaws! But oh my god. What about the rest of the world.

It's global. This impact continues to be seen, steamrollering ahead, in places that had completely different starting points. UK culture isn't that dissimilar to that of the US, so we aren't losing nearly as much as cultures that had something completely different. So much is being lost.

Languages and dialects and everything else is just being wallpapered over so we all meet the same ideal of the 'American life' and it's not even real! It's just a product based on how ppl were actually living in the US, manipulated until it's the most marketable mould. You guys are victims of it as well but like. It's based on your culture so you don't lose as much if you conform to it. Just like how in the UK, if we conform, we lose more than US, but nowhere near as much as countries that had languages, dialects and cultures that were so so different to UK/US culture. The less like the US, your starting point, the more there is to lose.

And look. I said it to start with. I'm not having a go. That's not what this is. But you guys really need to be aware, you need to make an effort to understand the impact that this plastic Hollywood american culture is having on the rest of the world. You need to actively look for it, and make an effort to not pay in to it. Because when Americans see other cultures represented in media and say its not relatable, when you guys go on holiday and make no effort to learn local customs, and try and pay in dollars and spend your time abroad like you're still in America, when you see cultural differences and immediately argue that the American way is better and of course everyone should have giant cars and never dry laundry outdoors and live in American style homes, without any kind of critical thought. Just 'this is how we do it so why wouldn't everyone else do it this way. This is the only way. The American way is obviously best.' When you guys do that you are individually feeding in to this absolute bulldozing of cultures (including American ones!) to allow for better marketability.

It isn't any one individual American citizens fault that things are the way they are, and you guys are victims of the same system, but you need to have some self awareness when it comes to the fact that as individuals you are unknowingly, helping driving this forwards and as individuals, there are things you can do to limit your personal impact (and no arguing that you have no culture is not it!!! Being all self deprecating doesn't do shit. Take some responsibility and accept that individual Americans didn't create this system, but currently, individual Americans really are doing their bit to keep promoting it, to keep pushing it on the rest of the world.

And I've already rambled for an age so I'll stop here but I just want to make clear as an ending note here, that this really isn't about piling on Americans and being all 'boo it's all America's fault. They should apologise. Their culture isn't worth anything.' Not at all this is the opposite of that. The fact that millions of Americans have been convinced you have no culture, all while a mimicry of American culture is plastered on to the rest of the world, and while you as individuals are encouraged to help that happen, often without even realising what you're doing; is a crime. You've been wronged, as have we all.

And America is not the problem. The problem is imperialism and it didn't start with you guys. It started in Europe, and Europeans, particularly British ppl, have a responsibility to push back and be self aware, take some fucking responsibility and not inadvertently keep feeding in to that system, just as you guys do. The US didn't start the fire, imperialist capitalism is a fire that started burning long before the United States was even considered, but its on all of us, to do what we can to not feed that fire. And right now? You guys are the face of it.

This idea of what America is, is the face of imperialistic capitalism, and that means that even if you don't mean to, you guys are feeding that fire more so than the rest of us. You're responsible for spreading it, more so than the rest of us. And if you don't step up and take responsibility, accept that you're gonna get it wrong sometimes and you need to try to do better; if we don't all do that. There will be nothing left. They'll paper over it all, the lives of real Americans just as much as those in Scotland and India and the Netherlands, and 100 other cultures, that are at risk, thanks to this fire, that's currently, largely coming from America.

So yeah. It's absolutely not just on you guys and ppl who act like there's no racism or wealth divide in Europe or anywhere else for that matter are complete idiots, however, this Americanisation of the world (and I hesitate to call it that. Because its not a representation of real American lives. Its simply wearing an American face.) Its real. It's happening.

And we don't tell you about it to make you feel guilty (those of us who aren't dicks at least) ,we are telling you. We are kicking up a fuss. Because it isn't fair. It's not right and while individual Americans ignore that and refuse to take responsibility where they can (small apples. We aren't asking for you to call a violent revolution in our names. Just take some time to learn about the rest of the world. Stop assuming America is always right and examine your biases. When you find them. Stop personally pushing them.) , while that is happening, as individuals, you are contributing to this. It's not even altruism. This system is hurting Americans too. It's hurting us all. All we ask is that you do what you can to not personally contribute, and keep an open mind, be aware. That's all any of us can do.

when a british actor does an american accent everyone’s like “i didn’t even know they were british until they were on colbert.” but when americans do a british accent everyone’s like “they’re supposed to be from east cocksford but their glottal e’s are north dicksford. shameful.”

