#maybe??? i feel its not a discourse and yet i see it far too often being Big Emotions

[whalechief]

yeah, you don't have to reblog the art, but if you rly want to know why reblogs to artists are more impactful..imagine this

a little kid runs up to their mother and is really excited to show them the drawing they spent a lot of time on of their mom and this kid holding hands. the mom goes "mmhm thats nice" but didnt actually look at them.

the kid gets upset and the mom says "why are you upset? i saw it, im not ignoring you" yeah they got acknowledged but no they didnt get acknowlegement.

theres no connection between artists and the people who enjoy their art/fandom. its intentional to reblog art, its showing you liked it enough to take the second to reblog it, its on your blog by your choice, that's so kind of you

like im sorry that these kinds of posts are annoying, but i just feel really protective of those joining tumblr to show ppl their art or fanart and getting crickets because theres no traction. how are they supposed to interact with their fandom if their fandom doesnt interact with them?

[magical-leek]

Before being picked up by the nautiloid, Tav and her pirate crew took on their biggest heist yet. Accompanied by Tommic and his band of cut throats, Tav finds herself in hot water as they discover the cargo they are looking for are actually Netherstones.

This is the backstory I came up with for my Tav with elements and references to the game that I would love to elaborate on further with more fics. Hope you like it!

Tav looked southbound across the vast open sea in a rare moment of calm. The skies were clear, clinging to daylight while the sun moved slowly below the horizon. The ocean rocked her ship gently like a mother rocks a cradle. It was the type of time that her Captain referred to as “the in-betweens,” no duties or work, just letting the wind carry them north. She rubbed a cracked palm across the side of her faithful wooden companion, the rust of the nails tickled her fingers and left brown specs in her skin. Despite age taking its toll on the ship, she could think of no better place to be. The vessel had been her home for nearly twenty years.

A bell tolled from the crow’s nest waking her from her daze. She looked up to see her crewman Marx descending from the ship's rickety ladder in surprising speed given his stout nature. 

“We got three ships coming our way. Two frigates and a galleon.” He said as he descended. “Banner is Flaming Fist. Could be the cargo Cap’n is after.”

Tav shook her head. “Our lead said the ship would be a cutter with no banner. These are just decoys to throw us off.”

The crewman fished a dirty cloth from his shirt pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. He spoke between heavy breaths with worry in his tone. “Cutter must be close then if we’re seeing decoys and all. Maybe we should switch directions, swing wide so they don’t see us.”

“No need to throw ourselves off course, but we should use discretion. They will be on the lookout for pirates.” Tav replied. 

She thrust her arms over the side of the ship and uttered the words “Dai’torna.” A thick mist poured out from her palms, wrapping itself around the ship and blanketing them in a gray cloud. She held her posture, closing her eyes to make sure nothing broke her concentration until the Fist’s vessels passed, detouring away from the ominous fog. When the danger had passed, she broke the spell, allowing the cloud to rapidly evaporate.

She turned to see Marx had not left her side. He had a wondrous look across his face as he often had when he watched her do magic. His reaction roused a subtle smile from within her.

“We best tell the cap’n, and that Tommic fella.” His face scrunched into a grimace as he spoke Tommic’s name. She exhaled sharply, sharing his feelings of discontent. The crew had been playing host to Tommic and his crew for only a week, but the animosity between the parties felt like decades of discourse. 

As Tav and Marx entered the captains’ quarters, they took in the warm smell of sandalwood incense. The room was a stark contrast to the rest of the ship. It was spacious and well decorated with velvet red curtains over the portholes and a large soft bed covered in furs. In the center was a round wooden table with delicate plates filled with stale oatcakes and dried meat.

Captain Uto leaned over a map, a cherrywood pipe hanging loosely from his lips and a furrowed brow atop his dark inquisitive eye. Next to him was Tommic. He was a small man with greasy black hair and sharp fingernails that he dug into the surface, indenting nail marks into Captain Uto’s mahogany desk. He barked orders at Uto with a high nasally voice, spit flying from his mouth across the map.

“We are meant to be partners, you swine! Listen to me when I tell you that you are risking far too much!”

Uto didn’t flinch at the man's insults. He spoke softly and calmly, as if soothing a child from a tantrum.

“I assure you, lad. I want this as much as you do. We have gotten this far, tracked the ship all the way from Waterdeep. You must trust me just a little longer. I will get us that cargo.”

Uto removed his pipe from his mouth and glanced up at his crewmen. Both Marx and Tav straightened their backs as he looked them over.

“Status?” said Uto in a staccato fashion.

“Just passed three Fist ships going south.” Tav answered. “Two frigates and a galleon.”

Tommic’s eyes went wide. “Then we're getting close. We need to decide how we will proceed.” 

The captain nodded. “Fist ships are fast and agile, but they happen to have weak portholes. The window protrudes out and the locks are flimsy little things. It will be easy enough to sneak a few dinghies through the water, tie down our boats, and lockpick our way in.”

“No, no no!” Tommic said frantically. “I will not trust the success of this mission on your ability to pick a lock! We need to ambush them! We have the manpower and plenty of cannons, Let's show them our teeth!”

“If this ship has the type of cargo, you say it does, it will have backup close by. I’ve dealt with these ships before. We will be in and out before they even know what hit them.”

“You had better be right.” Tommic huffed. “If we waste this chance, I will cut off your head and allow my crew to feast on your flesh.”

Both Marx and Tav clenched their fists, anxiously waiting for their Captain’s next move. Uto merely laughed and slapped the man on the back in a display of friendship.

   “By this time tomorrow, we will be on our way to Baldur’s Gate for the biggest payout of our lives. Marx, please see Tommic back to his quarters, I’d like to eat dinner with my daughter now.”

Marx acquiesced, leaving with Tommic by his side. The captain shut the door behind them, pressing his head against the wood as his anger came back to him. 

“It will be a fine day when I can stop playing nice with that worm. A fine day indeed.”

Tav sat down and began gnawing on a strip of dried meat. With a mouthful of food, she asked. “What exactly is it on this ship?”

Uto shrugged, grabbing a hidden jar of plum preserve he’d been saving for a special occasion and placing it between them. “Some rare types of ore from what I can tell. I don’t rightly care what it is, Tommic’s buyer is willing to pay us enough gold to set us all up for a long time.” 

Tav tried to mask her uncertainty by shoving an oat cake in her mouth. Crumbly bits of the dry biscuit peppered her clothes and the ground below her. Despite this, Uto saw through her.

“Out with it. What’s that look for?”

She swallowed the dry ship’s biscuit and wiped away the crumbs from her mouth. “That man is willing to risk everyone's lives in an ambush with the Flaming Fist. In the short time he’s been on our ship he has shown himself to be unhinged and lacking respect. Why should we trust him?”

“I don’t trust him.” Uto admitted. “But I know one thing for sure, whatever it is on that cutter, he doesn’t just want it…he needs it. Once it's in our hands he will pay exactly what he promised us.” Uto inhaled deeply on his pipe, exhaling the warm smell of tobacco.

“And if you’re wrong?” Tav asked tentatively.

Uto’s eyes darted up at her. He was not a fan of others questioning his decision making, however Tav was his blind spot. The memory of the frail child she once was, with soaked black hair and bright blue eyes staring up at him like a scared doe, never left his mind. He patted her hand in reassurance. “Trust me, my girl. I’ve never been wrong before, and I don’t plan to start now.”

“Never?” She said coyly. “What about that time we were stranded Delselar with nothing but the clothes on our back?”

“I got the ship back in the end, didn’t I? Besides, it was you who trusted those wood-elves in the first place.”

“Because you told me to.” she argued.

Uto laughed, spitting bits of his dinner across the table. “We’ll be alright, my girl. We’ll be alright.”

Tav leaned back in her seat full of their dinner, she placed her own pipe between her teeth and lit it. “Exactly How much gold are you expecting from this shipment anyways?”

“Enough for the crew to take an extended stay at the Blushing Mermaid and a feast filled with roast chickens, fresh vegetables, fruit pies, wine, brandy, maybe some lamb shanks while we’re at it.”

“So, enough gold for us to get fat and piss drunk…hardly seems worth it in my opinion, even for lamb shanks.”

“There is one other thing.” Uto said with a smirk. “Go to my desk, there is a parchment in the left-hand drawer.”

Tav put her pipe down and did as she was told, opening the desk drawer to discover a tri-folded parchment, a wax seal hanging loosely from the top. She recognized the insignia embedded within the wax; a ship surrounded by ivy.

“Garrett Ivy?” She asked.

“Best ship-smith in the seven realms.”

“I thought he hated us.”

“Garrett is a fine businessman; he doesn’t let petty grievances get in the way of a good deal.”

“We stole two of his ships and sold them to smugglers…he tried to stab you with a kitchen knife.”

“And I’ve since forgiven him for that, now quit stalling and open the bloody letter.”

Tav returned to the table and unfolded the parchment flat between them. sail plans of vessels. It was a brig, built for speed and scouting from a distance. The ship's design was modified to the captain’s request, with gaff rigging on the mainsails and a larger hull for extra crew. A note with few words came attached to the sail plans.

It'll be ready come winter. Don’t fuck me on this. 

- Garrett

Tav continued to study the schematics while taking fingers full of plum preserve.

“It’s a clever design. But I wonder how fast she’ll be with the additional weight. the rear mast seems a bit large, might get away with making it smaller...”

“Never mind that…do you like it?”

“Sure, but it’s nothing compared to the Hawks Feet.”

“It’ll be better than the Hawks Feet.” He admitted. “With a better captain too.”

Her eyes met his gaze, he’d grown serious in his countenance. There was a deafening silence as Tav began to understand what it was he meant. 

“You mean me?” She asked.

“Yes…This is your ship to lead, my girl.”

She shook her head, pushing the parchment as far away from her as possible. “My ship? Are you insane? I can’t be captain!” 

Uto pushed it right back. “And why not?”

“Because it makes no sense! There are people on this crew who have sailed more years than I’ve been alive. Pearly Paul and Fitch have been by your side since the day this ship first touched water. Give one of them a ship! Not me!”

Uto turned to her, placing one of her sticky jam covered hands in his. “My girl, you were born to be a captain. You know everything there is to know about sailing, inside and out. You can identify a vessel by the way it rides the waves alone. Beyond that, you’ve shown good judgment, far better than Pearly Paul or Fitch, and -on rare occasions- better than me. Best of all, you are respected. The crew trust you and they will follow your lead. You will make an incredible captain. Now, humor me and take the bloody ship.” Tav went silent in both fear and excitement as she looked over the parchment once more.

“My ship, My ship.” She repeated. “But what will you do once the crew and I are gone?”

“Sell the Hawks Feet, take what gold I have left and retire somewhere peaceful…maybe I’ll try my hand at farming.”

Tav laughed at the thought, Uto was hardly the type for simple living. She watched as he retrieved a brown flask embellished with gold filled with fine brandy from his jacket pocket, uncorked the flask and held it before her. “To Captain Tav.” He took a large swig and passed the bottle to her proudly. 

She sipped the fiery liquid and raised the flask back to him. “And to Uto, the farmer.”

As the evening dragged on, Tav found herself on the top deck alongside Marx and several of her crew in a makeshift celebration to their soon to be captain. Wood Eye, the ship's navigator, uncorked a rare whisky they’d been holding on to for special occasions while the ship's gunner, Goose, dealt hands of Three Dragon Ante. Fitch and Pearly Paul sat on either side of her, patting her on the back like proud uncles, occasionally regaling the group with embarrassing stories of Tav’s youth. The group cackled at limericks, fighting off the frigid cold with liquor and pipe weed.

“Here’s one.” Marx said while clearing his throat. 

“I was sweet on a girl from Berdusk

Who had a very strange musk.

Turns out she was hag,

And wanted more than a shag.

Now my sweetie has made me a husk.”

The group burst into laughter, slapping the man on the back in glee. Tav felt a sense of bliss in the moment. These people were more than a hodge podge crew of pirates and vagrants, they were her family.

“I’ve got a good one.” She said,

“I met a lad down at the inn,

Who wanted to take me for a spin.

We went at it all night,

But in the daylight,

Turns out that he was my kin.”

Howls of laughter erupted from her crew; they stamped their feet boisterously with tears in their eyes. From the shadows appeared three men from Tommic’s crew. Two drow elves and a human who smirked at them with an air of superiority. It was the human who spoke for them. A tall lanky gentleman with crooked teeth, gapped and protruding awkwardly.

“I thought the plan was to move quietly. You’ll wake the dead with the way you pigs are squeelin’. Honestly, if the Fist do find us, they may just mistake you all for swine and cook you for dinner.”

“Don’t worry, if anyone dies, we’ll give them a proper burial with the headstones you call teeth.” Marx quipped.

The man scowled at the group, his fingers trembling against his dagger. Tav interjected, remembering the way Captain Uto approached Tommic.

“Come now, no need to fight, gentleman. We’ve seen no ships for hours. The crow’s nest will alert us well before anyone catches wind we are here.” She extended a hand, gesturing for them to join. “Stay for a round? Assuming you have gold to lose, Wood Eye is on a bit of a hot streak.”

After a pregnant pause, the three sat down alongside the group. She could feel the tempers rise from her crewman and mouthed the words ‘play nice’ to them to calm them down. The cards were dealt, and the bottles continued to rotate although more slowly than they had before. The pipe came to her, and she placed it to her lips, inhaling deeply. The tobacco had a subtle taste of bitter chocolate and hemp. As she extended the pipe to the man she asked. “What's your name?”

“Jasper.” he said curtly.

“Good to have you on board, Jasper.”

He remained unphased by her kindness. He took a hit from the pipe and held it in as he spoke. “Been awhile since I’ve seen a warlock.” he exhaled, aiming the smoke in her direction.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“That display with the fog earlier. Figure, You're not some stuffy wizard type. Those sods cast spells all prim and proper like the books tell’em to. And you sure as shit aint a sorcerer. They are far too rich to be caught dead in a pirate vessel unless they were here for ransom. wizards and sorcs earn their magic, either by blood or by book…When you meet them, they never seem to shut up about it. But not warlocks, warlocks are secretive about their magic. They have to be, lest the beasty behind the curtain gets mad at them. “You ain't said nothin’ about your little party tricks, so I reckon you must be a warlock.” 

He inhaled the pipe again before passing it, this time blowing the smoke directly at her. She forced a smile despite her temper rising. 

 “That’s very perceptive of you.”

He continued.  “It’s in the way you cast too…There's a touch of chaos to it. I could feel it. It’s like a dark aura that comes from inside, a desperation that only a warlock would have.”

 “Desperation?” Marx repeated. “You best be careful lad, you are a guest on this ship, and you're walking a fine line.”

“Well, the way I sees it, it’s either desperation or stupidity to sign a contract with a monster for magic.”

Fitch reached for his weapon, but Tav pressed her hand into his chest to stop him.

“It’s all right. I take no issue with his assessments. I rather like the idea of having a “dark aura” about me. Perhaps if more people thought like Jasper, I'd get more tail in pubs.” 

“So, what's the story?” He asked indignantly. “Who's the lucky patron to claim your soul? A devil? A demon? Let us know now so we can avoid the surprise when a hell spawn comes bursting out of the shadows looking for penance.”

She sighed, seeing there was no way out of his interrogation. “Well…Captain tells the story much better than I, but I'll do my best. Sixteen years ago, Uto was sailing from the Moonshae Isles back to Amn when a massive storm rolled through. He says it was the worst storm he’s seen in all his ages of sailing, winds and waves thrashing the boat so hard the crew could barely stand up. Apparently, the ship was near some small island called Ithbin or Ethbor…something like that. The captain decided to lower the sails and keep the ship far enough from the island to avoid collision but close enough where they could swim to shore in case the boat capsized. Well, while the crew is fighting this storm, he sees a bright blue light pulsing out of the water near this rocky patch of shoreline. He gets this overwhelming sensation, like he is being bewitched by this light. He says the air began to smell like sage and honey, and he heard a woman’s voice in the back of his mind, pleading with him to come help her.”

