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joannechocolat · 3 years ago

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White feminists, I’m looking at you.

Another week, another raft of Press articles by self-professed white “feminists”, defending their own prejudice by bashing other women. It’s as if they can’t stop themselves, these women of a certain age, a certain class and a (very) certain privilege, who seem quite happy to see women abused, as long as those women are different from their own privileged circle of friends.

These are the women who “don’t see” race, and who think that counts as a virtue.

These are the women who “don’t see” class, or disability, or neurodiversity, or gender, except perhaps for that one friend, who represents all others, and will be used as proof of their tolerance and lack of prejudice whenever the question arises.

These are the women I interact with every day, many of whom I think of as being decent, well-meaning people.

But in actual fact, not seeing race (or gender, or class, or disability) just means you don’t see your own prejudice. I get it: it’s very convenient not to be able to see how one’s privilege impacts on others. Because as soon as you can see that, things start to get uncomfortable. Criticisms people make of you start to seem more justified. It becomes harder and harder to hide behind your comforting circle of friends - all of whom are telling you that you’re right, you’re good, you’re kind, in fact, you’re the real victim if ever your prejudices are called out– your friends, who think just like you.

But here’s the thing. We’re all privileged. We all have unconscious bias. Just because we’re women in a patriarchal society, doesn’t mean we’re not capable of punching down at someone more vulnerable, or causing another person – or group of people - to do so. And let’s face it; those people are usually men. Misogyny loves it when women attack other women. And it’s intersectional. Look closer, and you’ll find how often it leads to racism, ableism and transphobia.

I’m looking at you, white feminists. Using the patriarchy to confirm your own social and racial prejudices, rather than hearing the voices of those women who most need your support. Women of colour. Trans women. (And no, I’m not going to let you deflect by arguing about what exactly makes a woman – there are plenty of people who have done that. Read them if you want to.) What really matters is not whether someone looks or thinks or behaves like you. What really matters is who suffers harm, and who benefits from your actions.

Women are in a majority. Sometimes we forget this. We fight against sexism and prejudice as if we were a minority group. We’re not – or at least, we wouldn’t be, if we didn’t keep splitting into factions, attacking each other, then looking all surprised when the patriarchy keeps rolling on, harming women everywhere. And the saddest part is that we have so much potential energy. If only that energy were directed to bashing the actual patriarchy, rather than by heaping blame upon the women who are its victims, we might be making progress instead of tearing each other apart.

I’m looking at you, white feminists. I know how angry you must feel when people call you prejudiced. I know you’re used to the moral high ground, to the feeling that you’re the real victims of a system that’s loaded against you. And I know that when people call you racist, or ableist, or transphobic, it feels like abuse. It feels that way because you’ve never really considered your privilege in all this. You’ve never really considered the impact your words – amplified by social media, or published in the national Press - might have on real-life people.

You really need to do that. And no, it isn’t easy. First, you have to suppress that urge you have to tell the world that you’re special and different, and therefore have no unconscious prejudice. You’re not, and you do. The fact that you don’t think you have any is precisely because it’s unconscious prejudice. Unconscious prejudice is like a black hole: only detectable through its actions. And if your actions cause POC harm - or trans people, or autistic people, or any other marginalized group likely to receive abuse, or worse, because of something you said, or did – then you need to understand what you did, and acknowledge it.

The first and most important thing is to understand is that this isn’t about you. Too many people fixate on whether or not they’re really racist (or sexist, or ableist, or transphobic) instead of looking further. I get it. It’s easier to focus on the words and what they mean, rather than the reason they were used in the first place. So stop thinking about the words, and think about what you did, instead. Consider whether you said or did something that was harmful. You’re not in the best position to judge. (Unconscious bias, remember?) So listen to your critics. Instead of feeling offended that someone used an ugly word, ask yourself why they used it. Look at their reasons, not yours. Understand their perspective.

That means first putting aside all your excuses and justifications. This isn’t about you, remember? No-one cares why you made a mistake. You might have done it by accident. You might have done it out of ignorance. You might have stuff going on in your life that made you careless or vulnerable. But this isn’t about you. No-one cares why you caused harm. All that matters is that you did. The harm might be direct – causing offense to someone through your words or actions – or indirect – for instance, reinforcing harmful stereotypes, or attracting the kind of negative attention that might result in trolling, doxxing or violence.

Whatever it was, if that happens, the first thing to do is to acknowledge it. Own it without making excuses, or arguing over semantics, or talking about your feelings, or making the process about you.

And no, it isn’t easy. It involves centring the conversation around someone other than you. You may not be used to doing this. It may make you feel uncomfortable. It may even upset you. But remember, this isn’t about how you feel. The fact that you’re instinctively trying to make this about you, even now, should be telling you something.

So yes, get over your feelings. If you said or did something that’s likely to cause harm to someone, own it. Educate yourself. Apologize. Move on, with a greater awareness of what you need to do to improve. That’s all. We’re none of us perfect: we all make mistakes. But when we do, we need to put ego aside, and try to stop repeating them.

Only then will feminism stop tearing itself apart. Only then will feminism be truly deserving of the name - when white women finally understand that if they continue to support and care for only the women who look and think as they do, then the patriarchy wins, and that they are doing its work.

White feminists, I’m looking at you.

White feminists, I’m looking at me.

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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Javier Peña SFW Alphabet

Because the world needs more soft!Javi.

Warnings: 16+. allusions to sex, depression mention, cigarettes mention, alcohol mention, food mention.

Masterlist

Reblogs appreciated!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

So, Javi hates PDA. It makes him cringe. Javier can be pretty affectionate but only when you two are alone and spending private one-on-one time with each other. However, if he sees another pair of eyes on you, he can get protective pretty quick. He’ll guide you around with his hand placed on the small of your back, and he’s not afraid to slap your ass if it means he gets to assert his dominance.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

I mean, just look at Javier & Steve. Javi is an amazing best friend. He’s hilarious, and always jokes around, although most of the time, his humour can be quite dark and self deprecating. None the less, he’s super funny and never fails to make you laugh. He’s perfect to have around when you need to be cheered up. He’s also super supportive and will constantly look out for you. If you’ve fucked up and made a mistake, Javi will take the blame and have your back. You don’t even have to ask him. He really steps up for you.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

At first? No. Javi struggles to show his feelings, and he’s not the biggest hopeless romantic, as you might’ve guessed. He’s never really given out cuddles (or hugs for that matter), but if you’ve been together for a couple of months and you’re going steady, he doesn’t have an issue with getting into it. He learns to really like cuddles. Especially after sex.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He has no interest in getting married. Never has, never will. He doesn’t see the point in a piece of paper from city hall to confirm that you two love each other. As long as he can feel it, in his heart, that’ll be good enough for him. But if you absolutely want to get married, he’ll allow it. It won’t be a big ceremony though. Maybe just a few guests and a store bought cake. He doesn’t like the fuss. He doesn’t cook, ever. He had a pretty bad diet that consists of snacking on chips at the bar or ordering take-out. He has a cleaner too.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Honestly? Javier can be pretty brutal. If you’ve hooked up just a few times and he’s lost interest, he’ll probably just not call you back. If you’ve been together a while, he’s gonna be really torn up about breaking up with you. He’ll be sulking and moody for a few days and you’ll know that somethings up. Then he’ll go distance and ghost you, hiding out in a few motel bars leaving you worried about where he is. When you find him, there’s a big fight and he snaps and tells you he wants to end it all. When he misses you, he’ll pick up a girl from the brothel who looks similar enough to you, and he’ll think of you while he fucks her. He feels gross about it, but it’s just what he does.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Oh Lord, Javier has the biggest commitment issues. He’s terrified, as we seen with Lorraine. It’s gonna take a lot for him to settle down. He tries to reassure you that it’s not your fault and it’s a problem he needs to work out himself. It might take Javi a few years of steadily dating before his commitment issues become resolved, but as long as you’re willing to wait for him, he’ll be happy.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s definitely rough at first — in every way you can imagine. But you teach him how to be more gentle and considerate, both with yourself and the people around him. He can be pretty blunt which can cause a lot of hurt sometimes. When he sees that you’re upset though, he will show a surprising softer side. He’ll wrap his arm around you and smooth out your hair, and he’ll lull you to sleep by whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