[ambrosiagourmet]

Every time I revisit chapter 86 and the events right after the group talks Marcille down, I'm always struck by this bit here:

In particular, how similar it is to this:

The Winged Lion ate the same desire in both of them, more or less (I'm sure there are some nuances in both flavor and intent, but they are clearly similar things here). The Lion basically used this technique to kill Thistle, and for Marcille it was... not insignificant, but something she and her friends overcame without even fully realizing it was an obstacle.

I feel like this is another small piece of the story that shows how important support and love are - in navigating mental illness, in dealing with abuse or addiction, or in working through any other similar struggle that can be read into the Lion and his eating of desires.

It almost feels like Marcille was able to borrow the desires of her friends. She loves them and she trusts them, so even when she didn't have a desire to free herself from the Lion, the care they had for her well being still mattered to her.

It's the same thing later, with her hair.

She isn't able to notice the way her messy hair is making things harder, let alone do anything about it. But when Chilchuck points it out and then braids it back for her...

It's better. She likes it, things are easier now. Even though it isn't a desire she can feel for herself, it's not something that doesn't effect her. And because her friends care - because they know her well enough to notice the difference - she is given the chance to have a preference and to ask for their help.

We can obviously see some parallel ideas here with Mithrun and Kabru as well, but I'd also like to point out that Thistle gets this grace, too. Thistle, who had no one to help him up once he lost his will to resist, or to encourage him to find new desires once the Lion ate them all.

Thistle says he doesn't need anything, anymore...

But he is given an apology anyways.

It is not a kindness he desires. It is not a kindness he is able to ask for.

But it is a kindness that helps. It is a kindness that matters.

[monsterblogging]

"I know JK Rowing is a terrible person but her books are so good-"

You sure about that?

I mean, just for a start, have you taken a good look at her fantasy creatures lately? A whole bunch of them are straight-up based on malicious and dehumanizing stereotypes about actual people.

Remember the werewolves? And being a werewolf was made into a kind of metaphor for having AIDS?

And you know how AIDS was first associated with gay men? And how conservatives back in the day were claiming gay men were preying on children in order to convert them to gayness?

Remember how Fenrir Greyback preyed on children in particular? Yeah, she put that subtext in there. She was an adult in the 90's. She knew damn well what she was doing.

Remember the house elves? Remember how most of them loved to serve and needed to have a home and a master or else they just wouldn't know what to do with themselves?

Did you know that's literally what slavers in the American South said about the Black people they kept enslaved? Go look up the happy slave myth.

Do I even need to get into the goblins and the antisemitic tropes they're based on? No, folkloric goblins were not gold-hoarding bankers waiting for their chance to stab humanity in the back.

"But the characters are so good!"

Are you kidding me?

Most of her characters are pretty one-dimensional, including Harry. Her idea of making a morally complicated character is giving a tragic past to a bully. Numerous characters are little more than stereotypes. (Looking at Fleur right now.) Literally anybody, including you, can easily make dozens of characters just as good, if not better. (It doesn't exactly take a lot of character designing skill to go, "hey, actually, having a sad backstory doesn't make it okay to bully children" or "hey, maybe I should not base a character on the first stereotype that pops into my head.")

"But the rest of the worldbuilding!"

Sorry, but her worldbuilding is just as basic as her characters. Magical castles and secret passages are stock tropes. Magical people who keep their true nature secret from humanity is the premise of pretty much every White Wolf TTRPG. Most of her fantasy creatures are just common European fairy tale and folklore creatures with shitty stereotypes projected onto them.

I'm not saying "basic worldbuilding bad." I'm saying, you could do just as good, if not better, with minimal effort.

Also there's her magical bioessentialism, where only Harry's abusive blood relatives could provide him with supernatural protection from Voldemort. Rowling thus effectively declared that non-biological family isn't quite real family, and that abusive biofamily can give you some essential thing that a loving, supportive family that isn't related to you just can't.

The Hogwarts houses are one of the most insidious elements of her worldbuilding. The idea of being sorted gives you a little dopamine hit because wow now you have a li'l niche where you belong!

But the actual function of the houses and sorting system and the House Cup is teaching children to see each other as rivals, and ensure that the most toxic views of the upper class get passed on to every new batch of kids sorted into Slytherin.