“Anyways, despite his better judgment, the captain gave the order to raise the sails and started moving towards this blue light. I don’t know the details but by the grace of the gods, he manages to get to the light and quickly deploys the anchor before wind could carry them into the rocks. When he looks out over the bow, he sees it isn’t a light at all. It’s this beautiful glowing fey creature with long sapphire hair and bright blue eyes that shimmered against the water. In her arms was a child-no older than five-out cold and soaked to the bone. The fey floats up out of the water to the bow, places this child into the boat and starts demanding that the captain take care of this child. Well, Uto wasn’t keen on the idea, but he felt it wasn’t in his best interest to pick a fight with a fey in the middle of a giant storm, so he agrees and the fey just disappears into the mist, leaving this child in his care.” 

“That child was me…obviously. I awoke once the storm had passed with no recollection of anything save slipping into a raging river. He had all intention of dropping me off at a monastery once we reached Amn. That changed when he found out I had inherited the fey’s magic, he decided I’d be a good fit for his crew. I’m grateful for that, I don’t think I would have made a very good priest. Too much chanting and bowing for my liking.”

Jasper narrowed his eyes to her. He placed his cards down allowing the came to carry on without him.

 “So, this fey is your patron? What happened to her?” he asked.

“Don’t know…I’ve never actually met her; I just feel her. It’s like she's always somewhere in the mist watching over me.” Tav paused, taking a moment to feel her patron. The air around her turned warm and inviting, the sweet scent of sage and honey mysteriously engulfed her. She heard the faint hum of a lullaby, one that no one else but her could hear.

Jasper clenched his jaw in bitterness. “So, you just get magic, no consequences? No contract? No training of any sort? All because some shiny bitch fished you out of a river?”

Tav nodded her head coyly at him. “It seems I do, doesn’t it?” 

Unsatisfied with this answer, he left without another word. As he stomped away, his drow companion followed suit. 

The game continued, although Tav departed for bed not long after Jasper. She laid in her bunk alone, continuing to feel the warm air around her caressing her face lovingly. The warm scent of her patron continued to fill her nostrils, she was protected, she was at peace. As long as her patron was there, she would be alright.

She awoke to the hushed voices of her crewmen gathering supplies. The group scuttled quietly across the lower decks; stumbling into one another as they frantically dressed and stuffed their pockets with knives, lockpicks, and sleeping potions. Tav knew in an instant the cutter was found and sprang from her bed and began filling every available pocket as they had. Once they were full, she placed a sheathed rapier on her back and covered herself in a thick black cloak with the hood up. 

Uto and Tommic were already at the bow when she arrived. They were hushed, clutching their spyglasses tightly until their knuckles were white. From a distance she could see a dull amber light flickering across the waters with incredible speed. She removed her own spyglass from her coat pocket and watched as the object of their desire burst through waves with ease, a small single mast ship with no banner in sight. An unusual sickly feeling swelled up in her stomach all at once. The smell of her patron became pungent and her usually docile song echoed loudly in her mind like a wail. She dismissed the sensation as nerves but remained aware of its presence.

“Exactly as described” Tommic muttered “and with no other ships in sight.”

“That you can see, lad.” Uto replied “You never know what lies beyond the horizon. Stick to the plan.”

He removed his spyglass, turning to leave and beckoning Tav to his side for orders. “Have the crew prep two dinghy’s then position the ship southwest of the cutter. Tommic and I will take the first group, you take the second.” 

She nodded and hurried across the decks to assist her crew with positioning, the discomfort of her patron not far from her mind. The cutter proved faster than they had anticipated, the amber lights of their torches grew larger, and the whites of the sails were now visible against the blackened sky. If they did not move quickly, they would be spotted; Tav shuttered to think of the fight a losing an opportunity of this magnitude would create amongst the rival crews. 

Uto and Tommic hurried with their crew to a set of large dhingys hanging above the choppy waters, ready to be lowered. 

“Come from an angle to the starboard side, they're less likely to see you that way.” Uto commanded.

“That ship is fast, are you sure we can catch them?” Tav asked.

“Of course, we can, we’ve got our strongest rowers. Remember, knives and poisons only, no magic.” 

As he descended into the boat, the sickly feeling in her stomach came back now accompanied by chills down her spine. Her patron’s smells of sage and honey turned sour and metallic. Her song turned to incoherent whispers in the back of Tav’s mind, overlapping each other with such intensity it made her head pound. As the sensation faded, she looked upon her captain with the same uncertainty he’d seen in his quarters. Before she could say anything, he grasped her shoulder and squeezed.

“Just do as I say, lass. Keep your wits about you.”

She gave Uto a quick nod, shaking the fear from her body. 

“Aye, sir.”

With three pulls to the ropes, the dhingys hit the water setting sail under the cover of darkness. Tav’s group swung wide towards the starboard side as instructed while their captain rowed straight for the ship. She watched through her spyglass as Uto and Tommic’s crew grew closer to the ship. Tommic’s men rowed in perfect synchronicity building speed quickly, but it was still nothing compared to the speed of the cutter. Her own crew worked hard to close the gap between them and their captain as beads of sweat rained down from their bodies. Uto and company approached the ship first, the dhingy bobbed violently in the wake of the cutter making it difficult for him to wrap a rope around the portholes. There was precious little time for them to make their move and the cutter was now downwind, picking up speed beyond what their tired rowers could contend with.

“Change directions, swing portside.” She commanded.

“What? They’ll see us.” Said Pearly Paul.

“Not if you're fast enough…Just do it.” 

With what strength they had left, the crew turned and attempted to cross in front of the cutter. Tav dove her hand in the frigid waters and spoke firm yet quiet. 

“Lackia.” 

Large and jagged ice rafts began emerging from the water, trailing behind them like celestial dust against the darkness of the sea. She watched and listened as the cutter abruptly raised the sails and began to turn away from them the icy waters and towards the captains dhingy. The ship slowed just enough for him to grab a hold of the porthole and tie their boat to the side of the cutter. She breathed a sigh of relief as they continued traveling portside. 

Soon the windows of the cutter were within their reach. Tav stood on the wobbly boat and grabbed the porthole with both hands, tying her own rope tightly around the metal of the porthole. she peered inside to a darkened armory, the open mouth of cannons stared back at her eye level. She pressed her fingers in where the window met the wood and pinched the metal lock with her thumb and forefinger.

“Ready yourselves, this won't be subtle.” she instructed.

As the crew grasped hold of their vials of sleep potions, Tav spoke her incantation. “Ignis.” 

The metal around the porthole grew red with such intense heat that the glass of the window cracked like a spiderweb. She released the metal and bashed her elbow through the fragile glass. The group entered, quickly diving behind boxes of ammunition and gunpowder ready for a fight. After a moment of silence from all sides they breathed easier. 

Tav sheathed her rapier once more. “Start looking through cargo, when you find the ore, bring it straight to the captain, don’t say anything to anyone else.”

Her men obeyed and began slinking across the lower decks for cargo, sleep potion in hand for the first sight of movement. Tav uncorked her own vial as she made her way across the armory and down a narrow hallway. She paused, noticing the ship seemed curiously new. The floorboards had no wear of any kind and there was a faint smell of fresh varnish. She rubbed her hands across the walls to feel the smooth sanded wood, no slivers, or rusted nails in sight.

While distracted, a man dressed in red and gray armor of the Flaming Fist appeared around the corner, stopping in his tracks, and readying his sword.

“Who are you?” He yelled. “Ay! We’ve got- “ 

Before he could finish, she splashed the vial of sleep potion into his eyes. The poison overtook him, causing him to fall limp against the floor with a loud thump. She turned, hoping to make her escape but found herself wrapped in the arms of another soldier who squeezed tightly around her neck.

“Stowaways! Sound the alarms!” The soldier yelled.

 She kicked and flailed trying to escape but was outmatched by his strength. As the air left her body and her vision began to blur, she thought of the dozens of spells that could have helped her in this moment if she could only make the words.

Suddenly his grip loosened. She heard a muffled cry before the two of them collapsed to the ground in a heap. The faint smell of sleep potion wafted from his face.

“You alright, lass?” She heard from above her. 

Captain Uto pulled her up by her cloak while She gasped for air. “Yes, sir.” she panted. “But he warned the others.”

“They’re already down. We’re dropping anchor, the ship is ours for now.” Uto placed a damp rag back in his pocket, the foul scent of sleep potion tucked away with it. “That was risky what you did out there. I told you no magic.”

“You also said I had good judgment.” Tav replied.

“And I’m beginning to regret saying that considering you nearly let that soldier kill you.” 

Tav bit her lip, wanting to defend herself but knowing he could have been right were it not for Uto’s intervention. “Well, you couldn’t keep up with the cutter, I needed to do something.”

“Fair enough.” Uto admitted “But no more.”

“No promises, sir.”

They entered the cargo bay, which was already being turned over by their crew. The group rummaged through containers half filled with cheap bottles of alcohol and random assortments of rice, barley, and chewing tobacco. No valuables in sight. Uto smoothed down the edges of his mustache as he contemplated, looking around at just how clean and empty the ship had been. Tav informed Uto of her observations of the ship's pristine condition. 

“Ay, good eye, lass. This ship was built special for this journey. Cargo must be hidden then. Search the walls and the floorboard.” 

After a few moments of the crew knocking and prying at each board, they found what they were looking for. A loose panel with a thin transparent wire strung around it and back within the bowels of the ship. Uto carefully snipped the wire and removed the board revealing a small ornate chest surrounded entirely in smoke powder and two flint strikers ready to ignite with the pull of the thread. Tav felt the fear return to her body as Uto lifted the chest free of the explosives. The foul metallic smell returned so pungent she could taste it on her tongue. 

“Gods, there's enough powder to blow the entire rig sky high. They were ready to die for this.” Uto remarked.

He dug his knife into the keyhole of the chest and thrust the blade outward, breaking the lock off. Inside were three jagged crystals that pulsated shiny red lights across the velvet interior of the chest. The magic within the stones was so potent the crew could taste the magic on their tongues. It was bitter and musty but left an energetic feeling in their stomachs as if bees had nested within them.

“What are they?” Marx asked.

“I’ve no idea.” Uto replied in wonder. “But I see now that we may be in over our heads.”

He slammed the box shut and tucked it into his pack, His mood more irritable than it had been. He urged his crew to check once more for anything of value before returning to the top deck where the Hawks Feet would be waiting for them. Tav stuck close by him, her entire body filled with dread as her patron began to cry and wail. She knew the stones were the source of her fear, they filled her with an overwhelming urge to run as fast as she could back to the Haws feet but forced herself to stay in lock step with her captain, fearing what they would do to him if left unattended.

 As they began ascending to the bow of the ship, the metallic smell returned to her, only now Uto smelled it too. He paused his steps and sniffed wildly. They heard a faint dripping sound from above them, their faces became speckled with the sticky substance dripping between the floorboards above. Uto grazed his hands across his face to inspect the liquid, they had both been covered in blood. When they reached the top deck, they found puddles of it pooling from the sliced bodies of the Fist soldiers they had knocked out, with Tommic and his men proudly wielding drenched daggers checking to make sure each one was in fact dead.

“What the hells are you doing!” Uto yelled in a panic. “You didn’t have to kill them! they were unconscious!”

Tommic simply laughed, wiping his sticky blades on his pants then placing them back in their sheath. “What do a few dead Fist matter to you? What happened to the ruthless pirates of old?”

“Kill a few and guarantee yourself a thousand more. The Fist do not show mercy when it comes to fallen kin!”

“Gods, you’re softer than I thought. I am not worried about amateur guardsmen, swine. Who is going to find us when everyone who would turn us in is dead!”

It was then that Tav noticed Tommic’s men had begun to crowd the two of them, blocking their escape to the Hawks Feet with weapons still drawn. She removed her rapier, tapping Uto with her foot to warn him. From the lower decks they heard the clanging of steel, however they were too overwhelmed to do anything save hope for their crew’s victory. The captain turned red in anger, eyeing the group of six that had surrounded him and his daughter. He reached his hand in his bag grabbing the cargo they had worked so hard to obtain and thrust his arm over the railing. He watched as Tommic winced.

“What have we stolen? Why were these men willing to die for it? Tell me right now, or I will show you the kind of ruthless pirate I can be!” Uto demanded.

“Nether Stones, from the ancient city of Netheril.” Tommic said with a devious smile. “We are going to rebuild the world.”

Both Tav and Uto’s eyes went wide. Netheril, the ancient floating city whose power knew no bounds. The empire that grew so powerful and proud its people attempted to ascend to godhood before collapsing from its own hubris. Uto couldn’t be sure if Tommic was telling the truth, or if he was simply a madman. Either way he refused to find out.

“You're a bloody lunatic. Far worse than I had imagined. I’d sooner sink something of this kind of power than to trust it in the hands of you.”

As his hand released the chest over the water, a clap of thunder erupted with such force it blew Tav and Uto from their feet, blowing the chest with them which scattered the stones across the deck. She could hear nothing for a moment save an intense ringing in her ear. When she opened her eyes, she could see Jasper standing above them. His hands crackled with magic, not that of a wizard or sorcerer, but the chaotic eldritch type of magic that only the desperate could obtain. Tommic quickly gathered in his pockets as he ran to board the Hawks Feet. 

Uto rose and ran after him, daggers in each hand attacking anyone that came close. Jasper mouthed another spell, but this time she blocked it with a wall of pure radiant magic that arched around them in a brilliant golden hue. She thought for a moment they could make it if she could shield them long enough for Uto to get to the ship, but when three of Tommic’s men ran at her, she dropped the shield and let loose a bolt of lightning that chained from man to man, killing them all. She heard as Jasper let out another incantation and braced for its impact yet felt nothing. When she turned back, she watched in horror as her captain laid still on the ground, an icicle spear sticking out from his eye, his face contorted and glazed over in death. 

She fell to her knees beside him, trembling and exhausted, surrounded, waiting for the spell that would end her life.  Jasper gnashed his crooked teeth together in excitement, reveling in his inevitable victory when the smell of honey and sage filled the air. A blue glow appeared above her, that morphed into a beautiful woman with misty blue skin and sapphire hair. Tav watched wide eyed as her patron launched a whip of water that wrapped around Jasper’s legs and pulled him to the ground. With the attention now off Tav, she took the moment to try and run to the Hawks Feet, but Jasper let out another wave of thunder, knocking her clean off her feet and down the flight of stairs to the lower decks. 

For a moment everything went black. She laid breathless and in pure agony, as she tried to move but the pain of broken ribs was too much to bear. The smell of blood surrounded her, not hers, but of Marx who laid next to her cold and white as a ghost. Pearly Paul’s body was not far from them, laying in a crumpled heap across spilled boxes of rice. She recognized Finch’s tunic, he was laying limp face down on top of one of Tommic’s men, a dagger sticking out of back. 

She wasn’t sure how long she had laid there, only that the commotion on the top deck quieted. There were sounds muffled voices and footsteps could be heard as they hurried to leave. With some effort, she turned her broken body to face the smoke powder residing on the other side of the cargo bay. She closed her eyes, praying for forgiveness to whichever gods would listen, then spoke her incantation as she had so many times before.

“Ignis”

 There was nothing, not even a spark of magic left in her. She searched her mind for her patron, there was nothing; no singing, no wailing, nothing but silence and death surrounded her, as she heard Tommic’s crew board her faithful wooden companion. She closed her eyes again, now committed to dying amongst her family. 

She was almost gone when she felt herself jerked awake by the shoes of a woman with green skin and a purple cloak. She nudged Tav’s shoulder with her shoe roughly and listened as Tav groaned in pain.

“Unbelievable.” She said, “We’ve got a live one.”  

It was morning by the time they found her, a faint ray of sunlight shined down from the top deck illuminating the woman in glorious light like an angel. She knelt in the blood and rested her hands on Tav’s chest. An orange ray of magic flowed from her hands into Tav’s body. Slowly the pain in her chest melted away, she felt her strength come back to her. 

“My name is Counsellor Florrick. We will be taking you back to Baldur’s Gate.” 

“Thank you.” Tav uttered in a raspy voice.

“I wouldn’t thank me just yet.” The woman replied curtly. “Unless you can tell me what happened to the stones, we won’t be friends for much longer.”