The first time you hug Javi, he stiffens up completely. He has no idea how to react. The last time he received a hug must’ve been from his mom when he was still just a young boy. He often gives you hugs though, especially when you’re seeking comfort. Javier has big strong arms and he holds you so right. He runs at your flesh in soothing motions and he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You can always smell the honeyed scent of his cologne, and cigarettes, when he hugs you. But you wouldn’t trade the feeling for the world.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

You’re probably going to say it first... and that’s okay! Javier does love you, he knows that for sure. It’s just... it can be hard for him to actually admit it and come to terms with it (with his commitment issues and all). You assure him it’s okay and he can take his time. But he ends up not taking long at all. Once you tell him you love him, his whole world feels complete and it’s suddenly pretty easy for him to tell you that he loves you back.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

To be honest, Javi is pretty confident in a relationship. No woman has ever left him before. So, he doesn’t get too jealous. Besides, other men know better than to get too close to you because Javier isn’t afraid to throw a punch or two. He is, by nature, extremely protective, though.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

So passionate. A clash of tongues and teeth. He often moans into your mouth and the vibrations from that alone are enough to send shivers down your spine. When he kisses you, he struggles to keep his hands to himself. With Javier, kisses often lead to making out which often leads to sex. He loves to kiss you anywhere. Along your jaw, down your neck and the valley of your breasts. He’s a biter too (this is canon). He loves to nibble at your skin and give you little lovebites.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Surprisingly decent. Kids aren’t his favourite thing in the world, and he does his best to avoid them, but on an occasion where he finds himself with a child, he can handle them pretty well. Olivia Murphy loves her uncle Javi.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Weekdays are the worst because Javi has to head to work pretty early. Weekends though? You and Javier will sleep in until around midday, just lounging in each other’s arms and basking in the morning sunlight as it seeps through your curtains. It’s soft and sweet and almost always results in morning sex. You and Javi find yourself indulging in tired conversations and soft touches as you both fall in and out of sleep.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Javier will be drinking beer or whiskey and the two of you will mostly likely be on his sofa, watching a movie together. Fancy dinners aren’t his style but he likes to treat you to them now and again on date night. And trust me when I say you two will be going at each other until the early hours of the morning.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s an enigma to everyone he meets, and this doesn’t exclude you. It can be exhausting at first— how much he keeps to himself. He doesn’t talk about his childhood, or what he did at work today. He talks about very little. But once you express to him that you wish he’d be more open and vulnerable with you, he tries. He really does try. In the end, he’s a lot more confident and can talk to you about practically anything.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He has 0 patience, as we see on stakeouts. He gets angry and frustrated super fast. He’s not too loud and he’s rarely a shouter, but when he’s pissed, you’re sure to know about it.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

It’s going to take him about three years for him to remember your birthday. But he remembers the exact shirt you were wearing the night you and him met. He forgets your mom’s name, but he remembers the brand name of the perfume that’s displayed on your dresser. Point is, he remembers very menial and silly things about you. Sometimes, he’ll bring up a random fact about you that he’s remembered and it’ll truly surprise you. Even though he struggled to remember the important things, you find is so endearing how he remembers the smaller and finer things.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first time you and Javi slept together, something just hit him like a ton of bricks. He’s slept with plenty of women, that much is clear, but with you, it was different. Right from the start, something felt different, and he couldn’t quite place his finger on what it was. Truth be told, it terrified him... this unknown feeling. But it excited him too, and only spurred him on more. It takes him a while to realise, but that feeling was love. That was the night he fell in love with you. And so for that reason, yours and Javi’s first time is his favourite memory.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Very protective. There’s no reason to elaborate. Due to the nature of his job and the shit he sees on a day to day basis, he makes you his number one priority. If anything ever happened to you, he couldn’t ever forgive himself. So he’s constantly at your neck and call. Anything you need, he will provide.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Javier is pretty low maintenance. Like I said, he will occasionally take you out for a meal at a fancy restaurant, but this is usually for anniversary dates. He’s taken a liking to going to the movies with you, and he also loves to go dancing with you in nightclubs. Javi’s job is well paid and he has a surprisingly good eye for jewellery. He always picks you out the most beautiful diamonds. You worry about him spending too much on you, though.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Smoking. You don’t like the smell of it. And when he has one too many beers. He tries to cut down though, for you.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Yeah, he looks after himself. He keeps himself well groomed. He even has a little toothbrush he uses to comb his moustache.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He really, really would. Say you and Javi have had a big fight and you are both spending some time away from each other... he’ll be really struggling. You’re always there to ground him and make him feel safe. He never realised how much needs you until you’re not with him anymore. He’d probably cry himself to sleep, but he’d never tell anyone.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He has a vision. It’s a pretty distant vision, well into the future. But once he retires from the DEA, he’d love to take you back to Texas and show you his fathers farm. Maybe even have a farm with you someday. A suburban house with a white picket fence and dog. It’s the last thing you’d expect from Javi, but in a sense, he craves the normality of it all.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Uh, he doesn’t like drugs? DEA agent and all. He doesn’t like the rain because it ruins his hair and he hates the way his colourful shirts stick to his skin. You tell him it’s sexy, though. He doesn’t like big events where he has to see and interact with a bunch of people.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He snores so loud. For the love of God, he needs to see a sleep therapist or some shit. Thankfully, you grow used to it, but you don’t know how he doesn’t wake himself up!

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roger-that-cap · 4 years ago

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meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either.

warnings: i pulled this shit out through writer’s block, yeah that says enough, cursing

word count: 3.1k

this is part three!

Natasha Romanoff was more than pretty, and everyone that didn’t already have that figured out was starting to realize it. By the time her second week ended, you had seen her actually use her sword only once, but you only needed to see it one time to know that she was skilled with it. Unfortunately, the butcher didn’t get the chance to see her work with a weapon until he got too close to her and she showed him up close.

That gave you a laugh.

She was insanely strong, quicker than you could see sometimes, and as sharp as a whip. She was more impressive than you could have ever imagined, and she demonstrated it nearly every time you watched her without even trying. Even when she was doing simple things, you couldn’t seem to take your eyes from her. From the way that she held her utensils to the way that she was careful not to step on your flowers when she went past your garden, nearly everything she did made your stomach flutter with an emotion you had never felt before, and you couldn’t decide if you liked it or were annoyed by it.

You would never forget the feeling that settled in your stomach when you saw her from atop one of your horses, and you realized that somehow, she was even more beautiful when you looked down at her from just a slightly higher angle. She was still smiling from the rush of a practice fight with a skilled swordsman that was just passing through, and though she had to put in little effort, she won. You had witnessed the last half of it yourself after you rode back in.

You had watched her begin to stalk off with that same stunning look of soft pride on her face and your heart stopped when she turned on her heel and headed straight for you, practically high off of the fight. Your brain scrambled for words in that moment, and all you could think of to say before your time was up was “you won”, but she beat you to your humiliation. “You ride with two legs over?”

Your brows furrowed at her and her question until she gestured towards your horse with a slightly red hand, like it had been hit one time too many with the wooden sword. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Most ladies…” Before she could finish her sentence, she trailed off, like she had just remembered the way that your first talk about how women should and should not be. Her look of triumph had faded into a slightly hesitant one, and then you gestured for her to go on without caution. When she took too long, you sighed.