Hogwarts effectively prepares children for a dystopia where magic serves to distract its citizens from how nightmarishly awful it is. Economic inequality is so bad that people like Arthur and Molly Weasley can barely afford to put their kids through school, casual sadism is just an accepted norm in everyday society, and non-humans are second class citizens. Rowling sorta acts like she thinks this is a bad thing with certain lines she gave to Dumbledore, but in the end, her special boy protagonist becomes an auror; IE, a defender of the status quo. So.

If you've never seen it, Lily Simpson's video goes into even more detail on how the worldbuilding of Harry Potter is actually incredibly fucked up, and how it betrays small-minded attitudes on Rowling's part. There's no separating the art from this artist, because Rowling's rotten values pour out of nearly every page.

Yes, there are many things in Harry Potter that evoke feelings and inspire people, but there's absolutely nothing in it that this series has a monopoly on. You can find those same experiences in much, much better media.

[leathfaic]

Ghost thinks he's cracked the code when he gifts Johnny an ultra complicated lego set for Christmas. Something to keep his hands and mind busy for a while.

He's watching, with terror and awe as Soap burns through a 1000+ pieces in an hour, with half a bottle of whiskey in him - drinking more while he's at it. He smiles the whole way through, though - and Ghost gets a tipsy peck on his cheek. Which might or might not have made the whole endeavour worth it.

"Thought that might keep you busy a while longer." he admits later, when he's deep into his own cups.

"Ach, dinnae sound so disappointed Ghostie, not'ing in there tha' can explode. Can work fast and sloppy."

Ghost just spent an hour staring at Johnny's hands and the concentration painted on his face. He knows there was nothing sloppy about that assembly. But he has to admit that compared to Soap's usual jobs, this is bound to be rather calming.

His eyes meet Price's over in another corner of the room. And the message, conveyed by a single raised eyebrow is clear. Ghost is not to add explosives to any gifts, even if it would make Soap very happy.

So naturally the next time - at Johnny's birthday - he slaps down a timer and a fully assembled lego set.

"Better get it done in time Johnny. And no cheating."

The way Soap's face lights up at the implication that there might be a bomb in his birthday gift should be concerning. But all it does is make Ghost wish there actually were some.

Johnny is a good sport about properly disassembling the marzipan compromise inside though. And just to prove he can immediately rebuilds the legos into the other figure they can form - taking a shot every time he has to look at the manual.

And when he carries his way too drunk partner to bed, Ghost vows to apply for Christmas leave. Which is something he hasn't done since...well for a long, long time.

Johnny, being the man that he is, never questions why they are going to spend Christmas in the countryside. A small cottage barely worth the name, as far away from other people as you can get on the Isles.

He just takes the chance to kiss Ghost every chance he gets, enjoying the fact that their isolation means he's getting an unprecedented amount of mask-free Simon.

"Got a surprise for you out in the shed, sweetheart." Ghost whispers when he catches Soap from behind while the man is about to open a bottle.

"Sounds like what a serial killer would say to lure ye into the open."

Ghost decides not to ponder that. With the reality of their jobs that answer... more than he's willing to argue right now.

"Should wait with that until you've had the surprise." he says instead, gently taking the bottle from Soap. Who for the first time frowns.

Ghost relents and they bring the scotch to the shed.

When Soap sees what he cooked up, he whistles low, no need to confirm that what he's seeing is the real deal.

It has taken all of Ghost's knowledge about explosives to craft the abomination. The two lego sets combined with a new third one, 6 sets of cables - all the same colour, and of course a live charge inside.

Johnny goes all still. Stalks closer like he's trying to get the drop on the inanimate object.

Watches it from all sides before turning to Ghost, "Do Ah need to follow protocol?"

His voice clearly tells him he hopes he does not have to. Ghost once again feels vindicated in his choice to move them out here, just pressing the bottle back into Soap's hand with a smile.

If this is what takes them both out then it's already worth it for the unhinged grin it gets him. Johnny's feral joy is infectious, and when he finally steps away raising his hands like he's expecting a crowd to cheer, Ghost honestly couldn't tell you how much time had passed.

He doesn't get a chance to ponder it either because the next second he's tackled by a full grown Scot with a half empty bottle of scotch in his hand and taken clean of his feet.

And if he hadn't already convinced this had been worth it, then the way Johnny makes sure to say thank you certainly is.