[taegularities]

So, about the fighting over jungkook's new album, i saw that too. You see, you guys a fanfic writer, a creator, that makes you guys artists too somehow. So lemme ask you a question;

Say you posted a snippet of your upcoming fic just some tags abt it, after coming out of long long writer block, the fic was about some topic you never touched before. People went batshit crazy, calling you names, a sell out, lazy ass mf, how they didnt 'expect it' from you, but they havent even read the whole fic, let alone hearing to you out about the whole process?

so, what would you do about it? what would you FEEL about it?

Oh i bet you'd feel awful, let down, confused, maybe a lil bit anger with attitude of "Oh you know what, I dont owe YOU anything. MY fic, MY story." or something along the line some of you writers always preach up, right?

Hell, yes. it is true. just like you people dont owe us anything, NEITHER does Jungkook. Whatever feeling you have abt the album thats NOT EVEN OUT YET, it's a YOU problem.

acting like you're on a high horse just bcs you think you KNEW better than him and then acting out when people confront abt it. you're the one who's disrespecting him. why does this happen everytime and why do some of you still care.

This ONE album does not ERASE Jungkook's and BTS history. it's just an album. If it doesnt 'vibe' with you no more then the way out is over there. Easy.

see, with messages like these i can never tell whether you're talking about a general 'you' or me specifically, too. bc the only thing i said was that i'm sad he didn't write or produce any of the songs bc i'm more a still with you kinda girly.. that's just my personal taste in music, and the songs he didn't write/produce were good but not 100% my style, is all. i'm still curious about his album and would never judge its sound when — as you said — idek what it'll be like.

your comparison to fics makes sense, and yes, most of us creators would be offended if someone said these things, but i still think people are allowed to say what they feel. i haven't seen anyone blatantly discredit or invalidate the work bts has done so far, and if they did, i'm sorry you had to see it. most of the discourse i've seen is more about ppl either not vibing with the album or others bashing others for not vibing with it. we all still love bts and consider them a safe space — one album will definitely not make anyone forget the things they've done for us. those who do... i don't claim those armys lol. and i think people can have opinions without thinking jungkook owes us anything, just like i know some ppl might not like my fics without thinking i owe them good stories, does that make sense? just. in general, as you mentioned, we should just stop caring about what other people think, yk.

bc if we told armys who are disappointed or not liking this phase to keep their opinion to themselves, ppl will stop expressing themselves altogether, and that's not fair. and i guess that's why armys are often scared to air their thoughts, too.

[ganymedeschild]

2 -

A week has passed, and I begin to think Auburn really was a hallucination, a product of solitary confinement and the subconscious fear of the unknown.

I consider contacting the ISS crew and asking them if they’ve heard whispers, felt tugs, sensed another person in the room. I have a small, rather pathetic feeling of hope that Auburn will appear right next to me.

The dreams have been terrifying, thrilling, horribly beautiful. Each dream I see Auburn, each time in a slightly different way, my brain trying to make sense of a description of a being I can’t see. The skin is always the same, though everything else varies. Height, weight, length of limbs and torso. The eyes never seem to be right, always a bit too round, a bit too large, a bit lower set on the face than I think they should be. But who am I to think anything about something I can’t see? I’m lost in my thoughts, staring out the window and observing a small piece of debris float by when a chill goes up my spine, accompanied by a lock of hair being twirled.

“Hello, traveler Noelle.” The whisper sends another chill, though this feels different, almost welcomed. I try to contain my excitement, and I keep my face neutral. A smile is trying its hardest to break my composure.

“Been busy projecting to the others, Auburn?” I ask. The jealousy in my voice is surprising to me, and I hope it goes unnoticed.

“Why project to the others when you’re the only interesting thing in Earth’s orbit?”

I feel pride building in my chest and try to crush it down. Being an out-of-body voice’s favorite human shouldn’t mean much.

“Projecting can be difficult. I need total peace in order to make it this far.”

“Has peace been hard to come by? Much discourse on Ganymede?”

A light laugh, and I tense as a finger prods my temple. “Internally, perhaps. I do not let others get in the way of my peace. But I, myself, get in the way of it quite often. The mind can be a hectic place.”

I understood. If Auburn’s mind was anything like mine, it was chaos. I couldn’t imagine the concentration needed to project this far. A whisper pulled me out of my thinking again.

“Have you been lonely? I see you’ve answered questions.”

I look towards the open laptop, messages between my mother and I open. I’ve responded to several people in the time between visits. I tell myself it’s to get family to leave me alone, but maybe I really did miss talking to someone.

“Loneliness isn’t something I experience often.” A lie, as far as the past week is considered.

“You try to seem so unlike the others. More like them than you realize.” That catches me off guard. It’s just another confirmation that Auburn really has been watching humans. “There is no shame in being what you are made to be, young traveler. So much experience is required to be in your position, yet you seem to have none where it counts.”

That surprises me. Auburn knows it takes a lot to get to my position, has managed to make me feel small and stupid in the ways of life, and had called me young all at once. Auburn did say that they had seen everything and everyone we have sent up here - it makes me wonder how old my companion is. I do the obvious thing and ask.

“Old enough to have experienced several of your generations.” There’s a pause, and Auburn is thinking. “I estimate around two of your average lifetimes, perhaps 150 standard years.”

I’m shocked - I’ve never met anything this old. Auburn was here before our greatest inventions, yet there are still animals today that are older. It makes me think, trying to put that age into perspective, but it’s too difficult and I give up. Instead, I ask the other question that has been in my mind.

“Why do you only whisper? Is that just how your people speak?”

“I whisper to save my energy. If I spoke at full volume, it would take away my more physical abilities.” I feel a hand curl gently around my arm, six long, slender fingers resting coolly on my skin. The fingertips feel like paw pads, calloused but still gentle. Six sharp nails sit against my skin, and I remember I should be feeling fear. But there’s no digging into the skin, the nails are just sitting there, a reminder that Auburn is deadly. I feel a mix of fascination and horror. I want to see Auburn as their people truly are.

“I whisper so that you can feel me like this.” Auburn leans closer, right next to my ear now, so close I can almost feel lips against my ear lobe. “Six fingers and claws wasn’t a lie. You’re excited, while something you can’t even see is this close. What a strange one you are, Noelle. Shouldn’t you be scared of the unknown?”

The voice sounds slightly smug when Auburn points out my excitement. I AM slightly scared, though it’s not something I would ever admit. But the joy, the wonder at being touched by an alien being we’ve searched years to find, all the positive feelings greatly overshadow it.

“You’re not unknown.” I point out. There’s a whisper of a laugh, almost a giggle, in my ear. “You’re Auburn.”

A light squeeze on my arm. A confirmation? A friendly gesture? Just a reminder that I’m really accompanied by an unseen alien on a steel ship in the middle of space?

“How much effort would it take to see you?”

“Too much to be projecting this far, my friend. You would perhaps catch a glimpse before I lose my concentration, and that’s if I make it this far in the first place. There would be no speaking, no touching. Not worth the effort, in my opinion.”

The hand moves from my arm, and Auburn’s mouth is farther from my ear now. I feel cold without the presence of my (friend?) companion right next to me.

“You try to see everything. It clouds your head. Your minds eye may be stronger than you realize.”

My eyes widen, shock on my face involuntarily. “Are you suggesting you’ve seen the dreams?” I ask outright. A snorted laugh is the first response.

“Not seen, no. But you’re predictable. You are an observer, you will try to piece everything together.” My hands are grasped by Auburn’s, and they are gently placed on what I assume is a face. The gentle movement of a jaw while I’m spoken to is confirmation. “Close your eyes. Try to see through other means.”

I follow instructions and close my eyes, hands slowly and gently tracing an alien face. The jaw and chin are soft, slightly curved and elegant. The cheekbones are higher, more angular and pronounced than I thought they would be. There are no eyebrows or lashes to be felt, a completely smooth face. Eyes more up turned, smaller. I knew instantly the dreams were making them too big and placed too low on Auburn’s face.

I run my fingers down until I reach a mouth. Small, skinny, rounded lips are under the tips of my fingers. The skin is soft and delicate, hiding the true power Auburn holds.

“I want to feel them.” I meant for my voice to sound more commanding, though it comes out as closer to a whisper than I was hoping for. A smile is forming under my fingers, mouth still closed. It takes a moment for the lips to part, a grin growing where the thin-lipped smile once was, and my fingers now feel the glossy, smooth, sharp teeth of the predator in front of me.

A shiver of excitement runs through my body as I gently run my hands over them. They are all incisors, all pointed precisely. I can feel how they lock together when Auburn’s mouth is closed. I am in awe. Auburn takes me hands and places them back on the cheeks so I can be spoken to again.

“Scared of what you’ve seen, Noelle? You’re speechless. Your fingers have been in my mouth for minutes now.” I’m being made fun of, a smug smile trickles into the words. I can feel the smile with my hands still on delicate yet powerful jaws. I think about the bite Force, the PSI they must have, and immediately decide I never want to imagine that again. My hand goes back to lips, though they stay outside of the mouth this time. I gasp when a long, skinny, wet, forked tongue darts across my thumb quickly, making me draw my hands back. My eyes shoot open and I remember I am, technically, alone.

“That’s as close to seeing me as you will come.”

I’ve decided that Auburn is beautiful. If I could see with my own eyes instead of relying on touch, I was sure I would still agree. The power this being holds, wrapped in a delicate yet strong package, was sucking me in. I wanted to know more, but the mystery made everything more exciting. I needed answers, yet the search for them was what drove me.

Auburn felt as androgynous as the sound of their voice. I suppose trying to force a binary onto an alien made no sense in the first place, but the human mind tends to do that. A hand on my shoulder pulls me from my thoughts.

“A question, Noelle. Your silence worries me.”

I could tell the worry was genuine. All this time pointing out that I should be afraid, just to worry when I might be. Maybe anxiety wasn’t as human as we thought. The demand for me to ask a question was interesting, and I felt like I had to restart my brain in order to think of one.

“What do you think of…of this?” That’s really the best I can come up with? I’m overcome with the awful self conscious feeling a stupid question provides while pointing toward my face to give some context. There’s a not-quite laugh as a hand runs through my floating hair.

“You are nothing like the standards of Ganymede or our sister moons. Yet I am nothing like the standards of Earth, and here we are.”

I feel embarrassed, was my admiration that noticeable? The embarrassment is only temporary as I process the whole sentence. My ears turn hot.

“What a waste of a question, Noelle. Not very observant at this moment.” Those lips are right on my ear again, and this time the whisper is even more quiet as a hand brushes against the small of my back. “Concentration escapes me. I will not take as long between visits, little traveler.”

And then I am alone with feelings I have never navigated, and never had a desire to feel.

[timeloop-observer]

welcome to my hyperfixation hell.

~ about me ~

> name's ari, you might know me better as @the-timewatcher though (or @timewatchertunes on youtube if you're weird)

> 20-something nonbinary (they/them) with brain worms for meta stuff and good game design

> timezone's cet/gmt+1 (or cest/gmt+2 in the warmer seasons, CURSE YOU DAYLIGHT SAVINGS)

> this blog started bc my Sheer Blinding Normalcy about these games is too much by now

> i'm not above swearing and write in lowercase unless it's for emphasis or for Proper Essay Purposes, get adjusted quick

~ about the game(s) ~

> the blog is centered on In Stars And Time, but will also feature content from/about START AGAIN: a prologue, its prototype/better demo than the actual demo don't @ me

> they're both rpgs by the ever-wonderous INSERTDISC5 (not gonna @ her on this thing) about a fella getting stuck in a time loop at the tail end of an unseen jrpg adventure (i don't think i need to specify, but the time loop also Stands For Some Things)

> the art is striking, the music is bopping, the gameplay has some of the best ludonarrative harmony ever and the story/writing/characters are immaculate, especially with how they can seamlessly give you fun comedy, the warm fuzzies, The Horrors and intense gutpunches of raw emotion in rapid succession!

> that being said, it has a content warning page for a reason - it's not for the faint of heart, though there's not any cheap jumpscares

> also the ludonarrative harmony i mentioned often comes at the expense of gameplay being all that riveting later on, so don't expect to rpg the daylights out of this rpg,

> othewise, if you're still interested and somehow haven't played it yet, go check it out! in particular i would recommend getting a taste of it online though - the one thing i will criticize about it is the first 45 mins of the game as is (or just start again, which you should check out regardless of it being a prototype) would work far better as a demo than the actual demo

~ about the blog ~

> like my main, probably skewing towards rapid fire reblogs

> sometimes i'll even reblog things that aren't explicitly about isat if i feel like they fit here

> will spoiler tag the following:

#isat spoilers - anything from act 2 onwards that would give away the game's main plot

#start again spoilers - mostly about the game's main endings, since it's so brief spoilertagging the middle would be like giving a sandwich a halfway break

#isat achievement spoilers - for sidequests that aren't required for the main plot, with the exception of

#twohat spoilers - without specifying what this means exactly, if you only saw one hat at the game's credits, filter this tag out

> #usual day in siffrin's torment nexus is for anything with canon typical content warnings. on reblogs, this will be the only tag specifying these things, unless there's also canon-atypical cws to worry about (ex. you won't see it next to #cw children in peril on a reblog, but you might on an original post, or on a reblog next to #cw gore)

> will only tag in greater specificity (canon typical content warnings, character specific tags, etc.) on original content, since the algorithm side of things on tumblr doesn't bother much with rbs

> will tag my ships (different strokes for different folks in the fanbase, i understand), but i'm not here to start discourse. if i catch you clowning about what pairings feature on here, i'll tell you to touch grass and block.

> for original posts, expect shitposts, analysis/gushing, some original writery and maybe a smidgen of art or music if inspiration strikes

> feel free to shoot asks, submissions and dms at me, but i apologize if i'm slow to respond...

[mbat]

i think i made a post before but i cant find it but literally its funny as hell seeing people be like 'this show curses too much!' about those two shows (which this post is NOT about istg dont start discourse) but also people are rightfully fighting back about every single websites abysmal censoring system where people arent allowed to say things like 'dead' or 'suicide' or other topics like that despite them being both basic facts of life and also important conversations to have

its especially clear on channels and accounts where they consistently talk about crime cases, or generally serious topics. i follow several channels like that on youtube, and almost every single one doesnt dare say the words that literally are the word for what theyre discussing, because their fragile sponsorships dont like it, or youtube doesnt like it, and its like. are you actually fucking kidding me. and its genuinely a shock when they actually say these words.

and i dont use tiktok very often, and when i do its usually just videos of people making art, but its hard to avoid seeing tiktoks on other social media, and how people will censor words to hell and back so that their video isnt shadowbanned or whatever those stupid words are to mean 'this video is fucked and youre fucked for making it'

im sick of seeing people have to say shit like unalive and self unaliving TO DISCUSS BASIC FACTS OF LIFE. people die. people kill themselves. yes its fucking awful and depressing and terrifying, but its beyond a joke to act like its something to hide away from.

its also extremely important that we do talk about these things, and talk about them like real people do, because of how often they happen, and how serious they are.

do you know the amount of times ive seen people unironically say the word unalive outside of these places? or people come to tumblr and they say it here because they think that you cant say those words here? its embarassing.

the internet is becoming increasingly more corporate ideal and its gross. i cannot put into words how much i hate how the internet feels like one continuous corporate website. i miss how the internet was back when i first started using it, even if it was the wild west and extremely far from a place a child shouldve been. and even then i was on an internet that wasnt anything like how it was even a decade previous to that, what would be about 20 years ago now, where the internet was even more of a wild west.

i dont like that we have to bend a knee to the wants of corporations just to exist on this thing that once felt magical. the place where every person ever has the possibility to be connected from anywhere, see and experience things they never could without it

and yet here we are not even being able to say things that people do experience every day. its just disgusting.

im not advocating that there be 0 lines to cross, theres still things that should be like 'hey maybe dont say or do that', but im talking the things that literally hurt no one.

so sure, say what you will about those shows, maybe i agree, but i really dont give a single shit about the discourse or any of that. and yeah maybe they do say shit and fuck a little bit much, but holy hell are they at least allowed to say it, and its a breath of fresh air to me, and thats also just embarassing.

[pizzahutchan124]

I gotta work on finding my voice

All too often I fear posting anything original on here out of fear of being mediocre. But being mediocre is the only way to learn how to be extraordinary. Its a catch 22. You fling shit at a wall until one of it sticks. Really, the worst thing to happen on this site is that its out in the happy little gapping hell of an abyss that is tumblr, with little to no traction made in terms of engagement.