“You mean the way most ride with both legs on one side?” You drawled, and she nodded wordlessly. You thought that the rule was idiotic, yourself. Men, because they had pants, were supposed to ride with one leg on each side of the horse. It was seen as disgraceful and quite the opposite of modest for a woman to ride that same way, regardless of riding pants. “I think that’s idiotic. I could fall off much easier that way.”

“Wouldn’t want you to fall,” she said, and it could have been the way that the sun was shining at that moment, but you could have sworn that she was close to smiling at you.

“I wouldn’t particularly want to be mistaken as a man, either.”

“I think that I can confidently say that no one is ever going to mistake you for a man, My Lady.”

Dinner was fine meat and heaping piles of starches, and Natasha was in Pietro’s old spot. He was used to it by now, and instead of being upset about it, all he would do was laugh a bit and whisper something to Wanda that you could never quite catch.

“I hope you’re enjoying your time here,” you told the knight, who looked up from her plate of food. “How has your search been?”

You saw her frown a bit. “I haven’t found anything that strikes me quite yet.”

You almost cringed at that, because a voice deep in the back of your own mind was telling you that you had certainly found something that struck you. “Is the setting uninspiring?”

“No, not at all,” she said slowly, like she wasn’t even afraid of offending you. And she wasn’t, because she knew that you wouldn’t have been offended. “It’s just… I’m nearly there. Just not quite.”

“You still have months,” Wanda reassured her quietly, working on her turkey leg. “I’m sure you’ll succeed in your knightly quest by then.”

“I think so,” Natasha said, and you nodded at her encouragingly.

The rest of the dinner went swimmingly. There was little chatter here and there, and most of the talking came from Pietro, his jokes back to back and then he would be dormant for minutes at a time until he had cooked something else up for the group. There wasn’t the air of hostility that had slowly but surely been dissipating with each day that Natasha had been there. Finally, the thick tension stopped rolling out like it was being produced in a factory, and then, the four of you were just there. Just four people eating a nice meal together, with no setbacks.

Of course, that didn’t last long.

§§

You always bathed alone. To people who had been born wealthy, having staff- they would be inclined to call them servants- bathe you meant that you were important enough to be tended to. It gave people thoughts of importance, and it made them believe even more than they already did in the superiority that mattered very little after death. A man or woman who could not get their servants to wash them is no lord or lady, they said. But you liked to wash yourself. It was the few and final shreds of dignity that you had after your husband and the impossible year that you spent with him, and even though he was gone, you surely weren’t going to stop washing your own body. Not when you could hardly ever do it back on the farm. Not when you had two working hands just like anyone else.

However, there was one thing that you could never do by yourself, and that was putting on your corset, and then wiggling into the dress. Wanda volunteered for it once after telling you the significance of a lady helping another into her clothing,, and when she realized how utterly helpless you were, she offered to help you do it every day. You accepted the offer after trying to do it on your own again the next morning.

You had never known that there was a designated corset assistant for a lady. You knew that there were typically a few women that a lady had on hand, and you had started off with a few before you realized that you really only needed Wanda. But the woman that helped a lady into her corset was seen as the woman’s most trusted confidant and the closest friend that the lady had, and when you let Wanda dress you for the fifth time, you realized that it was true.

And there she was then, waiting right by your door to dress you for the thousandth time with her eyes aerated as you dried off, sighing and groaning at the way that you could already feel the corset trying to strangle your insides. You grimaced at the object while you held it up, looking at it strangely like you did every time you laid your eyes on one without fail, and you didn’t even have to say a word before she was crossing the room and helping you step in it. While she was tying you up, you did your hair for the day. Every now and then, your eyes would meet in the vanity and she would silently ask you whether or not she was tying it too tight. She never did. You gave her a kind smile once she stepped back after finishing with the first layer of your dress, and then there was a quick succession of knocks on the grand door of your bedroom.

You and Wanda shared a confused look. When there was another round of anxious knocks, you threw your nightgown over your shoulders, your heart rate starting to pick up. “Come in,” you answered, brows furrowed at the thought of something being so important for someone to interrupt your alone time. That hardly ever happened. A man with brown hair walked in, legs taking hesitant strides until he got to Wanda, who stepped in front of him before he could quite reach you. He was holding out a sleek, black box. Wanda took it from him and then handed it to you, and you thanked him softly and took it, and then opened it to see a letter and the seal that you would never forget.

Your heart stopped for a second.

Forgetting that you weren’t alone and that you were nearly indecent, you ripped the letter open with a huff and started to read it, and when you did, you nearly dropped it to the floor.

My Dearest Lady of Riverstone,

I have been trying to reach you with word of my intentions for quite some time, and have not been receiving any answers. Luckily for you and for our imminent future, I won’t need an answer. My question has already been given a positive response by the High Priest himself. I have asked for your hand in marriage, and now, after all of my waiting, I shall receive it. By the end of three cycles of the moon, you and I shall have met and married. I look forward to meeting my wife, and the soon to be Lady Rumlow.

The room was utterly silent. Even though you hadn't uttered a word aloud, Wanda and the brunet man who was frozen by the blank look on your face knew that whatever it was, was horrible. You had read it twice before a minute passed, and you almost had it memorized, but you couldn’t stop looking at it like it was growing dandelions straight from the paper. You took in a deep breath, exhaled, heard Wanda’s soothing voice from under a thousand layers of ocean, and then read it again just to make sure that it was right.

Of course it was.

The High Priest allowed Brock Rumlow’s “claim” for your hand. He overrode your obvious refusals with the power of the highest man of the land besides the king himself. If what he said was true, then you weren’t getting out of the marriage. There was no way you would.

A sob escaped your lips, and before you could put your head in your hands, Wanda was right by your side, disregarding the contents of the letter without even reading them to comfort you. The young man ran off at the first sight of your teary eyes out of respect for his lady, and he quietly shut the door after himself.

You were too busy catching your breath to hear the noises you were making. If you knew that the miserable sounds were coming from your mouth, you would have stopped them if you could. You sounded like a woman being drained of the very little she had left, and Wanda held you through it all. Your hands were shaking and the letter was crumbling in your fist, and you held it tight to your chest, subconsciously hoping that if no one else read it, that it made the contents of it completely untrue.

“I don’t want to.” You were only able to say it clearly one time, and then you were shaking your head and blubbering to yourself over and over again, the same few words spewing from your mouth like they were the only ones you had ever learned.

You didn't know how Wanda knew what happened, but she did. “I know, I know.”

You didn’t know how he got away with it, and yet, you did. Anything with the High Priest’s signature was practically law, and a man like Rumlow wasn’t going to back down if he had gone to such lengths to obtain a right to marriage. Three months. You had three months. And that was generous.

“How am I… how?” You whispered, drying your face even though you knew that your tears were about to come back at full force. “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“You won’t have to,” Wanda insisted strongly, her accent getting thicker with the emotion that she was putting out. The twins never told you where exactly they were from, but you knew that it was far away. Maybe even from across the sea, but that had nothing to do with you. “We will find a way to fix this, do you hear me?”

There was absolutely no way to fix it, and both you and Wanda knew it, no matter how stubborn she was deciding to be. You were going to be married to a man that you had never even seen before, and everyone was supposed to be fine with it. You were not.

§§

The second that Wanda left you alone, probably to conspire with her brother, you ran out of your room. You made a beeline out of the side door and nearly stumbled over an overgrown branch, but you caught yourself and kept pushing, walking quickly and missing all of the flowers that you typically stopped to look at and care for. Tears were in your eyes as you trailblazer through your safe space, destroying it with negative emotions and thoughts.

The second that you got to the rose bushes, you fell flat on your butt and put your face in your hands knowing that you were far away enough from everyone for them to not hear your cries. Even if they did, you were at the point where you didn’t have it in you to care. You were being given away against your own will to a power hungry man, who would probably make you leave this place and have you carted off to his own keep. Something told you that Rumlow was worse than your late husband could have ever been, and that said something.