They do not make it back to the cottage for a good long while.

(This whole thing was inspired by my dear beloved @dismightyman who's singlehandedly holding it down in the Ghoap trenches with me)

[cy-cyborg]

Hey, able-bodied folks, if a disabled person is complaining about something being unfair/inaccessible because of our disabilities, you know you don't have to explain to us why that unfairness/inaccessibility a thing, right? Chances are we know it is the way it is. It's still unfair and we still want to talk about it.

I saw a video by an amputee warning other disabled people not to go to Thorpe Park in England, as they paid full price to enter, but were only allowed on 3 rides due to their amputation. This is something I also experienced when I went to the Gold Coast (mostly at Movie World, Wet n' Wild and, to a lesser extent, Dreamworld) and at Lunar Park in Sydney. There were also several others in the comments talking about similar experiences elsewhere.

But among these comments were dozens of people saying, "it's for health and safety reasons! The ride won't be able to hold you in!" And like... yeah, we know why. It doesn't make it any less unfair that we pay the same as you for a fraction of the experience. It doesn't make it feel any less shitty when you scrimp and save to do something like go to a theme park only to have to sit on the side line and watch your friends/family have fun without you. It doesn't make it any less scummy that there's very little warning that this will be the case (most of the time) until you arrive. It doesn't make it any less frustrating that so many recreational and fun activities don't even consider the possibility that disabled people would want to join in.

It's not just this video. It happens a lot. Any time someone complains about inaccessibility, there's always someone there trying to explain why the inaccessibility is there.

A resteraunt or shop isn't accessible? "Have you considered the person just didn't know/didn't have the money to fix it/were renting and weren't allowed to fix it?"

You called to see if some place was accessible, were told it was but when you arrive, it's not? "Have you considered the person didnt actually know/ thought it was and just made a mistake?"

You complain that a device/item/furniture item you bought isn't usable because of your disability despite there being no indication this would be the case before you bought it/no way to further verify it before hand? "Have you considered that disabled people make up such a small minority of their buyers they just didn't realise?"

Yeah, we know. Every single one. We considered it. a lot more than you did, i promise. We know why. We know sometimes mistakes happen, people don't think to consider us, there could be health and safety reasons for the lack of access, that people just don't know, and that it's not usually maliciousness or intentional ableism. I promise, we know all of it. We still need to talk about it though, so things can get better.

[ghouljams]

Ok nobody extrapolate anything about me from this...

The first time you cry in front of the 141:

The first time you cry in front of Ghost it's because you can't fucking take it anymore. All the little things, all the comments you know he didn't mean to hurt, all the conversations you ignored because you didn't want to make him feel like the bad guy, it all comes to a head. You don't even mean it to happen, and you feel like shooting yourself on the spot as soon as the tears start flowing. It feels manipulative. It feels disingenuous. You feel like a piece of shit having him awkwardly bundle you in his arms as you break down sobbing over a topic that normally would mean nothing to you. And it all comes out. All the worries and slights you ignored, all the fears and doubts, all the things that made you question if you could ever even start to bring up with him. Like throwing up, once it starts you can't stop it.

He looks like you've hit him when you finally escape his bear hug. You barely get the chance to take it in before you're thrust back into sobbing hysterics, blubbering out apologies, how you feel like you're manipulating him, how you're a bad partner, how you're sure he's going to realize he doesn't want you and leave. You barely hear the rough "Jesus Christ" over your own hiccuping.

Ghost shuffles the two of you over to grab you a t-shirt to blow your nose in while you're sniffling and wiping at your eyes. You feel pathetic having him hold the fabric to your face and telling you to blow.

"Didn't know ya made this much snot love," he jokes.

"You're dot funny," you whine, nose still clogged with wattery mucus as your tears finally start calming down.

"I know," he grumps.

"You're mad at me," you sniffle.

"I'm not," he sounds mad, "mad at myself. Shoulda seen ya keepin' things to yourself, I'm glad ya finally told me." His scarred mouth screws to one side. "Just gotta work on makin' sure we don't get to this point again."

-

The first time you cry in front of Soap it's because you're so fucking mad at him. He's arguing with you over nothing, the same way he always does when he's in a bad mood. Finding little things that dig at you and twisting just enough to make it not his fault when you snap. Back and forth with your barbs until you got to bed angry.