Is engagement on here truly the worse thing possible? Maybe. It probably depends on what circle you're in or what sort of brand you want to show to the world. I remember the last time I got into a discourse with a user on here. We fought over how valid Jaspers character (from Steven Universe) was and then he blocked me after spouting ad hominems. YEA, that lil exchange was over 7/8 years ago, yet I faintly remember the bitter bile I felt afterward. It could've been worse. Im not sure how, nor do I really feel like extrapolating those possible scenarios. There are also blogs who blow up over night, then deactivate due to being overwhelmed with the nature of being popular. The only proof that they exist remains in the posts that circulate around this site.

I don't go looking for fights whenever I log on here. My time here is meant to explore spaces and interests that I otherwise wouldn't have the means or resources to. And its interesting see the different takes people have on here. But I need to be aware of not crossing certain territories online. As nice as it can be broadening your horizons, the online world will always emulate the real world, and the real world often harbors terrifying, odious entities who thinks very little of the humanity inside you. Some are passive, others are upfront in their rancidity. Most of all of them are selfish to their core.

With that being said, I want to leave the world better then it was when I came in. Preferably that would be through transformative works or creating some sort of content, but that requires actual forethought and planning. Its hard to mesh creative pursuits with the all too real necessities of eating and paying bills, but its one that I'm trying to navigate. So far I think I'm doing a better job then most. My support system is still strong and I'm lucky enough to be in a position where I can be anything that I choose. Freelancing's been tough, but the work I've been getting has been top notch. The world is a scary place right now, but I'm confident that I'm smart enough to rise up to the challenge and blaze through it with flying colors.

Whenever I want to make a post here, I want it to be an original take and not something I parroted from another user, while keeping a tone that says "I'm in control and I'm knowledgeable about this thing right here." Yet, I end up sitting on my laurels only for the moment to pass. I don't sit with myself like I use to. I mean, I do, but not like before. Its different. Its for me, instead of the world. I don't event know what I want to show to the world in terms of Original Content. If I wanted to reflect back to the world what it truly was, I'd be a terrifying, wonderful creature with many beautiful eyes and gnarled teeth. Sadly I am only human. I'm going to have to make do with petting my Blorbos and my precious furbaby until my next paycheck comes in.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 324: Is There a Force Field Around Him??

Previously on BnHA: Flashback!Rat Principal was all “please tell Midoriya that I spent a concerningly small amount of money upgrading U.A. into a wacky physics-defying funtime grid so as to make the final battle much more confusing for everyone.” Present Day!Mic (or Present!Mic, if you will) and Jeanist were all “if only somebody could deescalate this dangerously unhinged mob, we’ve tried nothing and we’re all out of ideas.” Ochako was all “LISTEN UP PEOPLE.” The mob was all, “god??” Ochako was all, “NO, IT’S ME, OCHAKO. I’M REALLY HIGH UP ON THIS BUILDING AND THE VISIBILITY IS LOW DUE TO THE RAIN, SO I CAN SEE HOW YOU MIGHT MAKE THAT MISTAKE. ANYWAYS, DEKU WAS OUT THERE RISKING HIS LIFE FOR YOU CLOWNS EVEN THOUGH HE’S JUST A KID, SO I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE IF YOU COULD ALL REMEMBER HOW TO BE DECENT HUMAN BEINGS, THANKS.” Let’s see if her Big Scolding Energy has any impact.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “so I have this speech planned out, and it’s really good, but it also only really needs about 6 to 8 pages, but I’m gonna see if I can stretch it out to 17 pages so I can kill time before we get to the next volume cliffhanger two weeks from now.” Anyway but it really is a good speech though. There are feels, and tears, and more talk about how Deku is so in need of a shower that just looking at him requires a tetanus booster, and more feels, and more tears, and bonus ship drama, and an iconic callback to the very first chapter which reframes the entire series in a new context in a totally epic and moving way, and it’s all very good. Except that Horikoshi is determined to never let anyone actually give this kid a hug. Who hurt you, dude.

omg we are opening on a callback to chapter 212, a.k.a. the chapter with by far the cutest flashback that doesn’t involve any baby Todorokis

baby Ochako is lethally cute. she could literally murder someone with her cuteness. I just want to scoop her up and play airplane with her until she accidentally activates her quirk while we’re spinning around and we both helicopter up into the air never to be seen again

“a child’s insistence” huh well that’s all well and good, but I sure hope this doesn’t mean we’re going to drag out the whole “sternly lecture the obnoxious citizens” plot for another whole chapter. no offense but I think we’re good

so page 2 is just continuing the whole happy/worried faces monologue, which of course is very important to Ochako’s character as it provides the context for why “who protects the heroes” ended up becoming her thing. and this is making me think we actually are in for a whole second chapter of this sob. when will my boy finally get to rest

OH MY GOD SUDDENLY THESE PEOPLE HAVE EYES IMAGINE THAT

HORIKOSHI: [reaches for a box of tissues while tearfully penning an homage to his beloved Spider-Man 2, specifically the train scene where the crowd sees Peter without his mask and they suddenly realize just how young he is]

HORIKOSHI’S HOMAGE SCENE: “COME TO THINK OF IT, I GUESS IT WAS KIND OF MEAN FOR US TO PICK ON THIS TEN YEAR OLD KID WHO WEIGHS 75 POUNDS AND LOOKS LIKE HE LOST A FIGHT WITH SATAN’S MOLDY OLD BASEMENT”

lol at this one guy who can feel the mood of the crowd shifting and is all “WAIT, NO, I WANTED TO KEEP BEING AN ASSHOLE DAMMIT”

as many pointed out last week, this man is wearing an All Might shirt. that’s some fantastic irony there

-- SDKFJWIGKS

“LITTLE GIRL, I HOPE YOU’RE NOT SUGGESTING THAT WE SHOULD ALL BE WALKING AROUND DRESSED LIKE A SOVIET-ERA BUS STOP.” heh. last week I said I was ashamed of BnHA being my favorite manga. that was a lie, actually

(ETA: in the original Japanese Ochako’s next two lines are basically “the only ones covered in mud will be us heroes!” followed by “please give us some time to get rid of the mud”, with that second line basically being the single funniest thing I’ve ever read rdslkjl. Ochako thank you so much for supporting my running gags. “YEAH WE KNOW HE’S DIRTY. WE ARE GONNA TRY AND CLEAN HIM UP, BUT IT MAY TAKE A WHILE, I’M JUST SAYING. I MEAN LOOK AT HIM. HE LOOKS LIKE AN ASBESTOS COSPLAY.”)

doesn’t the megaphone kind of look ever so slightly like an axe that she’s wielding maniacally here

easy there Lizzie Borden

also that’s a really bold claim to make there. and not one she necessarily should have to make, either. but as we all know, there’s nothing that shounen manga likes more than having its heroes bravely hoist heavy burdens of responsibility like good self-sacrificing citizens

p.s. lowkey loving how Kacchan is positioned here standing slightly behind Deku. not presuming to stand in front of him all overprotectively (because he would hate if anyone ever did that to him), and kind of being unobtrusive and letting others take center stage -- but still being close enough to Deku that he can catch him if he stumbles or passes out again

(ETA: or maybe not lmao.

DEKU: [falls to his knees]

KACCHAN: [glancing up from his phone a few minutes later] “someone just sent me the stupidest meme about milk crates -- oh. uh. you good...?”

really, son. “the burdens you can’t carry, we’ll carry them for you. ...later, I mean. right now it’s late, and we’re all cold and wet.”)

also lowkey loving this OchaTsu moment here

I was going back and binging Ochako chapters this past week for reasons, and I gotta say it really stuck out to me just how often these two are paired with each other. they do everything together. it’s a really sweet friendship that often goes unappreciated but it’s very cute

meanwhile, not to be outdone by the OchaTsu, Iida is staring at Ochako with open admiration talking about how she’s fighting too. it’s been so long since we’ve had any IidaRaka you guys. I was starving and I didn’t even know it

oh my lord IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING

THE LIGHT IS BACK. he finally looks like him again. what a cathartic fucking moment omg

ffklkdw

“I KNOW YOU ARE ALL SCARED, BUT THE GOOD NEWS IS, WE DEFINITELY CANNOT GUARANTEE YOUR SAFETY AND WE ARE ALL SCARED TOO!” good pep talk there kiddo

BUT, jokes aside, truth be told this is the exact right approach to take imo, and something that’s long overdue. I’ve said this before, but this new generation of heroes is shaping up to be much more transparent than the All Might generation. they’re basically abandoning the almighty, untouchable Superman “heroes as gods” concept in favor of the more nuanced “heroes as people” concept instead. and that’s a good thing. seeing their heroes as humans, with human limitations and weaknesses and flaws, will hopefully not only lead to more scrutiny and accountability, but also more awareness of how hard some of them are working and how much they’re sacrificing. that’s something All Might never quite grasped back at the start of the series -- that the weak, vulnerable, injured him could be just as inspiring as the mighty, invincible him -- perhaps even more so. there’s a power in seeing otherwise ordinary people show extraordinary bravery and compassion. it inspires others to try and do the same

SSDLHK AIZAWA SIGHTING AAHHHHHH

so he was still back at the hospital this whole time?? smdh at this disrespect. that feeling when your sexy self-insert character’s powers of rationality are too strong, and so you have to nerf him so that he doesn’t ruin your Deku Angst arc twice over by (1) immediately talking some sense into Deku and making him come home Right This Instant Young Man, and (2) not allowing him to leave U.A. in the first fucking place. excuse me, you want to do WHAT now, Midoriya?? that’s it, go to your room

also living for Katsuki and Hawks’s soft expressions. Shouto’s too, although his is tinier and harder to see. and Jeanist’s 12-foot-long neck. imagine Jeanist’s head with Mic’s hair. maybe Jeanist had a mohawk back in the day and that’s why U.A.’s doors are so big now

speaking of soft faces, Enji’s is also excellent

what could this random close-up possibly imply?? hell if I know. but Horikoshi truly fears no discourse and that’s what I love about him

OMGGGG

“smh my child is so dumb.” poor Ochadad. your child is cute af count your blessings

SDOFFHSMH

I’m telling you guys. lethally, catastrophically cute

this speech is still ongoing lol. Horikoshi you’re doing so good but I think we get the point now my dude. you gotta learn how to transition out of these things

UNEXPECTED TOGA WHAT

“there we go” Horikoshi says, crossing off the last line on his list of Ochako ships. “that’s all of ‘em”

poor Ochako is just repeating the same “LET HIM REST, PLEASE, WITH EVERYONE’S COOPERATION, IF YOU DON’T MIND, WE APPRECIATE IT” talking points over and over again hoping someone will throw her a bone and acknowledge her already. SOMEONE PLEASE HELP HER

literally they’re all just staring up at her silently omg. work with me people!!

now she’s saying it for the 56th time but more dramatically all of a sudden

they got so dramatic that for a minute I thought she had suddenly leaped off the building or something

look, not to rush you or anything Horikoshi, but I’m starting to get the feeling that this is yet another one of those “the volume is ending soon so I need to either hurry things up or slow things down in order to make sure we end it on my perfect cliffhanger ending” chapters where you go to ridiculous lengths to drag things out much to the exasperation of your week-to-week readers

(ETA: ftr, volume 31 ended on chapter 306, and I’m predicting that vol. 32 will end with chapter 316 (a.k.a. “you’re next!” [explodes]). I’m guessing vol. 33 will follow suit and likely end on chapter 326, so keep your eyes peeled for a big cliffhanger in two weeks’ time. Deku’s dad?? All Might in peril?? U.A. traitor at long fucking last?? we shall see.)

is Deku straight up falling in love with Ochako right on the spot lol what is happening

I know I just said that I enjoy when Horikoshi gives zero fucks about discourse, but shipping discourse is a whole different beast lol. I hope he’s prepared

(ETA: and for the record, I have no interest in shipping discourse either, as always. and I think this scene can be interpreted as platonic, tbh, with the context being that Ochako was literally introduced as someone who was willing to help him so casually without a second thought, and now here she is saving him again.

I don’t think it really fully hit Deku until this moment how much he needed saving. like I said in another meta somewhere, selflessness is basically just selfishness on behalf of others. and Deku is selfless to a fault, but that’s okay, and it doesn’t mean he needs to change -- he just needs friends who are willing to be be selfish on his behalf in turn. and I think the full emotion of what it means to have friends like that just hit him at last. everything his friends have done for him, how much he needed it and didn’t even realize, and how grateful he is. anyways what a terrible day for rain.)

-- son of a --

is he apologizing?? or pleading?? please tell me that’s not the case, because what the actual fuck. Deku you beautiful precious radiant selfless child, this is the exact opposite of how this should be. all these motherfuckers should be on their knees apologizing to you

DEKU WHY

I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS FREAKING BOMBARDMENT OF EMOTIONS GODDAMIT. OUT HERE ARMED WITH YOUR FREAKING TREBUCHET OF FEELS TO LAUNCH AT ME UNPROVOKED. WHAT’S WITH THAT

FREAKING CHRIST. THIS BOY IS CRYING HIS EYES OUT AND HORIKOSHI IS JUST ZOOMING IN WITH THE CAMERA, LIKE CAN WE JUST CUT HIM A BREAK ALREADY. ENOUGH OF THIS. HE’S SO YOUNG AND HE TRIES SO HARD AND I JUST NEED HIM TO FEEL SAFE, HORIKOSHI PLEASE CAN YOU JUST GIVE ME THAT ALREADY WHAT IS THE FREAKING HOLD UP!!

GIGANTIC FOX LADY!!!

GIGANTIC FOX LADY PLEASE BE MY HUGGER BY PROXY!! SERIOUSLY GIRL IF YOU JUST HOLD YOUR UMBRELLA OVER HIM OR SOMETHING AND DON’T GO THE EXTRA MILE I’M ABOUT TO LODGE AN OFFICIAL COMPLAINT. THIS IS GETTING RIDICULOUS NOW

!!!!

A KOUTA IS GOOD TOO!!! oh my god if Kouta hugs him I will seriously 100% straight up cry. go on and test me

FOR THE LOVE OF --

is this man expressly forbidden from drawing hugs in his contract or something. DO YOU DO IT JUST TO SPITE ME?? this is tyranny, sir

AND I KNOW, THIS PAGE ACTUALLY CHALLENGED THE VERY PREMISE OF THE SERIES ITSELF, AND HERE I AM COMPLAINING ABOUT HUGS, OR THE LACK THEREOF. “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes.” and just like that, he waves a polite middle finger at all of the Strongest Greatest Chosen One shounen protags of old, in favor of something much less conventional, much more interesting, and much more suited to Deku’s character. because if that one sentence doesn’t just sum up Deku to a T. he gladly relinquishes his Greatest Hero status in favor of acknowledging the hero in everyone. what a class act. that’s my protagonist

I love this kid so fucking much I swear. only just PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. GIVE HIM HIS HUG

[terrence-silver]

Maybe you could write a story where Terry deliberately pushes away his beloved?

I bleed internally, and I don't know to stop it.

That's the thought restlessly rummaging inside of his head when he goes out with you and the dates spent together are pleasant. Lovely. You're lovely. The conversations thrilling. He feels good effortlessly. It all clicks somehow, like it was meant to be --- a natural sort of magnetism. He shares and he's himself and there's no judgement in the act. Terry finds himself slipping away his masks, about to hand his heart on a platter. He bleeds internally and he doesn't know how to stop it. Is there any stopping it? Controlling it? It bleeds all the more when he starts telling you all the bad things he's done and he's met with sweetness. A natural sort of empathy. Where's the judgement, Terry's mind demands, judge me! Hate me! Fear me! Dread me! Force me to conceal myself! But, you never do. It is because you love him. You love a decrepit, old, haggard snake entirely rotten from the inside and he wants to coil around himself and strangle himself on his own tail. If you wanted him out some sort of advantage, at least that would be a language and a strategic exchange he'd understand, because he's often wanted people out of a sense of advantage too --- or simply for the sport of it. Was the way of the world. Nothing was ever free. Everyone was out to get everyone, one way or another. John taught him that recently.

I bleed internally and I don't know to stop it.