“Are you hurt?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at hearing a voice so close to you. When you realized that it was Natasha, looking at you with more than mild curiosity, you inwardly groaned. “I’m fine.”

“What’s got you worked up?” When you didn’t answer immediately, she cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable with how distraught you looked. “Was the bathwater not warm enough for you, my lady?”

Your tears stopped for a moment and you started laughing, putting a hand over your chest as you leaned back a bit. “If only bathwater was the height of my problems.”

“Is it political?”

“It might as well be.” It was.

You were both silent for a moment, and then, she sighed. “You’re getting married, aren’t you?”

Immediately, the air was yanked from your lungs, and you nearly broke your neck trying to look over at her. “How?”

“I know that look in your eyes,” she said softly, and you could have sworn that it was the softest tone she had ever taken with you. “It’s the look of someone being backed into a wall. You’re getting married to a man you don’t know, aren’t you?”

“Damn you knights and your observations,” you snarled, but your heart wasn’t in it and you both knew it. “I would rather die than marry this man.”

She had a confused expression on your face, like she thought you were acting irrationally. “Why are you worried about it, then? If you send a refusal fast enough-”

“He’s been chasing me ever since my husband died, and now he’s got the approval of the Church.” You saw her eyes widen. “There’s no way to stop this now.”

“Oh,” she breathed out, and then she looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s going to kill me.” You said aloud, and before she could tell you that you were being irrational, you kept going. “He’s had two wives, and one has never been seen again. The other was found with stab wounds in a forest, not even buried. He did it, I know he did. He’s an evil man-”

“Brock Rumlow?” Natasha asked, connecting the dots. Everyone knew about Rumlow and his wives. He was nothing short of a horror story. “Oh, fuck.” You didn’t even flinch at the language.

“He’s vile. I won’t live longer than a year-”

“Not if I can help it.”

You turned to look at her again, the smile on your face slightly condescending as you tried to gather yourself again. “What can you do? What can anyone actually do?”

“I’m here for a year,” she stated, and you nodded, an exasperated look on your face. “If you’re truly worried about him attempting on your life, I can be your guard for as long as I’m here.” She saw you open your mouth. “And before you ask what good that will do you, I can teach you, too.”

“Teach me to, what?”

“How to not get killed,” she said gruffly, and you frowned. “Defense.”

You looked at her for a long moment. “You’re not serious.”

“As serious as a murder.” She took a step closer to you. “I know that beneath all this anger, you’re really just scared. And upset. You don’t want to talk about it, I know that, but you should. It’s not good to bottle things up and wait for them to explode, trust me.”

You scoffed. “If I try to talk to someone, they will send me off and say I have some form of hysteria.”

“I won’t,” she said firmly, and you felt your heart beat nearly out of your chest. “You could spill your life to me for the next year, and then I’ll be gone. I’ll be like a journal you can trash. I wouldn’t tell a soul what we talk about, if you want to talk. And you could be the same for me. If you don’t want to learn to fight, you can at least speak.”

You considered it for a moment. “And then what?”

“After the year, we part ways.”

“What would you talk to me about?” The second question was so implied that you both heard it; we have nothing in common.

“Whatever comes up. We’ll just listen to each other, because god knows this kingdom hardly listens to women.” You gave her a long look in the silence, watching the way she watched you in return, and finally, she cleared her throat. “Do you accept?”

“No one can know,” you said quietly, and despite your lack of reasoning, she nodded. You both knew why. She took a step forward with an outstretched hand and you stared at it in the same way you did the first time she did it, but you took it quicker this time around.

“Every other night, I’ll meet with you..”

“Where, in the gardens?”

Her low laughter complimented the mood that set across you both. “Where else would we meet?”

****

here it is! the third part (that i am very nervous/not very pleased about)! comments and feedback are thoroughly appreciated! i’ve been really stressed out with work and school work lately and have not that much time to myself without staying up hella late, so i’m sorry if this = donkey’s ass. thank you guys for reading this 🥺

if you like the series so far, please remember to reblog! reblogging means so much to the people who do work of any kind up here. (omg not me begging for a reblog LMAO)

tags (you can ask to be removed or placed at any time!): @teenwonder @procrastinatingsapphictrash @fayhar @8plasma @slut-for-nat @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool @200605chaeng @thescottishavenger @antidaytime @jenny-song @madamevirgo @natasha-danvers @drdarcy-lewis @blackxwidowsxwife

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #lgbt marvel #marvel fanfiction #my fics #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x female reader

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aricazorel · 4 years ago

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I wrote “Pieces” for Dragon Age 2 set mostly during Act 3 based in the premise that Fenris and Cora Hawke were finally ready to have a relationship. This was the first story I posted on AO3 and one I am still proud of today. “Pieces” focuses on their relationship and the relationships with Hawke’s friends as the events of the video unfold in the background.

Chapter 10: Gift of a Friend

“You can’t really get upset because someone sleeps with Isabela…It’s just understood. She’s like a side dish. She comes with the meal.” And that declaration by Anders had set the tone for the night at The Hanged Man.

chapter 10 available here on AO3

read of the beginning here on AO3

An hour or more later, along with a decent helping of food saw the group still laughing and carrying on like there was not a care in the world. Everyone had had at least two ales; Merrill had already become tipsy after of one. Sebastian was keeping up with Isabela and Fenris without much effort. His rambunctious youth had apparently paid off in some unexpected ways. Anders showed no signs of intoxication at all, be it from his connection to Justice or because he hadn’t consumed as much; Hawke wasn’t sure. Aveline and Varric nursed their drinks; Aveline because of her natural tendencies as a city-guard and Varric because he was mentally takes notes for his books. Hawke was only on her second and not tipsy. Ale number four would put her there if Fenris even let her get that far.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the elf in question queried in exasperation, “You keep staring at me. Is it my eyes again?”

A chuckle from the pirate let her know who was eyeing him. Hawke couldn’t really blame her. She had had been eyeing him in secret since they had met. “You’re very lanky for an elf. I like lanky.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow as he shifted closer to Hawke. “From what I gather, you like a lot of things.”

“Nonsense. But when I see something I like; I go after it.” Isabela chided as she slung an arm over Merrill’s shoulders. The Dalish woman let out a contented purr as she rested her head on the Rivaini woman’s shoulder.

“That explains your current relationship with Merrill,” the Tevinter elf noted purposefully laying his arm with the red cloth tied to his wrist on the table. “Do you intend to go after me then regardless?”

“Mmm, tempting, but I like what I have now. If it had been a few years ago, oh definitely,” she cooed as Merrill began snoring lightly.

Isabela paused as a random thought struck her. “Say hypnotically, if things were different now, would you take off all that spiky armor you’ve been wearing?”

Hawke watched as Fenris seemed to actually consider the question. Anders spoke up before he could respond. “You can’t be taking her question seriously. Hawke is right there!”

Fenris disregarded the mage’s protests as he looked Hawke right in the eye, a smirk playing upon his lips. “It’s been known to happen…for the right person.”

Hawke felt herself smile like an idiot as he took her hand in his. Their fingers lacing together as he moved to pull her into his lap. A part of her said he was doing it to spite Anders and lay further claim to her in front of the others. A larger part of her didn’t care and put up no fight against his actions.

“Ah,” the pirate said as Anders glared at Fenris. “Then forget it. It’s probably better this way anyhow. No spikes aren’t as fun.”

“Daisy doesn’t have spikes,” Varric pointed out.

“Yes, but kitten has other things that are just as delicious,” the pirate rejoined as she moved Merrill’s head to her lap.

As Fenris’ hand coiled around Hawke’s waist she heard an annoyed sound from Aveline. The Guard-Captain had been listening more than participating in the conversation most of the night. “How are you so successful with men, women--whatever? You’re not that pretty.”