You can feel the tears burning at your waterline before they spill and you know your hot cheeks don't bode any better. You're not yelling but you almost wish you were, at least of you were yelling at each other it might make you feel better about the sudden waterworks. You hate when this happens. Too big an emotion in the body, it has to come out somewhere, you suppose this is just the quickest avenue. The way Soap's face drops from anger to concern pisses you off though.

"Hen, are ya-"

"I'm so fucking mad right now," you assure him, "don't look at me, don't even acknowledge them."

"Ah dinnae ken," His voice is getting softer, it only makes you more upset, "Oh my bonnie, ahm sorry ah didnae think this would hurt ya so bad."

"Fuck off," you try to push past him to lock yourself in the bathroom and he catches your arm to pull you against him. "Fuck off!" You shriek, pushing at him.

"No," he holds you a little tighter, "my mam would 'ave my heid hearin' ah let ya walk away from me like this, yer stayin' 'ere."

"I will fucking skin you Mactavish," you struggle harder.

"Aye anno, now shut up an' quit yer kickin'."

You do neither of those things.

-

The first time Gaz sees you cry it's because no one's ever seen you before. Even in your best relationships, your closest friendships, no one sees you like Gaz. No one picks you up from work with flowers and takes you by your favorite bakery just so you can have a slice of cake when you watch your comfort show. You're not even through the title music, Gaz sorting through your takeout options after he'd gotten you a "fancy plate" and a small fork to eat with, when you break down in sobs. He's on you immediately, hushing you as he gathers you into his arms. He's so attentive it hurts.

"It's OK baby," he hums, "don't have to talk about it, you just let it out."

God even that gets you crying. You don't have to get your words right or find a way to explain what you're feeling, you can just feel it. You try to think of a way to put it into words but it all lines up wrong, sounds too juvenile, doesn't make any sense even to you. There's no need to say anything though, Gaz just sits there with you, holds you through it as you wet his shoulder with your tears.

You don't even know why you're crying by the end of it, you just kept coming up with other reasons to cry. Jesus you don't think you ever got over your last grandparent dying, or losing that one friend, that's something to unpack later. You feel drained. Literally dehydrated drained. Gaz's shirt is soaked, but he doesn't day anything when you pull back.

He cups your cheek at wipes at the wet stains on your cheek with his thumb, eyes searching yours before he gives you a tight smile.

"Why don't you go take a hot shower, yeah?" He offers, you give him a watery nod, he smiles and pats your knee. "Alright, off you go. I'll be in, in a second."

The second time you cry in front of Gaz it's before he's got you pinned to the shower wall.

-

The first time Price sees you cry it's because you're tired. You're tired of giving everything to this relationship and seeing him leave right when things seem to be falling into place. His phone buzzes in the middle of the night and you don't stop the downpour when he grumbles out a swear and turns on the light. You glare at the ceiling and let the tears flow. It hurts. Tight in your chest. This feeling like you'll never be enough, like he'll always have something more important than you, it kills you. So why can't you leave him?

Are the good times really good enough to make up for the bad?

It makes him stop what he was doing when he sees the resolute grimace and the flow of tears over your cheeks. You shudder in a breath when he sits on the side of the bed. You refuse to look at him.

How could he do this to you?

"Sweetheart," he starts, his voice low, gentling, "I'm sorry."

"You're not." You correct him, "Otherwise you wouldn't keep doing it."

"You want me to choose between you and the world, you know what I'll say." He always sounds so sharp, ready to guilt you into giving up what he wants.

"I'm asking you to choose between me and paperwork," you bite back.

"You don't know-"

"You get phone calls when you're being deployed." You remind him, "You get reminders when papers are due." You turn to glare at him. The look on his face twists like a knife in your chest. You're dead on the money, and it's killing him. "So can this really not wait until the morning, are you really that eager to be rid of me?"

"I'm sorry," he tries again, toeing off his shoes, "you're right, I hadn't noticed." You turn over as he climbs under the duvet again. You fold your legs up as his arm drapes over you hip and he curls around you. His lips touch your shoulder, a silent plea for forgiveness. "Let me make it up to you, no more running into red tape I promise."

You don't bother agreeing to empty promises, but the next day he's had the paperwork sent from the base. The same the next day. Price always told you working from home didn't suit him. Waking you up with a cuppa on the other hand and walking you to the station does though.

He makes good on his promise, he doesn't run off until the next call comes in.