So, he starts artificiating tactical discourse. Arguing you. Baring his temper like an animal bears its teeth. Deliberately misunderstanding you in the hopes of pushing your buttons, offending you inadvertently and already planning how you'd leave and yet he is forgiven. He's forgiven and you stay. Time and time and time again. Water under the bridge. Holy fuck, what will it take? You are so stubborn and devoted, he sees himself in you. Terry rams his fist into the wall in rage in front of you, hoping to scare you off, bleeding himself on the concrete of his mansion's hallway door, knowing the staff can hear his wild daily outbursts and yet you still remain with him, helping him bandage his wounds. Helping him get better. The care you provide feels like an alien tingle --- invasive yet good. So foreign. Alarming. He was supposed to shed his own weakness like a viper sheds skin, wasn't he? He's put his only friend in life behind bars with framed, trumped up charges in order to shed it and now here he was saddled with another. What will it fucking take? Should he just push you off the manor's balcony and right into the sea hoping you'd beg him to pull you back up and open your eyes to the man he really was? No, no, he couldn't do that. He'd give his right arm to pull you back up. Back to safety. You belonged to him. Maybe he should grab you by the neck and push his cock into your mouth? And yet...

Why do you keep showing him mercy?

Don't you realize there's no mercy?

He throws himself into the whereabouts of his newly minted dojos, making himself appear far busier to you than he really was. Truth of that matter was, his paid PR people were in charge of most of the marketing surrounding Cobra Kai, in its new, re-branded form and Terry always had time because he could afford the luxury of time. He was the boss. Except now, he didn't want to. He wanted to intentionally make you feel isolated and obsolete to him. You, of course, felt too guilty to question it --- why his walls were suddenly up after he's went so far to endear himself to you. Truth is, he couldn't handle being loved once he had a taste of it. He could barely handle being liked. He could always hit you with the I'm a busy man, my dear. All this money doesn't come without work. Not that you'd know. You don't work the way I work. So, you never asked out of shame and humility. Never questioned it. You felt something was off. He knew you knew. And it hurt. It hurt Terry. But, he held his first Cobra class with an unholy fire burning inside of him because every day he hoped it would be enough for you back home --- the home he moved you into because he couldn’t allow you to be away --- that you'd get irrevocably hurt and that you'd leave when the lack of his attention gets a little too much. Please leave. Please leave. I spent a lifetime without you, please leave. You being here is agony. I love you. Please leave. It was easier when I didn't fucking know you existed. I wasted my time. I wasted my life. Please leave.

I bleed internally and I don't know how to ---

-"Hope you had a good day."-

Is all Terry responds to you on the answering machine. He strikes first. Strikes hard.

He keeps it clipped, politely distant and slightly disinterested; minimalist and cordial.

Gives you enough to still keep you hooked and attached to him.

He can't be parted from you. He fears it'll break him. He fears he’ll do something.

After several missed calls, from his dojo office --- state of the art. Neon. Cool.

He's watched his own phone ring away whenever you called.

He never wanted to kill or hurt himself this badly.

Not since Vietnam.

He's done this to people before --- ghosting them, as the young would call it. Except, it never actually really bothered him whatsoever before. Their use would be up, so he'd leave them, sans explanation. His fuel acquired, in the manner of an energy vampire. Easy. He'd make up another persona for himself and start off from the beginning He’d become a new Terry. He'd become someone pristine and different for a diverse, clean milieu of individuals with fresh uses to them. His own therapist called him pathologically manipulative and two-faced and he had to agree. Man knew his shit. Now? Now he has to be entirely drunk to pull it off with you because the ache is pulsating and numbing. And the inebriation still doesn't help. If he went back to cocaine, like he did in the 80′s, it probably wouldn’t help either. Terry knows he's breaking your heart. That was the whole plan from the get-go. Yet, the sadist in him doesn't rejoice one bit. He never intended to care for you this much in the first place. He comes back home to his Malibu mansion like an estranged guest merely visiting after a week's absence and he senses your eagerness hanging in the air and it nearly finishes him on the spot. You care for him so much. He? He’d kill for you. Takes all of Terry Silver's long decades of accumulated willpower and discipline not to lunge himself into your arms and just stay there like some sort of dependable, sappy, weakling, controlled piece of ---

-"You've been a bit more distant than usual. Is everything alright? I’m worried."-

You ask, worried, tip toeing around the facts.

I bleed internally and I ---

-"Alright? I've never been better. What are you worried about?"-

He deflects with a rehearsed grin, refusing to communicate. He lies.

Terry's actually felt awful for months now.

He was so happy he didn't know what to do with it; an itch he couldn’t scratch.

The contradictive, contrived bullshit of that.

-"Are you sure?"- You try again. The attempts kill him. Please stop.

Get offended and leave.

-"Positive."- He gives you his biggest corporate smile.

Cold, aloof, it never reaches his eyes, he knows. He never feels it.

-"Terry, I don't think that's true, you know?"-

-"True? I don't know what you're talking about."- I love you, his mind whispers.

You’re my whole world. How did that happen?

Instead, he shoots back with an added spice of cynicism and deflection, talking to you in circles at the dinner table as his server places down the entree and promptly leaves in silence, after his week long absence. In the world of his past therapists, it was called gaslighting, but Terry preferred to poetically call it the Fog of War. Confusing someone's senses and making them doubt the landscape of their own perceptions, and you, poor love, were lost indeed, because he's made sure you felt lost. I miss you, your text messages said --- he never said I miss you back no matter how he yearned to. All he said was something unrelated to swerve saying I miss you even when I'm inside of you. Even when I breathe in your breath instead of air. Even when I'm tangled into you, I miss you and that's some bullshit. What did you do to me? What? What!? What!? I wanna hurt you so bad for this. I wanna avenge myself. That night, he goes from sleeping next to you with his back turned to sleeping in an entirely separate bedroom, on the other end of his estate. He doesn't get a minute of sleep as the insomnia takes hold. He desires to be beside you, under the same sheets. He can't, though. He shouldn’t. Terry just stares up at the dark ceiling. His heart could burst from love and yet he contains it. He knows you'll get inevitably hurt any day now and that you'll pack up and go. He'll burn down The Valley once you do even though he very much arranged this. I bleed internally...

He loves you a little too much and it is driving him mad.

He bleeds internally and he wants to bleed out.

Hoping everything he feels for you will seep out along with it and free him.

[juliens-bakery]

For Scott Hutchison: 10 May 2022, My Twenty-Third Birthday

CW: suicide

Confession: I have thought about killing myself almost every day since I was a child. I do not say this to stand out or with the thought that this is somehow exceptional; there will always be some of us who feel this way, whether because of some fault in our genes or in our upbringings. So when I say that the thought of suicide has followed me as long as I can remember, it is not to be dramatic but only as a simple statement of fact. And when these thoughts have become mundane, it is wearing and exhausting to hear broader society dance around the subject, as if I am a fragile vase liable to shatter at slightest touch, as if I am a delicate flower who cannot stand to hear suicide discussed with plain words. We forget now, in 2022, what the discourse on suicide used to be like, when it was never discussed for fear that it would cause a stream of deaths, copycat suicides perpetuated by those without the mental fortitude withstand the call of the void. And although I do not know the ‘correct’ way to handle it, I can say with confidence that avoidance did not keep me from the starvation, from the edges of subway platforms, from the bridge over the highway.

Scott Hutchison never shied away from dredging up the worst parts of himself in his work. There is a precise craft to it, oftentimes this type of writing can come off either too brash or too self-pitying. But when Scott wrote about his pathetic horniness, his violent jealousy, his unshakeable alcoholism, his cowardice, he did so with an unflinching honesty that asked for neither glory nor pity. And when he wrote about his death, as he did so often, it had none of the stink of suicide-baiting that infects the post-Thirteen Reasons Why discourse. Nor did it shy away from staring death in its face, but by holding up a mirror, Scott gave words to myself and so many others to allow us to describe the specter. And although that in itself is not enough, I do not think I would still be here if I could not recognize the shadow on my heart for what it is. I cannot listen to Floating in the Forth without tears, but fuck if I haven’t also shouted it with triumph, that I haven’t given up yet. And for that and so much else, I am forever grateful.

I remain fixated by the songs in which Scott professes hope. Hope that one day the apologies will stop, hope that there is love amidst the misery, hope that there can be life without oxygen, hope that this year will be different, hope that maybe just this once you won’t fuck it up. It is difficult to listen to them knowing how the story ends, but I cling to them because this hope has been fought for, won by bloody-minded stubbornness in the face of all-encompassing despair. It is one thing to have hope in the bright seasons of life. It is another, far more valuable thing to have hope when all is lost and you can see your fate written in the unforgiving tides.

This is my promise to you, reader: there will be a better day. And no, I cannot promise that survival is guaranteed, or that the great and miserable arc of life will miraculously turn around, or that you and your loved ones will be kept safe. But I do promise that you will wake on a delicate morning and you will not be able to explain why a smile creeps across your face, and maybe there is something within you that has not given up yet. I promise that you are better than your worst moments, you are better than the curses and punches you threw when you did not know how else to handle it, you are better than the fracture you left in the heart of someone who loves you, you are better than the scars left by someone who hates you. There is no minimum requirement to being a human. Maybe you cannot fix it but there is still time to try.

Confession: I do not want to die anymore. Today is my twenty-third birthday, and I cannot quite believe that I’ve made it this far. It stinks of injustice that I, a coward, have been given chance after chance, while others who have overcome much more are did not make it to see the fruits of their resilience. Perhaps that is why, when I say that I want more life, I feel an overwhelming wave of guilt. But it is because of people like Scott Hutchison that I am still here. And I do not know how long I can stick around, and I do not know if I can protect my loved ones, but I do know this: while I’m alive, I’ll make tiny changes to Earth. And to death I say, save it for another year.

[laurelier]

An anti/former harry fan has made several long blog entries about why harry is not political, just privileged and out of touch. Can we please prove them wrong? It makes me sad.

x/x/x

Listen, like.

Ok. Sigh. Big sigh. Because—here you know what I’m gonna put this under a cut bc frankly I don't wanna clog my blog up with discourse. So. If yal care what I think about this then keep on readin.

Honestly? Honestly. Honestly I know this isn’t what you want to hear but I…….. think this person raises some important points. I don't agree with everything, obviously—I wouldn’t be a fan of Harry if I didn’t see such gracefulness and compassion and strength in him and his work. But. Yeah. Some of this is stuff we should consider.

Here's the thing: personally, I don't necessarily think that H's reputation for quietness on social issues or for making soft statements is as awful as it's made out to be. Would I be elated if he said more? Sure, absolutely. He is so, so, so privileged, and he has such a huge platform. But what I see in him is a careful and thoughtful person who prefers to show solidarity through action or appearance rather than words. Which is, frankly, usually enough for me. I understand why it's not enough for some, but most of the time it is for me: I can take what he does and my interpretation of it and apply the goodness and kindness I see there to parts of my own life.

But really, getting to your actual question, I think this person’s point that if you’re pro-choice but are not willing to make unequivocally damning statements about abortion, you shouldn’t weigh in, is..... a fair one. It's interesting. Like, I don't totally know how I feel about this, to be 100% transparent with you. I don’t think I’d want to entirely gatekeep that conversation, and I want H to be able to express support for his fans in the ways he feels he can and should, but I do see where op is coming from there. Seen from a certain angle, H's statement does feel like a flippant nod to an issue that is very, very, very contentious and painful. And personally, I would appreciate a full-throated denouncement of laws prohibiting abortion from Harry much more than this kind of sort of maybe TPWK thing that we keep getting—but I think we have to remember that that kind of statement is not Harry’s thing. It's not, and hasn't really ever been; Harry’s music is all navel gazing and figuring yourself out, internal rather than external, and I don't think he promises us more than that. I don't think he needs to. And, like I said, I can understand why some would resent him for that, given his immense privilege, but really—Harry’s a human, and no matter what he says or doesn’t say people will scream at him and tell him he’s awful horrible evil or amazing gorgeous perfect, the combination of which has to be incredibly confusing, and not to baby someone who’s been read as a white man his whole life but—I don’t know that I’d want to try to make eloquent and perfectly measured statements on social issues if I were in Harry's position, either. I'd be terrified of my own platform. I just—he’s a person. Let him be one.

Granted, this particular instance is a bit tricky because being pro-choice *is* black and white right-wrong for me, where something like gender or sexuality (other issues he's often demonized for not "speaking out" enough on; utter BS, that) is very much a gray-area ~different for everyone and he'll share when he's ready or able~ type thing, but this idea of entitlement to all of Harry’s opinions and thoughts is still so tiring and frustrating to me. I'd like it if we could just let him figure things out at his own pace.

And, also: listen to what he's saying. Right? Like. He literally never said "abortion". I do think he was making a nod to it, but honest, the way I read that statement originally was—Harry doesn't want anyone to tell *him* what to do with his body. I hear, more than anything, just straight-up bodily reclamation there. Someone had to point out that it could be applied to the Texas law for me to get that part of it. It's layered. I feel like he's letting those who hear him decide what he means (yet again). And I see why someone might take issue with him making a statement that, because it's vague, could be misconstrued (even to the point of being twisted into an antivax statement, but I don't really think that's Harry's fault, it's pretty clear where he stands on that issue)—or see this as him maybe kind of going, eh, let's just throw abortion in there while we're at it as if that's not an issue that would deserve its own statement—I just. That's not what I take from it. And in any case I agree with op, in a twisty turny kind of way: I can't expect my politics to come from Harry Styles. I am a fan of Harry Styles because I think it's awe-inspiring that he shares his shifting, expanding knowledge of himself through his art, always with his trademark, ever-present grace and softness and vulnerability.

Really what it comes down to is. The person whose posts you linked said that his statement, if it's about abortion, is inappropriate because it puts the onus on those people actually harmed by the issue to "fix" it by supporting one another, and again, yeah, I can see why they said that—but I still don't think that's the only way to read it. What I hear when I hear Harry ask us to have one another's backs is: kindness is absolutely foundational, kindness is everything; acting human towards yourself and others, even when others do not, is not weak but is rather an act of defiance and it is very, very brave; is a way of fighting, really, for goodness; this is a world in which we all must take care of one another, and it's courageous to do so. He didn't say all that any more than he made a clear-cut statement about abortion, but still.

Whether H means for all of his equivocation and shallow-seeming statements to have so many interpretations isn't really my concern, at the end of the day. I don't know what's in H's head. What I do know is what his art has done for me—so even though it might sound hard to believe after reading this longass answer that I've written you today, nonnie, I do try to focus on only what I can see of H, remember that he's a privileged human being who, like all of us, is far, far, far from perfect, and not idolize him too much. It's important to encourage accountability for what he doesn't say and maybe should, but equally so to hear what he does.

[thestorytellersapprentice]

Why Do-yeok

I cannot believe I'm writing another one of this "Why" post. I thought it's a one-time thing with Love Alarm... But, here I am. Maybe because just like the previously mentioned Netflix series, Nevertheless causes huge discourse among its viewers. Team Potato and Team Butterfly. Jae-eon and Do-hyeok. Sanctuary or the gravitational pull.

And first off, an important note: my intention by writing this is not to seek any debate with anyone. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions, so here's mine. Feel free to read it or definitely not to read it if you're firmly on Jae-eon's corner and you can't imagine Na-bi with anyone else but him. I just want to sort out my thoughts simultaneously through writing this. And this is gonna be a bit long, I suppose.

So, as the title already declares, I'm Team Potato all the way. And, yep, this means I'm thoroughly on Do-hyeok's side and I want him to be happy because he deserves it. (Still need to see what's in store in the final episode, but I'm perfectly okay with an open ending: Na-bi ends up not choosing anyone but herself, as long as her friendship with Do-hyeok remains intact.)

And this comes down simply because of who Yang Do-hyeok is as a person.

If Do-hyeok is real, then you can bet that I'll date him myself too. At the very least, I'd definitely like to be friends with him.

Why?

Because....

One. His whole vibe is just so....warm and comfortable. We often see Do-hyeok's cheerful sides. He smiles a lot (and boy, Chae Jong-hyeop's smiles are just so endearing, but we're talking about the character here. Ahem.) He's attentive, thoughtful, and open. And he's not only like this with Na-bi. He, by nature, is a very friendly person, as you can see from his interaction with Do-yeon, his cousin, also with Na-bi's friends and the hyeongs in the noodle restaurant that he works at.