Fenris’ hand found hers, holding it against her stomach as Isabela shrugged. “Cast a wide enough net and you are bound to catch something.”

“That explains everything,” Anders muttered as he returned his attention back to his ale, his glaring at Fenris apparently concluded.

Aveline laughed hardily. “At least you’re willing to admit it.”

“Trust me. I’ve heard get away from me, you pirate hag more times than I care to count,” the Rivaini pirate admitted with an amused grin; Merrill stirred in her sleep, blinking her eyes up at the older woman.

Setting her tankard down, Aveline asked in all seriousness, “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Why should it? They don’t know me. I know me.” Isabela replied firmly as Merrill reached up and played with her hair.

“I know you, Bela,” the Dalish murmured with a smile.

“Yes, kitten. You do,” Isabela replied softly, not caring that the rest of their group gawked at them. Of all of them to be in a serious relationship, no one had thought the pirate and the Dalish elf would have been it. Since the pirate’s return after the battle with the Arishok, something had subtly changed regarding Isabela. Not that she would actively admit it, but her relationship with Merrill was evidence enough of it, especially after the elf’s clan had exiled her.

Hawke felt Fenris squeeze her waist just a bit. He didn’t have to say anything. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She had been thinking the same. They knew each other and had known each other better than they had been willing to admit for years. Only now were they able to admit everything to one another, at least when it came to their feelings for one another.

Leaning in, Fenris murmured, “My armor has only ever come off willingly for you.”

She gave him a grin, shaking her head. He knew he didn’t have to tell her that. She knew of his past and that many of his actions as Danarius’ slave were not of his own choosing. Whatever had happened back in Tevinter, she cared only in the vain that it might adversely affect him. If it mattered not to him, it mattered not to her.

As far as what had occurred during his time in Kirkwall, before their first time together didn’t matter. The time after that night shouldn’t have mattered but it did. She had found out after they resumed their relationship that he had not been with anyone during those three years nor before. There had only ever been her. He had confessed that only she made him feel safe enough to be that intimate with. She could appreciate that and had confessed to him that he had been her only one in all her years in Kirkwall despite whatever tales Varric wove.

Merrill by that time had sat back up and was making contented noises as she watched them. Varric wore a knowing grin as Sebastian merely winked. They were not subtle in their actions; Hawke knew that. But it didn’t bother her. It didn’t truly bother Fenris any longer either though he feigned annoyance. It was just one more truth to their existence. Their friends would either gawk at them or tease them, but they wouldn’t tear them apart. They all knew the value of friendship and finding someone special to share their life with. Hawke continued to hope hers would be shared with Fenris.

#dragon age #fenris #cora hawke #fenris x femhawke #pieces #read on ao3

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justatiredpotato · 4 years ago

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Set Me Free | Chapter 6.5

Chapter List

Pairing: hybrid!Yoongi x human!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, coffee shop AU, hybrid AU

Word Count: Chapter: 1,500~ Total: 40,000~

Updates daily at 10pm MST

Warnings: depression, physical and emotional abuse, implied past sexual abuse/exploitation, violence

Summary: Yoongi, a cat hybrid, has been hurt time and time again by a world that would have him believe he’s worthless. One day he finds himself in your protective care, and gets a new family to boot. But is it really that easy to escape the past and embrace a new beginning?

Author’s Note: This chapter is an additional section written from Yoongi’s POV. It contains quite a bit of triggering content (I kept it as PG as possible.) If this stuff is gonna upset you then PLEASE just skip this. You won’t miss any huge story points and I totally get it.

Yoongi didn’t really know where he was going when he ran out of the apartment, he just knew he couldn’t be there. Suddenly every inch of your shared home hurt to look at; the memory of every kind word or affectionate look had a gloomy cast over it. The realizations hit him like bullets to the chest. Every time you’d shared something with him had simply been charity. Every sweet bit of praise you’d given was an act of pity. Every time he touched you, you’d been uncomfortable.

How could he have been so stupid? He felt humiliated and ridiculous for reading too much into the situation. How could you ever want someone like him? He was just someone’s throw-away. Pathetic. Broken. Dirty. Worthless. The words played on repeat in his head and with each loop he sank further into himself, into the pit of self-loathing you’d barely managed to pull him out of. How could he ever face you again like this?

He sat on a bench and pulled out his phone. There were 12 missed calls and 19 messages from you already, and as he looked Jimin called. He set his phone face down on the bench next to him, leaned his head back, and looked up at the sky. How could he feel so awful on such a beautiful day? Just another reminder that the world didn’t care about him; no one did, really. And why would they?

“Kitty?” A man’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, the familiar voice making his blood run cold. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Yoongi lifted his head to find Kwon Hyunjoong standing before him. His voice dripped with honey, but Yoongi knew all too well the venom that lay just beneath the surface. He didn’t say anything, just dropped his eyes to the feet of the man before him.

“Nothing to say? You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, kitty. Your clients miss you. And me, I’ve been lost without my favorite toy.” Hyunjoong stepped forward and placed a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. Far from a friendly gesture, his fingers dug into Yoongi’s flesh so hard that if he didn’t have the protection of his jacket Hyunjoon’s nails would’ve broken the skin. Yoongi winced, but didn’t dare pull away.

“Did your latest whore get bored already? Women can be so fickle with their pets, you know.”

“She isn’t-” Yoongi started to protest but stopped himself when the hand gripping his shoulder moved to his neck, grabbing a handful of hair in the process.

“Look what she’s done to you,” Hyunjoong said, observing Yoongi’s hair. “I told you to keep your hair dark. Dying it like this is so… tacky.” He gestured with the hand full of hair, tugging it painfully. “But I guess you were always cheap by nature, huh?”

Yoongi’s muscles practically vibrated with the instinct to flee, but years of conditioning told him things would only be worse if he tried.

“I guess it’s time for you to come home, kitty. She doesn’t want you anymore. But I’m sure I can find some use for you.” Hyunjoong gripped the back of Yoongi’s collar and pulled him to his feet, dragging him toward the open car door. A voice in Yoongi’s head—a voice that sounded very much like you—screamed at him to run. But his whole body felt numb, as if he was watching this whole situation on a TV screen. So he didn’t fight. He didn’t fight when Hyunjoong pushed him into the back seat of the black sedan, or when Hyunjoong climbed in behind him. And he didn’t try to escape when the man behind the wheel drove away.

The Eclipse Club was on the south side of town, in a seedy area known by most for its bustling night-life. Those familiar with the area knew what really happened there. The neighborhood was a den of hybrid trafficking and exploitation. From the escort services, to the strip clubs, to the fight rings and illegal auctions, the hybrids that ended up there were at the end of the line. Few hybrids ever truly escaped the life the south side created for them.

As they pulled up under the familiar neon sign of the club, Yoongi doubted he’d ever leave again. He’d lucked his way into freedom and safety once, and it was unlikely he’d get another chance. The two men in the front of the car led him down the alley and to the side entrance, Hyunjoong followed at a leisurely pace. They shoved him through the door and Yoongi caught the twisted, almost childlike delight in Hyunjoong’s eyes as he planned what was to come. Even before they crossed the threshold Yoongi knew where they were headed. They wove between wait staff, bartenders, and hybrid dancers in their signature barely-there uniforms. Several familiar faces looked at him with wide eyes, recognizing him.

“Su-” a girl with rounded black ears barely stopped herself from calling out his name, or at least the name the club had given him. All his friends' eyes were full of pity even as they tried to avert their gaze. Finally, they arrived at a heavy metal door. Hyunjoong stepped forward, unlocking it to reveal a set of concrete stairs. He gestured for Yoongi and the guards to enter first. Yoongi’s feet refused to move, so the guards ended up half dragging, half carrying him down the steps.

At the bottom Hyunjoong unlocked another door, and stepped into a large, nearly empty, room. The walls were made of cinder block, bare fluorescent bulbs illuminated the space, and the concrete floor had drains in it so the room could be cleaned with the hose coiled in the far corner. Yoongi trembled as they pulled him to the center of the room. Hyunjoong gave the guards a nod, looking vaguely amused. They tugged at his jacket and Yoongi cooperated, knowing they’d just tear the garments away by force if he didn’t. His stomach lurched in revulsion as Hyunjoong watched. The chill of the room sank through to his bones as he stood in his boxers. There were chains bolted at various increments around the floor and one of the men shackled his ankle with them. The guards stepped away as Hyunjoong approached.

“Kitty, you’ve really let yourself go,” the man purred, running an appraising hand over Yoongi’s stomach. In his time with you he’d managed to gain back a decent amount of the weight he lacked. His ribs no longer showed so starkly through his skin, and he even had a little bit of extra fat over his tummy. Hyunjoong pinched at the flesh and tutted disapprovingly. One of the guards circled to Yoongi’s back and as Hyunjoong nodded at the guard Yoongi braced himself for the blow. The lash bit into his skin and tore at the scar tissue he’d built over years of abuse.

“Look how fat you’ve gotten. Did she like that? Really, kitty? Did she want a kitty or a pig?” Hyunjoong prodded at Yoongi’s stomach again before throwing a punch that knocked the wind out of him and brought him to his knees. Another nod, another blow. He already felt drops of blood springing from the lines the lash carved in his back and thighs. “Have you forgotten everything I taught you, kitty? You have to stay pretty for me so I can play nice. You know I can play nice when you earn it.” Hyunjoong cooed softly, as if he was offering some great mercy, not just another form of torture. The man raised a hand and the guard continued, delivering strike after strike until Yoongi was curled on the ground, breaths coming so painfully he heaved.

Hyunjoong crouched in front of him, grabbing his chin and yanking it up so their faces were less than an inch apart. “Why’d you do this to yourself? If you’d just been a good boy we wouldn’t be here. You know I don’t enjoy this any more than you do.” Even as he said it a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. He looked Yoongi’s face over appraisingly, then glanced at the long scars and fresh wounds marring the pale skin of his back.

“You really are so pretty, kitty. I’ll enjoy having you back. That is of course, if you’re going to be good. You will be good now, won’t you, kitty?” Yoongi averted his eyes even as Hyunjoong’s hand forced him to remain face-to-face with him. Hyunjoong’s grip tightened when Yoongi didn’t respond. “You’ll be good, right?” His breath reeked of cigarette smoke and traces of alcohol and Yoongi nearly gagged. But he held it back and instead nodded obediently.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Hyunjoong said with a laugh. He ran a hand through Yoongi’s hair as he stood, only to give it a vicious yank that knocked Yoongi back on his heels.

“Twenty more, then bring him to my office. We have some catching up to do,” he said, already walking away. Yoongi held his breath for the next couple of strokes until the soundproof door closed behind Hyunjoong. Only then did he allow himself to scream.

#yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #suga fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #hybrid!au #cafe!au #hybrid!yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #suga #bts #bts suga #bts yoongi

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dutydreamed-a · 4 years ago

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pick five tropes for your character!

01. BADASS BOOKWORM

These characters are quiet, smart, and seemingly physically unimposing, but with Hidden Depths of formidable physical and practical skills. They are Brains and Brawn, with brains dominant, if not quite Strong and Skilled.

Their physical abilities might result from applying their genius to solve physical challenges like they were math problems. Their attention to detail might also result in a Diagnosis from Dr. Badass. While some badass bookworms are surprisingly strong, others might be Weak, but Skilled, relying on flawless technique or supernatural abilities. Sometimes a bookworm can lack any special physical traits, but has access to an Impossibly Cool Weapon or enough firepower to make toe-to-toe combat, as they say, academic. A favorite weapon of the bookworm might even be what's always close at hand.

Elderly examples are often Old Masters who have spent decades contemplating philosophy and punching trees in half. Another common type is the Adventurer Archaeologist, who spends as much time studying in the University as that type does evading the poison-tipped arrows of angry natives. If the bookworms are a bit ditzy or talented but lack common-sense/etc, expect them to be Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass. If they prefer not to fight, doing so only when they must, then they have Minored in Ass-Kicking. They are very likely to wear Specs of Awesome. In a Five-Man Band specializing in Brains, a Badass Bookworm might as well be The Big Guy.

The trope is the converse of Genius Bruiser. A Badass Bookworm looks like your standard geek, but then displays a surprising amount of physical prowess, whereas a Genius Bruiser looks big, strong, and tough, then unexpectedly shows off an intellectual side. See Muggle with a Degree in Magic if their bookworm side is what's making them impressive.

02. SPIRITED YOUNG LADY

There is a certain kind of character commonly found in historical fiction set in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (though she can appear earlier or later, too). Her literary ancestress can be found in some of the best-loved novels of the Regency and Victorian eras. She is the girl who bends the rules just a little. Oh, she can dance a country dance or pour tea with the best of them, but she may also be a good walker or horseback rider. She may be the most intelligent girl in the story, and she is almost certainly the wittiest and the most outspoken, sometimes earning her the title of spitfire. She may be talented in more practical ways, as well: if given the opportunity, she may turn out to be a wise investor, and she may harbor talent for music, writing, or art that goes beyond drawing room entertainment and might become a means of financial independence if necessary. In rare cases, she may even solve a murder. Though she occasionally runs into some trouble, especially if she fails to obey the powers that be, she usually comes through in the end. She will be the Veronica of a Betty and Veronica love triangle, and the hero is likely to find her more enticing than her more docile sisters.

The Spirited Young Lady has the same grace and style as the Proper Lady plus an added spark of attitude or rebellion that is missing from her more-prim-and-proper literary cousin. This is what makes her such a popular character today: she is the character modern audiences can most admire or relate to. In historical fiction, she is likely to be a proto-feminist. In nineteenth-century literature, she may not speak out for women's rights generally (a few examples do), but she will speak out for her rights pretty clearly. Her willingness to say what she wants is part of what makes her stand out.

03. UNDYING LOYALTY

A character characterized by their loyalty. Can be a trait of both heroes and villains. Most of them are supporting characters, intended as sympathetic. Indeed, if used on a villain, it can sometimes be used to flesh them out and give them redeeming qualities. Alternatively, it can be negatively portrayed as a threat to conscience.

When given to a main character or one in an authority position, expect it to manifest itself in protective instinct: as a Papa Wolf or The Caretaker or someone who is A Father to His Men. When given to a Sidekick, expect it to be an unselfish willingness to support the main character. It can also be given to friends who, despite their differences, are genuinely fond of the other, and bonus points if it works both ways.

Should the object of this loyalty die, expect generous helpings of Due to the Dead as the loyal one works to honor the fallen one's memory.

See also: My Country, Right or Wrong, My Master, Right or Wrong, Thicker Than Water, I Will Wait for You and I Am Spartacus. An Act of True Love will often be used to prove how loyal one character is to another, by having them perform a great sacrifice to show that they'll put someone else's needs before their own.

Similar to but not to be confused with Blind Obedience, where a character follows unquestioningly believing their liege to be infallible. A loyal character isn't necessarily defined as a perpetual Yes-Man, and may know when to defy or contradict the subject of their devotion, especially if it's as much for their well being as their own. At times this trope might actually come at the expense of those they follow, since they will generally not obey an order that comes at their expense or abandonment.

04. STRANGER IN A FAMILIAR LAND

A character returns home after a long absence and finds that they no longer fit in, either because their home has changed too much over time, because they themselves were changed by their experiences or both. In the second case, it can lead to a But Now I Must Go sentiment. In less extreme cases, the character may eventually settle down again with some effort.