And I like it a lot that even just after Do-hyeok confesses to Na-bi and she turns him down, the very next day, they're able to speak with each other normally and just talk about his videos and how she'll watch them and give him feedback. That night, Na-bi also answers his call with a smile on her face. They joke around and not even stopping after Do-hyeok throws her some arguably-cringey-lines (if uttered by other guys and not handled properly). Clearly, Na-bi's very on ease and comfortable with and around him despite everything that has happened.

She even says this on her own: "And most of all, I feel comfortable when I'm with him."

Two. With Do-hyeok, the communication is sterling. Honesty and communication is also very important in a healthy relationship. Your partner isn't a mind reader, so you gotta tell her/him what you feel and think about, especially when you're having a hard time, so you both can work on it together. And our potato guy is the perfect example of openness and honesty.

Even when he's having a hard time, he doesn't lash out (unlike a certain someone), but he communicates it clearly to Na-bi: "I saw you and Park Jae-eon going into your house together. I know I said that I could wait for you as long as it takes. But I felt so jealous."

Do-hyeok also casually throwing lines like: "It's nice to hear your voice. The whole neighborhood seems empty without you." which can be really cringey, but hearing these with Chae Jong-hyeop's delivery = it's just Do-hyeok openly sharing his thoughts. And, again, he's not just like this with Na-bi. That's just the way he is. He openly states his concerns and thoughts to people close to him.

After her first disaster relationship and Jae-eon (who's a master deflector on all personal questions and is truly opaque), IMO someone like Do-hyeok is what Na-bi needs. With Do-hyeok, she never has to guess where she stands. And Na-bi responds to his openness accordingly. She shares her worries and not-so-good moments ("I was spacing out because the critique went badly. I got scolded. This semester is really the worst. I didn't get accepted to the exchange program as well.") And of course, Do-hyeok responds by reassuring and encouraging her.

Three. They begin as friends. Childhood friends, even. And while some may point out that she friend-zones him, I beg to differ. The expression on Na-bi's face when she first sees Do-yeon and hasn't recognizes her is not the expression of someone who sees her just-platonic-friend conversing with a girl. You can practically see the gears in her head turning and she suddenly looks unsure: "Who is that girl talking to Do-hyeok?"

But anyway, iIluminatedquill has written here and here what I want to say and more, so I won't add any more here, other than this: it's my own personal preference as well. I'm just more drawn to romantic relationships which also evolve from friendship. I feel that lust will only get you so far, and the companionship aspect is what makes it long-lasting. (Even in my personal life, my boyfriend is not only my boyfie, he's my friend and partner in crime also.)

Four. Do-hyeok has good and normal relationships with his family. He obviously has good relationship with his Grandpa (judging from the way he's reviving his Grandpa's noodle place until his Grandpa feels better) and is close with his cousin, Do-yeon. While this is based on what's been shown and even though we never see or hear about his parents, I think it's safe to say that Do-hyeok most probably grows up in a loving family and he carries their values with him as he approaches his relationships with people as an adult.

Again, this is mostly personal preference, but as someone who highly value family, for me this is another point for Do-hyeok. I'm not saying that someone with dysfunctional family cannot form loving relationships, but it's what one aspires for.

Do-hyeok cares for people. He takes care of them (e.g. voicing concerns over Do-yeon's plastered hand, preparing umbrella and coffee for Na-bi, etc etc). And, sadly, Jae-eon's distant family background just makes him even more detached and non-committal towards people.

As for Na-bi, she wants to learn from her mother and not following in her footsteps. "I promise myself I would never date while watching my mom." It's heavily implied (and is practically confirmed by her aunt) that her mother dates around as well, and from the one scene we're shown during her birthday weekend, she always feels like her mother neglects her and she's upset about it. So, yeah, Na-bi wants to live differently, and it's clear who's a natural at it already.

Five. I can see them growing together. Yeah, Na-bi's mostly the one who needs to sort out her life, but she also can be a good influence to Do-hyeok. She gives him feedback on his videos (as an example) and he builds upon that.

From Na-bi herself: "I don't want to ever disappoint Do-hyeok." She sees him as such a good guy and always receives things from him. I interpret her line here as her desire to improve herself, to be better. And that's how a good relationship should be, right? It brings out the best out of each other.

That's it from me for now.

I guess some of the points up there can be different priorities for different people, and that's okay. As I've said at the beginning of this post, this is all mine, so feel free to disagree.

To me, Jae-eon is like this very strong gravitational pull: he's sexy, mysterious and very alluring, yet he displays oh-so-many red flags. It's all such a rollercoaster ride with him: very fun and thrilling, yet can also cause you extreme dread.

While Do-hyeok is like a sanctuary. He represents safety, stability and ease. With him, it's like strolling on a park somewhere under the sunshine: things feel warm, pleasant, and cozy.

Na-bi probably still feels the gravitational force of Jae-eon. It's hard to shake off completely on such a short span of time, but I hope she remembers that just like her namesake, she always have her own strength to fly and defy gravity.

[miggydiaz]

For the salty ask 1, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10, 14, 16, 20, 22, 23 and 26 for cobra kai pretty please

My answers are so long, so I am putting this under the cut @wonderwolfballoon! Also I just noticed your Daniel icon I SWEAR I’M NOT DRAGGING HIM TO BE MEAN!!!

1. What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?* My biggest IDGI ships for CK are probably Elimetri or Kiaz. I’m not here to yuck other people’s yums or anything, but I do think there is something to the idea that Migueli isn’t popular because it’s a ship predicated on mutual respect for one another. Kiaz has the obvious enemies to lovers vibe and I just generally don’t sail those ships. Elimetri has... its problems, IMO, most especially around the idea that Demetri has to like... save Hawk from himself? Idk. I just like romances that I feel are based on love and mutual respect and not ...tropes.

 I am also not a Lawrusso shipper although I have a lot of those on my dash and you all are great! Again, not yucking yums! Daniel just makes me want to head butt him too much to pair him romantically with anyone 😂 I don’t even want his wife with him. He needs to self reflect~ 

4. Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?* 

I once saw someone ship Amanda and Anoush and I noped out of that so fucking fast I almost tripped over myself. I’m not sure if they’re popular. I just think some people feel the need to get Amanda out of the way to sail their ship and stuck her with Anoush which... no. Just no. Let Amanda be a messy single queen with a martini hobby, thanks! 

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?* 

Not in CK. I’m lucky because I pretty much stick to my little Migueli bubble and I’m okay with that? Lmao lord knows the Squad on my dash is all about the DISCOURSE™️ so idk if I just don’t feel the need to get sucked into the wider ship wars because we have good healthy debates, but so far, so good. 

6. Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?* 

I never hated it... I just didn’t have many feelings on shipping with this show in general at first. Then I was in the CK tag one day and I saw Migueli fan art. Then I discovered @afurioushawk‘s falconry series and it was all over for me after that! So fandom DID make me love a ship, just not one I hated.

9. Most disliked character(s)? Why? Oh boy. How much time do you have? In some instances, it’s a good thing season 3 happened because otherwise, this would be a multi-page essay on the problems with race and class privilege as it pertains to Sam LaRusso and just some... generally not nice comments about Demetri that I’m conflicted about because I’m not sure if the writers are intentionally trying to write him a specific way and it’s just not translating to me or what. But season 3 revamped both of their images with me a lot. I’m way more flexible in terms of Demetri, but lmao I was the number one Sam LaRusso hater for a minute there (or maybe number 2, I can think of at least 1 other person who was in that boat with me back in like... August/September, but I won’t call them out because I don’t want them to get hate...) However, I have grown a bit in my opinions of Sam, and even though I still think she’s responsible  for a lot of shit she NEVER gets held accountable for, I also think that’s a reflection of the adults around her too, and this includes my otherwise unproblematic queen, Amanda.

But honestly, my most hated character (other than the obvious villain that is Kreese) is Daniel. No matter how handsome Ralph Macchio looks in cable-knits, because Daniel has always been a sanctimonious, shit starting drama king and I say that about KK Daniel too. I’m not saying Daniel was the ~true villain~ or anything, or that Johnny was innocent -- I can only drink so much Red and Yellow Kool-Aid -- but Daniel’s always been annoying to me as a protagonist, and turning him into a smarmy wealthy car salesman who is also a class traitor did not do him any favors in my book. I will say, I also like Daniel more in season 3 than I have in previous season, but since he is the adult, I will be mad at him longer than I will be at the kids, ya feel?

10. Most disliked arc? Why?

 Johnny’s entire season 3 storyline. The sheer level of REGRESSION at every turn drives me bonkers. It’s like watching him go through all of the stumbling blocks of season 1 all over again, but without the “he’s learning! He’s going to make mistakes!” free pass that I was willing to give him the first time around. He regularly jeopardizes Miguel’s recovery and it’s played for laughs. He fucks up on every level with Robby. He spends most of his time running away when things get hard or too real. He drops the ball completely with Hawk, and like, not to put too fine a point on it, but a lot of Hawk’s issues are because Johnny put Hawk on this ‘flip the script and be a badass’ path and then offered him no guidance for how to walk that path and instead left him in the hands of Kreese. And then he has the nerve to go to Hawk and basically be like “I made you what you are!” lmao yeah Johnny, you sure did, that’s why he’s breaking peoples arms, hoss. And then all of the nonsense with Ali and Carmen, like... if you were planning on teasing KK fans with Ali and him getting back together, why write her as married in the first place? Why even tease the idea of Carmen and Johnny until after you were sure what you were going to do with Ali as a character? Instead, they do what they did in season 3 and it makes him look like a colossal jerk. So yeah. Literally every choice they made with Johnny this season, I hated.

14. Unpopular opinion about your fandom? People who hate Tory are not valid, sorry not sorry.

16. If you could change anything in the show, what would you change? I would have kept Miguel entirely out of Tory and Sam’s beef. Or at least not directly inserted him into it like he was with the kiss. I know the writers thought it was necessary to push Tory to the point of inciting a fight at school, but I am just so exhausted over girls being unable to fight about anything but boys. Also I would bring Aisha back.

20. What is the purest ship in the fandom? 

I am probably biased, but I still maintain it’s Migueli. Look, Miguel stood up to Kyler for Eli and Demetri both. Hawk joined CK because he saw what it could do for some skinny nerd who was getting his ass kicked. And he took to CK, really took to it! Even flourished before he started getting mixed messages. And he and Miguel were pretty much inseparable after that. They coordinated their wardrobes ffs. Hawk dubbed him El Serpiente and no one else calls him that — it’s Hawk’s nickname for him. Miguel confides in Hawk only secondary to Johnny, who is like a father to him. The entire Coyote Creek exchange shows they can fight and disagree but... well, to use the cliche, they don’t go to bed angry, you know? They’re square the very next day. Hawk is the first person at Miguel’s side when he gets kicked over the balcony and the LOOK he gives the second floor where Robby is? That boy is out for blood immediately to avenge Miguel. So much of his s3 behavior is fueled by that need for vengeance because MD is wholly responsible for what happened to Miguel. And Miguel is so confused and betrayed by Hawk’s shift in behavior, and yet still holds out hope that Hawk will see through Kreese’s BS and come with him to The Dojo I Refuse to Name. And when Hawk does make that deflection finally, he shows up at MD with Miguel. There’s so much more that I know I’m missing but whether someone ships them or not, that is a tried and true love and respect for one another, a willingness to fight for and defend one another that you don’t often see in TV friendships... or even in most tv relationships. And I just think that’s the best ❤️

22. Popular character you hate?

 Daniel, hands down. I mean... I don’t even necessarily hate Daniel, you know? I just think it’s really, pardon the pun, rich that a guy of immense wealth and privilege can’t get a therapist or turn to his far too patient wife for help with his existential crisis over his high school bully opening up a karate dojo to make some money and help a kid who is getting the crap kicked out of him. I get that Daniel’s narrative is necessary for the rivalry, but it does nothing to make him sympathetic as a character.

23. Unpopular character you love?

 Tory, definitely! Everyone hates her and then there’s me and the Squad over here banging away on our Coors Banquet cans yelling TORY RIGHTS! Seriously she catches so much flack for a teenage girl who is... the sole income provider for her family? At 17? While caring for a sick mom and a little brother? And fending off a creepy landlord? Tory has it so rough and then she meets a cool girl at her dojo who asks her to hang out at some fancy ass country club which is probably the nicest place Tory has ever been in, and then she gets talked down to and accused of being a thief and has another girl lay hands on her, only to find out that same girl is her new boyfriend’s ex and... ugh. I HATE that Tory gets shit all over when Tory and Sam wouldn’t even have beef if Sam had apologized to Tory as she SHOULD have. Tory isn’t innocent, but damn, I’d be pressed too.

 My other unpopular character I love? Nathaniel. Seriously that kid is THE best. He’s a literal child but is out there like I WILL FUCK YOU UP, even though he’s MD. Honestly, his Cobra Kai energy is so ferocious I won’t be surprised if he moves back to CK eventually. Anyway, I love him.


26. Most shippable character?

 Miguel, hands down. It’s because he’s so affable and sweet overall. And because his hair is so fluffy and pettable that no one can resist touching it. I like to imagine that one day he and Hawk are talking about their hair and Hawk makes a joke about how Miguel’s mane is getting so long that it’s going to be bigger than his own, and then he reaches out to ruffle it and internally has a bisexual meltdown because oh no IT’S SO SOFT AND NICE. But uh... anyway, yes. Definitely Miguel.

[aspiringhorrorauthor]

hello, PLEASE tell me your aroace analysis of the black parade album, i would like to see it 👀👀

What up guys, I just passed a vet med practice exam and I’m aroace and emo as fuck so let’s do this

 First off, I will preface that I know that this wasn’t quite MCR’s idea of the album, but art is interpretive and I will at every possible opportunity rub my grubby little aroace hands all over that shit. This is also gonna get long so here’s a read more

 Okay so first off, let me just exclude the following songs from this interpretation simply because they are exactly as they appear: The End, Dead!, Welcome to the Black Parade, Sleep, Teenagers and Blood. I can’t find anything to really psychoanalyse in this regarding the aroace experience so much as they are about the emo experience. And also, as a heads up, I feel this may teter more into aromantic interpretation than asexual simply because that’s how I roll, baby.

Let’s start with ‘This Is How I Disappear’, there’s something in here that strikes me as ‘coming to terms with being aroace Very Badly’, that first onset of panic when you realise ‘oh crap, I’m not allo’. I didn’t have the ‘hell yeah no sexual/romantic attraction oh wait there’s a word for that?’ realisation often stated online, I was in a lot of denial, especially when I first started listening to this album.

The lines “And without you is how I disappear/and live my life alone forever now” really strikes this message to me. The gnawing sense of loneliness and isolation when you first realise that you’re not like everyone else, that ‘living a life alone’ is both what you want from life and dread, as an amatonormative society drills into every one of us that love and relationships is what makes us important in life, and without it we will simply disappear. The line hits home the pain of questioning, the horror of when you realise this is who you likely are before you can truly accept it. It’s not a pretty part of being aroace, it wasn’t for me, but it is an important one, and the lines always hit home to me in this era.

Added on to this is a sense of how we’re seen in media. Consider the line “Who walks among the famous living dead”. There’s a real push in amatonormativity that love and romance is what makes us human, what makes us alive, and without it, we’re not human. Therefore, by extension, the aromantic narrator is ‘not alive’ by these standards, nor is their community they’ve yet to find. This is also doubled down by the monster symbolism throughout the song; especially when I was younger, aromantic (and asexual) coded characters in media were always the bad guys, the monsters who could only be stopped by the unstoppable power of love; the narrator is lamenting how this part of themselves seems monstrous, evil to society, when really that isn’t true, and this evolves over the course of the album.

Let’s move on to The Sharpest Lives. This is less aroace specific, but it certainly seems like a downward spiral of the narrator, which carries on from the self-loathing of Disappear. There’s really only 1 line I want to talk about here: “Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands/Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo”. This is an obvious allusion to Romeo and Juliet, but it turns on its head the usual story of Romeo and Juliet being in love; Juliet doesn’t love Romeo, she just loves the beat, and Romeo is taking it too far. This speaks to another experience, not exclusive to aromantics, but definitely strongly felt in it, when someone misinterprets the relationship or your feelings and tries to push for romance when all you wanted was a good time. I had an awful experience of this myself, so I’m claiming this one for the aroaces.