Prominent real-life examples are usually based on soldiers returning home, most commonly from World War I or The Vietnam War, or prisoners who find after serving their sentences that they can't adapt to life "outside". This is also relatively common among anthropologists and related fieldworkers who come home after a long stint in another society only to realize how bizarre their own culture really is. Another common case is people who were raised in another culture who travel back to their family's homeland — despite sharing cultural ties due to their family's past, they experience Heritage Disconnect and find themselves alienated due to their foreign upbringing.

Present in Western literature as early as in Homer's The Odyssey, making it Older Than Feudalism.

Related to You Can't Go Home Again, Never Accepted in His Hometown, Going Native, and possibly So What Do We Do Now?. This experience may be part of causing the character in question to go From Camouflage to Criminal. Occasionally overlaps with Where It All Began. Contrast Home Sweet Home — although this trope may also make the character realize that his home is no longer the place where he used to live. He may find that his old bed is too soft and he now Prefers Rocks to Pillows.

05. I DID WHAT I HAD TO DO

Sometimes a decent person has to do something bad because it is the only way to prevent something worse from happening. 'I Did What I Had To Do' generally involves an after-the-fact justification for morally questionable actions. The culprit presents this statement when he's confronted with a "What Were You Thinking?" or "What the Hell, Hero?" reaction from someone (particularly The Heart) to whom he owes an explanation.

The questioned character will generally say, "I did what I had to do." And, more often than not, nothing else.

The consequences of such an action vary, of course, depending on the work's place in the Sliding Scale of Idealism vs. Cynicism. A character who sincerely regrets the 'necessary' action is likely to regard it as Dirty Business, suffer Past Experience Nightmares, or try to forget through chemical means. Someone who realizes they don't feel all that bad about the 'necessity' may be suffering from Start of Darkness. A character who was already rather amoral might say this only because they're upset that they had to get their hands dirty.

Generally associated with OOC Is Serious Business. Compare Well-Intentioned Extremist and It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time. When the character's motivation is her responsibility to those under her command, see The Chains of Commanding. If the consequences shown actually justify the action, then The Extremist Was Right. A character growing too comfortable with 'doing what I had to do' is guilty of a Reverse Slippery Slope Fallacy. Can be a Moral Event Horizon if it was particularly cruel or if they're particularly callous and nonchalant about it when confronted. If invoked large-scale by a Visionary Villain, it's Utopia Justifies the Means. Also, see Just Following Orders.

TAGGED BY: @standbetween

TAGGING: @edithmaslow @wclfdreamt @papilosomnia @inqisita @highaever and you, yes you reading this right now

#there are many names in history (codex).#well-intentioned extremist also applies post-trespasser :)

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princelestatdelioncourt · 3 years ago

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Just Becasue...

//This is a fanfic I wrote long ago but I cant find it on my old account. So I will try to recreate it again. Enjoy!

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The seven son of the Marquis D'Auvergne. I had no rights to the title, no land or money to own after my father passes. But I was good in one thing, Hunting.

I spent hours in our land hunting, away from my father and the chateau. My only moment of happiness and freedom. All I could have trapped in that village, trapped in my won land.

The Villagers called me the Lord becasue I was the only one in my family able to use a pistol, a sword and hunt. Provide for the family. Fix the vineyard, fences...etc. Do whatever was needed to do to have a decent life and not live in ruins. We were poor so to see things like that, left alone and root it even made it worse. I hated it but I did it anyways. But I loved to hunt. I loved to provide for my family. Even if I never received a Thank You in return. I never expected that from them but I wished they did.

I got up very early every morning to go hunting with my dogs, my mare and get a piece of bread of cheese I could find in the old kitchen. Sometimes an apple or an orange. All I had the whole day until returning home and hopefully with whatever I caught that same day.

So hunting was my happiness but it was a monotony. Everyday the same. Get up, hunt, come back home, eat if there was something cooked, to my room, sleep and all over again... boring.

But I had a few things that broke that monotony. I went to mass even if I never believed in God. I just went to do something different. I went to the village and to the tavern to get a glass of wine that sometimes, most of the times I could not afford so I ended up stealing from the back door. And the girls... yes. I bed girls here and there, anywhere. Never cared and I found it funny. Distraction. They were kind to me becasue I was the Lords son but I never really cared or loved any of them. I liked them, yes pretty girls, attraction perhaps but never that heartfelt deep love. I guess. I dont know. I grew up with a family of no affection or love so I never knew what love was. I wasn't unsure if I loved them or liked them or nothing or all and I was just a billygoat never caring of anything.

Spending time with these girls, sometimes the same one for a couple days , sometimes different one everyday or going back to that one that I didn't see in a few ... whatever. I drank so that might influenced the situation s well. The barn, the forest, the back door, the back of the church, the chateau barn, my room...you know, I didn't care if my family saw me with them but it made me alive if they knew. Made me more rebellious. I loved it. My brother Augustin screaming to me I was a lost cause. My father just upset becasue he was always upset with me. My other brother just following Augustin steps. My mother just reading her books in her room, I wonder if she ever heard anything - smiles - but she never came to me about the girls or anything.

But one night things just became a little bit more... exciting.

We were seated on the big dining table, eating broth and big chucks of meat from the deer I caught that same day. My whole family was there. My mother and father each on the end of the table as always. I always seated by my mothers right side. My brothers seated always on my fathers side, on each side, beside them their wives.

I had no one in front f me, it was always like that. Me the outcast. whatever, I did not want to see their faces near me. But I looked to all of them eating that broth and these pieces of meat. Mixed emotions. I hated my brothers and my father yet seeing them eating that meat was good. Then I looked at my brothers wife and realized she was looking at me as well. Well we are family so I thought it was..ok? she didn't say anything, remember this is the 18th century, women belonged to men and they had no power. Like my mother Gabrielle, my brothers wife, she was trapped there.

I continued looking at her and she smiled at me on a shyly way. I wondered what was that about. I didn't thought much about it and i went back to finish my meal. Everyone finished eating. and once again everyone left the room even if I did not finish eating. Whatever.

I ate a piece of deer I had on my plate just listening to the earth, the fireplace was in front of me and I just looked at the flames. Then I heard someone walking in the room. I turned my head, It was my brothers wife. I just looked at her holding the piece of meat in my hands. I wasn't sure why she was there and I really REALLY never wanted anything or anything related to my brother. I did not had an open family relationship with his wife, barely we ever spoke. So yes it was strange she was there now.

"Thank you for the hunt" She said to me in a soft tone. I was surprised about that. It took me a moment to process that and respond with a nod with my head. She looked at the open door making sure no one was around and she came closer to me and leaned forward and she whispered in my ear "you are not like them, you are beautiful" I felt her fine thin fingers on my chin very gently touch. I looked up at her I was surprised to such act. And I have to say I liked it. She was pretty. Pale skin, blond, blue eyes, pink lips, her skin seemed so soft, her cheeks...her breasts...Ok I had to stop myself there. Lestat think! thats your brother's wife. Then a sound came from the door, someone approaching. She moved away from me rapidly. It would be a disaster if someone saw her doing that. And with that means, beatings for her. and for me... i guess just a fight with my brother, nothing out of normal. We fought a lot. My brothers wife left the room. The maid came to clean the table. I was done with my meal. I stood up and left the room.

A few times me and my brothers wife happen to step on each others path. I started to like that game. A few nights later I was in my room, late night. Sleeping. Ive heard the door of my room open. I always had a very light sleep. I looked towards the door. It was my brothers wife. She was only wearing the long white night gown. I only thought: Well....

I looked at her while she approached to the bed and crawled and laid by my side.

"So.. is anything you need?" I said. I smirked. I knew why she was there. I looked at her for a brief moment and smiled. She smiled back and up next I found myself kissing her lips. One soft kiss lead to another and to a more passionate one to end up devouring each others lips. She sat on top of me while still kissing each other like if it was the air we needed to breathe, I took of her night gown. Very nice body she had. I looked at her naked skin sending me more electrifying sensations that now I could not stop.