(As an aside, I got into MCR around the same time we did Romeo and Juliet at school, so imagine little me, not knowing she’s aroace and sick to death of talking about romance at school and hearing this line. To say I lost my shit was an understatement. I ADORE that line.)

Next up is ‘I Don’t Love You’. I’ve talked about this one before on my blog, but this is the song that really gives it away to me that this album is very strongly catered towards aroaces. “But it’s a break up song!” No, it’s not, if you look at it from the correct angle. Also I’ve gone to further lengths with other break up songs so try me bitches (See: Love Drunk by Boys Like Girls being about disregarding amatonormativity rather than breaking up with someone. It’s so damn obvious too)

Here’s the short of it: I Don’t Love You is actually about falling out with a friend because you had entirely different ideas as to what it was you wanted from your relationship. The aro narrator wants it to remain friends; they’re happy with where they are, and doesn’t want it to change. The other ‘person’ in the song is alloromantic, and wants it to become a romantic relationship. The most important line for this is the most important line in the song: “When you go, would you even turn to say, I don’t love you like I did yesterday”. Let’s focus on the word choice here: ‘Like I did yesterday’. When allos talk about love, they talk about the amount; if this was about falling out of love, it would reflect that, that the other person in the song loves them less, not differently. The narrator is lamenting that their friend no longer loves them as a friend; the friend’s view of love has changed, they love them romantically, and less as a friend as a result, and the narrator’s insistence on remaining friends has highlighted this.

What’s more, I don’t think this is the first time the narrator has gone through this. Admittedly, I misheard one of the lines for years and I insist the line is “Another time was just another blow” but I’m not American so we don’t have dollars, and this is about me and my interpretation of the album so we’re in this ride together and I’m driving so lets do this. The song is very pained, you can hear it in Gerard’s voice, and there’s so little about the pain of losing a friend, especially when they wanted romance from you, that this song really speaks to.

What really gets me though is how the narrator is clearly still struggling with being aroace too. Let’s consider the line “Sometimes I cry so hard from pleading”. The narrator clearly isn’t at ease with their identity yet; maybe they wish they could keep their friend, but their placing their boundaries down, even though its costing a friend. These boundaries are important, and its important for our friends to respect them too. And listening to, and singing along to, this song really makes me proud for the narrator in a sort of self-love kind of way when you couldn’t love yourself.

Final matter on this song: the narrator still thinks of them as a friend, which is tearing the narrator apart. Yes, the line “Don’t ever think I’ll make you try to stay” might make you think differently, but I believe that’s the narrator setting their boundaries; they’re not going to become an item just to please their friend and make them stay. Instead lets look at “Better get out while you can”. The narrator sees that their different views on the relationship is incompatible, and suggests they ‘fall out’ before their friend gets too caught up, and the rejection pains them both even more.

Now for House of Wolves. Not a long to say on this one, but I see it as being about media and ace exclusionists. See, the song flips between another character seeing the narrator as an angel and as a sinner simultaneously; just as how the media depicts asexual/aromatic/aroace people as non-human, that our sexuality (or lack thereof) makes us incomplete (the sinner aspect), while exclusionists say that we must be loved by the same media (and by religion too) for being aspec (the angel aspect). The song flip flops between them very rapidly, a state of confusion that felt very poignant for me when I was questioning in the height of the ace discourse.

Okay Mama is just here not for interpretation but because my English teacher once told us to analyse songs for her to mark as revision for exams and she loves long songs and kept making us analyse them so I analysed Mama and handed that in and got an A*. So Mama said AroAce rights that day.

Disenchanted is another strange one, filled with lines that mean more to aroace interpretation than the song itself. It spoke to me most when I was on my year out, having failed to get into uni despite good grades, still struggling with coming to terms with being aromantic, and dealing with severe anxiety. All in all, it was a year of disenchantment. It’s a good song. So what about an aroace interpretation?

The main thing about the song seems to be pretending to be someone you’re not. And really, when talking with family who expect you to be allo, how can you be anything but? I was told in this time that ‘Girls only go to university to find a husband’, which is many levels of wrong, but that thought always sticks in my head with this song. Moreover, I always think of break up songs with the line “You’re just a sad song, with nothing to say”, because they ARE just sad songs with nothing to say; and yet we’re expected to love them, because it’s a universal experience. There’s never been nothing to them.

But really, the line “I spent my high school career spit on and shoved to agree, so I can watch all my heroes sell a car on TV” is what really spoke to me. You spend school years being told that these people are sexy, you’ll want romance one day, and you have to agree or we’ll bully you mercilessly for it. The kids at school knew who was aroace before they knew what aroace meant. And we grow up watching heroes we relate to on TV, the fantastic loners who don’t need a significant other, only for fandom and the shows themselves to pair them up, make them “sell cars on tv” and sell out what made them special to us. And it hurts. And this song reflects that so well. In this song, the narrator is reflecting back on the years lost by hating themselves, slowly coming to terms with being aroace.

And finally, Famous Last Words. This is the real tipping point where the narrator feels comfortable with themselves, and finally confronts the friend from ‘I Don’t Love You’. The song is sung by one person, yes, but it feels like a dialogue between the friend, who still wants to hold a romantic relationship with the narrator, and the narrator who’s finally had enough. The introduction is from the friend, their thoughts on the narrator and how they know that they’re not going to win, but maybe they can make them feel bad for it “But where’s your heart?”, the friend is accusing the narrator of being heartless for being aromantic. But here’s the thing:

The narrator’s accepted who they are. “Well is it hard understanding? I’m incomplete.” The narrator accepts that they’re aroace, that to the friend, they are different, they don’t experience romance. The pain that they felt in the first few songs, of being the living dead and disappearing, makes them feel incomplete still, but they’re finally secure with being aroace enough to declare that, while they aren’t fully there yet, “I am not afraid to walk this world alone.” The narrator knows who they are, and they’re no longer afraid of it. Even when the friend tries to backpedal “Honey if you stay I’ll be forgiving” the narrator knows that the friend isn’t worth the pain anymore “Nothing you can say can stop me going home.”

That’s also why the lines about ‘love’ in this song are so important too. “A love that’s so demanding I can’t speak” “A love that’s so demanding, I get weak”. The narrator is explaining that, for them, romance is demanding; it’s not easy, and it’s not worth it for them, it’ll tire them out. The first quote can also speak of their friendship now; it’s so demanding, the narrator feels that if they stay, they may not be able to speak up for themselves any more. They have to friend break up, for both of their wellbeings.

And finally, the last verses “Awake and unafraid, asleep or dead” is the final attempt at kicking the narrator, harking back to “the famous living dead”. But the narrator refutes it by insisting that they’re not afraid to be alone anymore. And the song ends with the narrator winning, leaving the friend for good, for a better life.

 And that’s the aroace interpretation of Black Parade.

And it’s 2200 words long fuck

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 31

Read on AO3. Part 30 here. Part 32 here.

Summary: The time has come to do what you promised for the Resistance. If only it hadn't taken you so long to get here.

Words: 3700

Warnings: feelings kinda

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: I know it's not Friday, but I've been so full of anxiety about this chapter that I just had to get it out!! I'm sorry. I can promise you that next week will absolutely be up on Friday, because I have a feeling it's going to take me all week and maybe more.

I want to say--I really loved the debates/discussion in the comments? I feel so fucking flattered and excited people are having differing opinions on the characters? I love that there's so much conflict evident from the responses? That makes me feel so happy!

I am so truly lucky to have folks like you in my life, I can't say enough how grateful I am how I don't ever take any of it for granted, even if I can't respond to every comment. I love y'all so much, and thank you, please stay safe and healthy. <3

Across the hall, the Knight Templar stood at attention, blank visor of his mask trained on you, as it had been for the past forty-seven and a half minutes. The wooden walls to the Council Chambers loomed to the sky, oak canopies split with skylights, the morning sun cutting stark prisms into the hardwood floors. The only break in the dust-mote silence was the rumble of privileged discussion vibrating through your back.

Given the presence of Kylo Ren, you’d somehow expected to avoid the sting of exclusion. But even the influence of the Lead Commander was not enough to justify the attendance of a woman--and especially a Handmaid--during a Council meeting. Yet, you supposed you were thankful. The near two-week’s worth of blizzard-conditions between you and your Commander had frozen any willingness to play advisor to an arctic relic. Part of you felt confident that if you’d refused, he would’ve let you off the hook, but another part wasn’t willing to see how far you could push your absence of legal rights.

Shuffling, muffled voices rising--and the doors to the Chambers opened, a menagerie of black suits filtering into the hall. You studied your shoes, the arrival of so many power-wielding men binding your ribcage, curling your toes. Even with the Templar on guard, in the swarm of Commanders, your safety dangled by unraveling thread; you could feel their eyes wandering over you like steer wandered the plains--lazy and lingering and gluttonous.

Reluctant relief trickled through you when you caught Kylo’s boots in your periphery, his footsteps scattering their stares, scaring their own feet into the halls. Another person crossed around him.

“It was a little tense in there, wouldn’t you say?”

You recognized this man’s voice--he was the silver-haired one from the party.

“I anticipated discomfort.”

The man laughed. “Oh, well, of course you did, Ren! You’ve always been very ahead of the game, that way.” He stepped closer, inviting confidence--now his voice was a murmur. “Now, I’m not saying this, as you know. But I’ve heard others… express their concerns.”

“Concerns.”

“That Gilead’s roles were created for a reason.”

Kylo spoke flatly--he didn’t care if you heard him. “Roles exist to serve specific purposes, Enric. Should a purpose arise, then it follows that a role is created to serve it.”

“The only problem is…” Enric’s voice was mollifying, as if he were telling Kylo something he didn’t already know. “We don’t create roles. God creates them. He decided your purpose just as He decided hers.” There was a pause. You saw your Commander’s foot shift. “Other Council members--not me, of course--aren’t taking as kindly to your philosophy as I am.”

“My philosophy.”

“What you’ve done with your Handmaid. And continue to do, too. Some of them are… not very happy. They consider it…” He cleared his throat, a patronizing acknowledgement of your presence. “Inappropriate.”

Your face burned. Perhaps two weeks ago, you might have agreed. But since you’d kicked Kylo out of your room, he hadn’t so much as laid a finger on you or shared a word greater than a single syllable. His presence was now accompanied by a heavy vow of paralyzing silence--a recognition that the other existed, but only as living memory. This should have brought relief, should have forced your attachment to him to wilt like an unwatered fern, decaying in the graveyard of one thousand other hopes you’d tied to the space he occupied in your mind.

Instead, it had festered, a viney weed, writhing through your veins, its roots puncturing your heart when it dared to beat in his shadow. It was only in his deliberate absence that you could feel the pain of your reality, like he’d been opium, numbing you to the knowledge of anything but him. You ached for him more now than you ever had--you’d tried to sleep, chest cracked open, a torrent of loneliness emptying into the night--and knew that it was for this very reason that you needed to deny him.

After all, when you returned home, you’d be meeting with Rey on your walk. And you’d be handing over the switchblade to the Resistance.

“The Eyes are welcome to an investigation,” Kylo replied. “There are no reading materials or writing implements available. Her suggestions will be provided during a once-weekly meeting which my Wife will attend.”

You swallowed. You hoped you’d be free before that happened.

Enric sighed. “But the dress. Dragging her along with your soldiers.” He paused, humming in thought. “To be honest, even I think she gets special attention.”

Kylo’s tone betrayed an inch of irritation. “And even a dog is provided with a reward for its obedience,” he said. “She is in uniform today and before the Council now to provide proof of my intention.”

“Well, I’m sure the Council will begin to understand. You know how difficult it is for these types to tolerate change. The Cambridge Press decided to capitalize a single letter in First John earlier this year and they lost it.” Enric stepped away, and then doubled back with a pause. “As long as you’re not forgetting her true purpose.”

“No,” Kylo replied. “A Ceremony is scheduled for two days from now.”

Your breath shorted. If the Resistance was wrong about the value of your knife, in two nights you’d lie in Johana’s lap, and Kylo Ren would fuck you as if you didn’t exist. The thought made you dizzy, made your stomach churn.

“There you go,” he said. “As long as you’re doing everything you’re supposed to, you’ll be fine. The Eyes might be snooping around your house, but all you need to do is be prudent.” A laugh. “That shouldn’t be a problem for you, though.”

“No.” Kylo couldn’t have sounded more unimpressed if he had tried.

An expectant silence fell between the two men, and Enric coughed to clear the awkwardness. “In a couple weeks, then.”

“Yes.”

With that, he walked off, footsteps echoing from the wooden halls as he left you, your Commander, and the Knight as the only souls outside of the Council Chambers. A soft exhale escaped Kylo’s nose, and he stepped forward--the weight of his gaze was on you, but you refused to meet it.

“Go,” he said. You assumed he was speaking to the Knight, who moved without another word--what was it like being a warrior turned glorified babysitter? “Come.”

You stood, keeping your eyes to the ground while you followed his lead through the vacant, sunlit corridors of City Hall. This end of the building was decidedly older than the front--it creaked with exhaustion as you navigated its floors, as if it, too, had grown tired of the constant political discourse within its walls. Kylo Ren turned into a staircase, descending with the same pace as his stride--you struggled to keep up with him at this rate, unable to stop yourself from admiring when he reached the bottom and turned the corner into the basement hall.

Since the night at the hotel, he’d abandoned his previous attire of suits, ties and white shirts--he now wore black almost entirely, from his dress shirt to his trousers, which more often than not ended up stuffed into knee-high leather boots. He’d also taken to wearing the coat you’d seen during the Salvaging, its tapered cut somehow making his frame even larger, more imposing than it had been before. The coat in particular was a strange choice during the summer--but you knew why he wore it, keeping others uncertain about what it might or might not conceal.

In the basement, the air grew thin and cold, the halls illuminated now only by dim fluorescent lamps. Kylo stopped at a large wooden door, fishing a key from his pocket and popping the lock. He pushed inside, holding it open for you as you followed him in--he released it, and with a pneumatic whine, it slammed behind you. You squeaked, leaping back, swallowed now in darkness.

You heard the click of the lock--then Kylo’s footsteps on concrete as he crossed the room. A ceiling lamp flickered on, revealing what you could only describe as a records room. Shelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling, manila folder files stuffed into them like recycled news. Your lungs stilled looking at them--there were hundreds, thousands of these folders, all labeled with four-digit numbers. Swallowing, you thought of the tattoo at your ankle--1104--and heat rushed your skin.

These were files on Handmaids.

Dread dug into you, head on a swivel as you soaked in the enormity of the identities contained within these piles of paper. Uncountable bodies of women reduced to nothing but a combination of integers in a locked room in the basement of City Hall. Your heart thumped against your sternum. This was not something you were supposed to see.

Kylo meandered along the shelves, searching the tabs, his brow furrowed in focus. You crossed your arms, ignoring the quickening leap of your pulse, thoughts racing. Why had he brought you here? He was supposed to be proving to the Council that your relationship wasn’t inappropriate--and here you were, alone with your Commander in a room almost certainly forbidden to the large majority of Gilead.

“Five-seven-two-four.”

His long fingers plucked the folder from where it was wedged at the bottom shelf and he rose to his full height--the sight still stole your air. Stone-faced, Kylo flopped open the file, cradling it in the crook of his elbow as he flipped to the first page.

“Five-seven-two-four.” He stepped toward you--an involuntary shiver raced up your spine--and tilted it into your line of sight. “Tera Jackson.”

You blinked, looking between him and the text, inching closer to read. It was the facesheet of a dossier on Tera Jackson: birthdate, hometown, education level, allergies, Biblical violation (affair with a married man). You skimmed the document, confused as to why he’d risked both of your skins just to show you a piece of paper. Then you spotted the bottom of the page, three spaces designated to list Commander assignments. The first and only name: Armitage Hux.

“Ofarmitage,” you breathed, and gaped at Kylo. “Her name was Tera Jackson.”

He said nothing, but pushed the front page from its packet, holding it out to you. Hesitating to grab it, you gazed into his eyes. They were tired and sincere.

This was his way of apologizing. Your heart stuttered, skipped, a suffocated warmth welling in your belly. That he’d thought to do it at all was enough to fracture your resistance, but the fact that he’d done something so forbidden to demonstrate concrete proof of her identity, that he wasn’t fabricating a document to placate you, that it was his own admission that she had been a person, and she had been real--you choked on it, cheeks smothered in flames.

“Commander…” The urge to say his name lingered on your tongue; you reached for the paper--and paused. You couldn’t continue to detour down a pointless road. It would only make the inevitable more painful. You dropped your hand. “I can’t have something like this.”

“Then I’ll keep it.”

“Well.” You bit your lip, averting your gaze. “I… I don’t want it.”

“You do.” His voice was soft. “Her file will be cycled through at the end of the month. Take it.”

Frowning, you glanced between him and the paper. To deny it out of pride would be to deny Tera the chance to be remembered in tangibility--something every Handmaid, every person deserved, regardless of what they’d done to survive. You admitted that part of it was proving to yourself that you deserved it, too.

But you couldn’t take the whole page. Jaw tight, you took it from his hand, creased a line around the section with her name and birthdate and tore it free. You stuffed it into your sleeve, avoiding his eyes as you returned the rest.

Silence hung, cave crystals dripping remnants of stifled need onto your skin, small glittering droplets of iridescent understanding that stained you with shimmering agony. You ached to thank him, to tumble, broken, into his arms, to gaze intohis eyes and see yourself there, found and whole. But under Gilead, you could never have him in the ways he’d had you. And you could never be grateful to the devil for his grace.

Kylo Ren returned the folder to its shelf and stood, snuffing a sigh. “Store it in your room before your walk.”

All you did was nod.

The walk to the building and drive home was spent without words. Only twice did you sneak a glance at Kylo during the ride--the first was when he rolled the edge of the wheel against his large palm, face drawn in focus as he downshifted into a tight turn. The second was when he pulled into the driveway, the muscle under his eye fluttering and brow falling for split seconds, an acknowledgement that here was where you parted ways.

You swallowed, peeking at his hand still rested on the gearshift, then stared at your own, imagining the strength of his grip enveloping you, grounding you to something other than misery. The gentle grumble of the cooling engine died in the air.

Would a true devil place his own power at risk for the benefit of another? Perhaps it just seemed unfair that the only man who had ever made you feel sacred was the same man who’d desecrated you, too.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, and before he could think to respond, you opened the door and escaped into the house.

As you returned to your room, your hands trembled with the impending reality of your decision. A few days after Tera’s death, you’d received a message in the market from Rey and arranged for this meeting. There’d been no earlier time available--which was fine, you imagined that as one of the main women in the movement, her undercover operations were in high demand--and now that the day had arrived, you were floundering with anxiety. Certainly, some of it was the fear that you’d be implicated, too, though the Resistance seemed confident they could protect you from that.

Most of it was that despite your resolution, guilt sat like mercury in your belly, heavy and viscous. Kylo Ren deserved this--he deserved retribution, deserved whatever condemnation his future might hold.

But still you craved, as you might forever, a reality where the only condemnation he would receive was to your bed, where the rays of his future would merge with yours, coalesce in a brilliant spectrum of light, ultraviolet and perpetual. In true reality, those rays crashed ephemeral for jagged, resplendent moments--only to streak alone through the sky, parallel for eternity.

In your room, you stowed the slip of paper with Tera’s name and birthdate between the tiny crevice in your dresser where wood joined wood. In that same drawer under your spare undergarments was the switchblade, in the space you’d placed it over three weeks ago. Kylo had never come for it or sought its return. You supposed he considered it yours. Swallowing the wad of betrayal in your throat, you grabbed the knife and stuffed it up your sleeve.

After adjusting your boots and wings, you skipped down the steps and headed toward the kitchen to grab your shopping bag. When you crossed the threshold, you were met with Johana, tending to the little garden she kept above the sink. She spun at the sound of your feet, her blue eyes glowing against the stark cobalt of her dress, and she regarded you in silence, as she had for the past two weeks. You knew she was no idiot--she must have known you and the Commander were no longer speaking, but it had done nothing to thaw the frost between you this time.

“Just coming to get my bag, ” you muttered, stepping past her and toward the pantry.

“Did you--” She paused, lips tight over her teeth. “There’s an addition. To what we need today.”

You cleared your throat, forcing a smile in an attempt to be congenial. “Oh. Um. Well… I sure hope it’s not butter.”

She raised a brow. “Butter?”

“Yeah...” Your cheeks blazed with embarrassment. Why had you expected her to remember that? “I just. Forgot it. One time…”

“Ah.” Johana scanned you, releasing a sigh through her nose. “I’m sure whatever I said at that time was only half-warranted.” Her cheeks went pink, and she glanced at the wall. “Not that it matters.”

Her awkwardness was making your heart race. “Um. Yeah.” You chewed your lip. “So… the addition…”

She blinked. “Oh. Right.” Shaking her head, she stood on the tips of her toes, opening the cabinet above the stove. “I noticed we’re out of vegetable oil. Emma forgot to dictate it. So. Vegetable oil.”

“Right.” You nodded. “I’ll get it.”

“Good.” Johana considered you again, gaze traveling from your feet to your eyes, then breaking away. “Anyway.” She shifted, returning to the sink. “I suppose I’ll see you for the Ceremony in a couple nights.”

Another wave of nausea washed over you. You hoped she wouldn’t. “Yep. I… I guess so.”

“I know you might not...” She paused, and shrugged a shoulder, pruning a leaf from one of her herbs. “It’s what God wants. It’s nothing personal.”

You swallowed. “I know, Ms. Johana.”

If you remained on this subject any longer, you absolutely would throw up. Johana glanced over her shoulder, meeting your eyes--almost pitying. You bowed your head, ears hot, striding toward the front door.

“Wait--”

Johana grabbed your arm--her eyes widened, and she froze, face screwed in confusion as she squeezed you. Terror crashed through your spine. You both stood there, paralyzed, each now keenly aware of her accidental discovery of the blade inside of your sleeve. Throat closing, you didn’t dare to breathe, instead forcing your gaze from where her hand clutched you to meet her eyes.

“What is that.” Her nails pinched your forearm as she jerked you forward, surprising strength in her little body. “What is that--”

You wrenched back as she tried to dig into your dress, flailing as you tossed her off. Exhaling, you stepped away, holding your hands up in submission as she gazed at you in horror.

“Hold on!” you said. “Hold on. I’ll…” You had no other option. “I’ll show you.”

With two fingers, you slipped into your sleeve and revealed the knife, rotating it like a showpiece in a museum. Her jaw tightened, brow drawn low.

“Why do you have a switchblade?”

Your chin trembled. “For protection.”

“Protection. Sure.” She snorted, holding out her palm. “You’re not killing anyone in this house. Hand it over.”

Shaking your head, you took a step back. “No.”

Her face scrunched in anger, and she swatted for it. “Give it--”

“No!” You shielded it with your palms, raising it above your head. “I--I can’t!”

She huffed in dismissal, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Your fingers quaked, the weapon wobbling in your grip. “It’s…” You weren’t sure of what you were about to say. But you couldn’t think of a single lie that she would believe. “We staged the coup. The Commander and I. This is the one of the only things that… that proves it.”

Johana blinked, drew her hand back as she gazed at you, thoughts loud behind her eyes. Her lips parted in disbelief. “You’re working with the Resistance.”

“Yes.” You swallowed your fear. “I am.”

Breath rattled in her chest, and she stared. “You’re turning him in.”

“I am.”

Her face fell into a scowl. “Well. How--how could you?” She fumbled for the words, like they stung her tongue. “He’s… He isn’t... the most kind man, perhaps, or the most Godly--”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not Godly at all.”

“But he still deserves respect.”

“Respect? For what?”

“For being your Commander.”

You threw your hands into the air, exasperated. “Why are you defending him?” you exclaimed, stepping closer. “You deserve more than this! More than how he treats you!” As you spoke, you weren’t sure who in the room those words were actually meant for. “Help me bring him down. Work with me. We don’t have to live like this.” A pause, voice falling to a murmur, and your hand fell to your side. “We can be free.”

Johana paused, as if she had never considered the possibility, and stepped back, gaze falling. For long, motionless moments, she stared at the blade gripped in your loose fist, the fire in her pupils guttering to cold, empty desperation. A slow breath escaped her nose, her throat knocking as she swallowed. Another breath, and tears glossed her eyes--she blinked them away, pinning her lips together.

“I…”

She shivered, looking at you. For a flicker, you saw her--the woman who existed, wholived before you, before Kylo Ren, before Gilead--treading deadly water, gasping for respite. Johana’s focus drifted over your dress, then wandered to hers. Like a match, fury flashed her face, and in a swift snake movement, she snatched the blade from your hand.

“--will never betray Gilead.”

You squealed, grabbing for it, but she darted underneath you, skittering toward the hall, popping the blade free and thrusting it toward you. Her face was tight with bitter rage.

“I don’t care what happened with him. You’ve only known him for a few months,” she hissed. “I’ve been married to him for three years.” Her hand was shaking, her voice cracking like plaster. “You have no idea what I’ve endured. And I’ll be damned if you screw it up for me.”

“Johana,” you pleaded, “wait--”

“Don’t force my hand,” she said, jabbing the air. “If you even breathe another word about some Resistance nonsense, I’ll have you taken by the Eyes. I don’t care what the Commander says.” She glanced over you one final time and pushed the blade back, shoving it in her pocket before turning to leave. “And remember the vegetable oil.”

You stood, empty-handed, listening to her footsteps disappear down the hall, mind a miasma. There’d be no escape from this, now, not from this house, not from that man, not from the hovering humiliation of the Ceremony in two nights. She’d taken your only lifeline to freedom. And you somehow doubted that another one might appear.

[jellyfax]

Bi Lesbianism, Lesbophobia, and the Hazards of Rejecting Countless (Trans, Nonbinary, and Cis) Lesbian Voices

At this point, it's very noticeable that most people who support and promote the "bi/pan lesbian" label aren't lesbians. I'm not talking about the people who claim the label. Self-proclaimed "bi/pan lesbians" can be lesbians, bi, pan, sapphic, queer, wlw, nblw, or so on but who ultimately are suffering from internalized hatred with some externalized bigotry in the mix too.

No, my focus is on how there are A LOT of people who aren't (trans, nonbinary, or cis) lesbians who like 1) the idea of lesbianism including attraction to (trans and cis) men and/or 2) the idea that all nonbinary people can be included in lesbian attraction by way of bi lesbianism. Even some cis men, trans men, and man-aligned nonbinary people have stepped in to agree that lesbianism should be defined more broadly to include attraction to the-, I mean, men.* While LGBTQ+ people, especially sapphic people, have been negatively impacted by the many definitions and defenses of bi lesbianism, lesbians by far have been the most affected.

After having observed this phenomenon for a while, I have seen that there are very few lesbians who are backing the "bi/pan lesbian" label and that detail is very noteworthy. For the few lesbians who do support the offensive label, they tend to gradually stop identifying as lesbians. Such “former” lesbians usually begin identifying as homosexual lesbians, gay lesbians, queer lesbians, sapphic, or even bi lesbians. The truth is “bi lesbianism” really doesn’t have space for just plain ol’ lesbians. Lesbianism in pro-bi/pan lesbian spaces is very often unfavorably viewed as an orientation that is predisposed to exclusionary, discriminatory beliefs and is at best tolerated or at worst maligned. Most trans lesbians, nonbinary lesbians, and cis lesbians have been very vocal about how invalidated and uncomfortable they feel about the label and the troubling trends its proponents perpetuate. Many, many, many lesbians have expressed outrage over the following though not limited to:

The assertion that all nonbinary people are excluded from lesbianism and that "bi lesbianism" will rectify that exclusion, so "bi lesbianism" indicates attraction to all nonbinary people. Note: Some nonbinary people are comfortable being a part of lesbianism and lesbian attraction, but some aren't comfortable with being associated with lesbianism. Lesbianism doesn't need to be augmented in a misguided, preemptive attempt to include those nonbinary people who feel their gender is invalidated by lesbianism. Nonbinary people aren't a monolithic, third gender, so individual nonbinary people can address how they feel in relation to lesbianism. This also has the ill effect of distancing nonbinary lesbians and nonbinary sapphic people from lesbianism. 

The belief that over 20 - 60+ years of homosexual, lesbian, and bisexual self-advocacy and activism is negligible and the definition of lesbianism should generally regress to how it was pre - 1960s.

The claim that lesbianism should include attraction to trans men, nonbinary men, and cis men to be considered a less restrictive, more inclusive orientation.

The insistence that trans lesbians, nonbinary lesbians, and cis lesbians are purposefully choosing to reject men and are akin to political lesbians.

The proclamation that lesbianism can be used as a kind of modifier to indicate a preference or split-attraction** for women and woman-aligned people.

The persistence that the word "lesbian" is just a word that carries no substantial meaning like a strong sense of identity and community.

Yet, that discomfort and justifiable anger towards blatant lesbophobia, transphobia, biphobia/panphobia has been largely ignored at best or attacked at worst by proponents of the label.

One thing supporters of the label tend to do most of all is severely understate the specific oppression faced by lesbians for our unattraction to (cis and trans) men AND our attraction to women. We all live in a world where intimate partnerships between men and women are the norm and womanhood is heavily defined by attraction to manhood, lesbians are sidelined and punished by most of society for not being able to meet those conventions. All too often supporters of bi lesbianism, who are typically not lesbians, revel in ignoring and downplaying that oppression lesbians overwhelmingly face. Contrary to what bi lesbian supporters believe, lesbians aren’t bi women with a preference for women who are just denying our sliver of secret attraction to men to try to fit some lesbian purity standard. No, these people, most of whom aren’t lesbians, just refuse to believe that some sapphic women and nonbinary people simply aren’t attracted to men and man-aligned people. They lack perspective and are lesbophobic just like any other bigot who pushes the idea that (trans, nonbinary, and cis) lesbians’ attraction should make room for (trans and cis) men.

I get the impression that at least for the sapphic people who push for this label's acceptance and validation, they think that confirmation will somehow fix all the intracommunal discrimination within the sapphic/wlw community. However, the label only serves to further agitate preexisting tensions and cause more harm. It's the metaphorical equivalent of using a small, dirty band-aid to treat a gaping, festering wound, and rubbing salt in the injury just for good measure. Transmisogyny, transphobia, biphobia/panphobia, aphobia, and so on in the sapphic community will not be confronted or eradicated by redefining lesbianism like this. Lesbianism simply existing as it is isn’t the root cause for these problems and to say otherwise is to affirm lesbophobia along with the very discriminatory beliefs that were trying to be denounced in the first place. Directly scapegoating lesbianism and by extension lesbians in this way has also negatively impacted all other sapphic people. For instance, trans and cis bi women and nonbinary sapphic bi people have all spoken out about how this fiasco has poorly affected them too. Hopefully, supporters of the label will see the damage all this has caused in due time, but I doubt it. Once you've decided to mistrust and dismiss a marginalized group of people, in this case lesbians, there's very little chance of change.

While most supporters of the "bi/pan lesbian" label aren't lesbians, with a discernable portion not even being sapphic/wlw, there also aren't very many of them. For every zealous promoter of the label there are likely hundreds more who won't stand for their misinformation, ignorance, and downright bigoted rhetoric and will respect the voices of (trans, nonbinary, and cis) lesbians hurt by such attitudes.

In conclusion, listen to (trans, nonbinary, and cis) lesbians. We know WAY more about our own identity than anyone else. If most of us lesbians feel that the “bi/pan lesbian” label is offensive, bigoted, and regressive, maybe people who aren’t lesbians should take note.

*Non-sapphic and man-aligned people, especially cis men and trans men, really have no business being a part of this issue.

**As an aroace-spec lesbian, I don't approve of or recommend that non ace-spec/aro-spec people use the split-attraction model. Though, funnily enough, most "bi lesbians" don't tend to use SAM to describe their orientation and its only cited ad nauseam in the discourse by clueless supporters of the label. Edit 7/27/2020: Use of SAM among non ace-spec/aro-spec people typically masks internalized issues like homophobia or biphobia. SAM is primarily used by and better serves ace-spec/aro-spec people.