I made us roll on the bed and now it was me on the charge. I kissed her everywhere, I touched her caressed her, whispered her whatever I had in mind and she giggled and she wrapped her legs around me and her hands holding me tightly her fingers grabbing me hard. I gave her pleasure with my mouth up until she could not handle anymore, I touch it like probably she was never touched before. I kissed every inch of it. And we became one and it was like a blur. I dont even know what I thought. I thought about my brother and what he could have done to her, I thought about her with my brother, I thought about the door of my room to open suddenly and my brother extremely upset on an horrendous face expression on fire to see me with his wife. Look brother this is the way to make love, like it? she loves it. She is happy now.

But the door never opened. We laid on each other arms and I dont even know why all of that happened. She then spoke to me, fingers curled on my hair, I could fall asleep to that. But I listened.

"I have never felt like this before" she said sweetly. I looked at her

"Isnt he a good lover?" I asked

"No" She doubted to continue talking but she did "He....just likes it when he wants it by force."

I completely knew what she was talking about. Again this was the 18th century and women were just to stay home, and marry, cook, clean, obey the husband, stay quiet and have babies. I thought about my mother and these days or nights Ive heard her and my father fight and imaged what happened and surely all 7 children she had was not an act of love.

"He is ... You know I dont like my him" I told her. "but I am happy to know you felt good now." I smiled to her, I knew I was a good lover. "It was very good ....very" then I kissed her. We did it again.

We had a few encounters every now and then, not every night after a long period of time. Secretly in my room after everyone was asleep or in her room when my brother was away or quickly at the barn... anytime the opportunity presented. I think once my mother saw us but she never said anything.

So yes, I bed my brothers wife a few times and no she never with child from me. Thank God! at least not that I am aware of! but no, months have passed after these encounters and she wasn't pregnant so it was all good.

God knows for this Ill go to hell, but how so much excitement and fun was. I deserve the punishment but no one will steal from me all these happy times. My only happy times in a rotten place with no love or nothing but hate and screams and fights, tears and hopes and dreams... I found my own happiness. I'm a brat. I love it. I need action and excitement in my life . I need something to happen if not ill make it happen.

ha!

And the thing is....I always do it with good intentions. To never hurt. To do it with love. What i think is good for people. Lelio makes people smile. Lelio makes people to forget their pains and sadness with his acts. Lelio plays onstage and offstage. I want to be Lelio, I am Lelio, I am Lestat.

#mortal days #lestat de lioncourt #fanfic

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markwatkinsconsumerguide · 4 years ago

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Consumer Guide / No.110 / Howzat?! Cricket broadcaster and magazine editor, Annie Chave, batting the questions from Mark Watkins.

MW : Describe your favourite room in your house...

AC : My new office. It is small with a daybed and a desk. It includes a shelf with my County Cricket Matters magazines & envelopes for posting, a bookshelf of cricket books, several photos of the Taunton pitch and one of Marcus Trescothick. It also has a really precious photo of me with my dad watching cricket when I’m about 8 years old.

From my window, I can see the hills outside Exeter. I’ve painted the room a light grey and it is usually bathed in sunlight. I love the sense of calm I feel when I shut myself in my office.

MW : When setting out to watch County Cricket, what essentials do you usually carry in your bag?

AC : I always have the current book I’m reading, my binoculars and a warm layer. More recently I have my phone and I have a recording device so that I can interview people. I will now always have backdated & current copies of County Cricket Matters but I’m yet to go to a county match since I’ve been doing my magazine so I don’t know how many to take.

MW : What other essentials are usually provided at the ground?

AC: Cricket is the main essential. Tea, cake and beer a close second and familiar faces a third. But a sense of calm, of solace and of healing is also right up there.

MW : What is the most picturesque ground you've visited?

AC : Without a doubt Lynton & Lynmouth. It is a valley in North Devon that is right by the sea with steep hillsides surrounding the pitch where goats precariously balance at incongruous angles. It is a stunning and timeless setting.

MW : Which ground has the best surface?

AC : Taunton, of course, because it is unique and rarely produces a dull game!

MW : When summer is over, what is your cricket substitute?

AC: Nothing substitutes cricket. There is little to compare with the sense of joy as March turns into April and I find myself anticipating the season ahead. Since I have begun editing County Cricket Matters I have been able to maintain a connection with cricket over the winter and I value that hugely. I also do a lot of reading and writing to fill in the time.

MW : Just before a new cricket season begins how do you usually prepare?

AC : I buy my Playfair Cricket Annual and Wisden and I love The Cricketer round up of the counties. I also choose a county fantasy cricket team at CricketXI.com and I’ll do a lot of reading up about county signings and retirements so that I am prepared for my new County Cricket Natters podcast, which is a “Match Of The Day” type show that rounds up the week’s championship games.

MW : How useful are you with bat & ball?

AC : Well, I’m worse than useless with the bat. I try to hit everything to the boundary and I can’t get bat on ball. But I have been known to bowl a bit and I’ve upset a few men’s fragile ego by knocking their stumps over with my straight medium pace. My claim to fame is that when I briefly played women’s cricket for Gunnersbury Women’s Cricket Club, I fluked the wicket of Charlotte Edwards, when she was brilliantly caught off my long-hop. She was only 14 at the time.

MW : ...and how about the rest of your family?

AC: Well now, that’s a question. My father played cricket and kept wicket until he was 76. Nimble and fast behind the stumps right up until he retired. He was a decent bat and when he was younger was a useful seam-up bowler who took a lot of wickets.

My two brothers still play. The younger a decent left-handed bat and very good keeper – the elder a slow bowler who has claimed many wickets and is a good man in to bat for the draw.

My husband is a very useful opener who could have played at a higher level than he did. He began his bowling life as a fast bowler but in later years he became a useful off-break bowler and one hell of a slip fielder. Now in his late fifties he still opens the batting and often with our son.

My son is a left-handed bat who plays the long game, starting steadily and able to accelerate at an alarming pace. He is also a nifty right-arm, off-break bowler who varies his pace and gets a good bit of bounce.

So yes, a fair amount of cricket in our family.

MW : Who is your current cricket heartthrob?

AC : I don’t really go in for heartthrobs but out of current players then I’d go for Jofra Archer. Past players - Viv Richards. Such brazen talent.

MW : Which cricketer gives you the most heartache?!

AC : Toss-up between Moeen Ali and Jos Buttler because I feel they both have to always justify their test place and yet they are so hugely talented.

MW : You are Test selector for the day, what would be your (current) England eleven?

AC : This is a really hard question because it depends if we’re playing in England or against a team of left-handers or at a particular ground etc. I think I’ll make it a team to play in England and I’ll imagine that the team :

Rory Burns

Dom Sibley (don’t like watching him bat though!)

Zak Crawley (a classy bat.)

Joe Root

Ben Stokes (after Headingly in 2019 there is no explanation.)

Jos Buttler (I think a test side with Jos in is a strong Test side but I recognise he’s not the best keeper – that would definitely be Ben Foakes – however, in England conditions I think Jos is good enough and the impetus in the batting is important.)

Chris Woakes (under used and underrated.)

Jack Leach/Moeen Ali (I literally cannot choose between them so dependent on if we need to strengthen the batting.)

Jofra Archer

Stuart Broad

Jimmy Anderson

MW : How would you sell County Cricket to the uninitiated?

AC : I think anything that has such a rich history behind it is worth experiencing. Each ground has its own multi-layered past where momentous games have taken place and iconic players have broken records. The setting of each and every one of the 18 county grounds is unique and full of promise. I love that sense of past glories that help to define its character and I’m aware that each match I attend could bring a moment of magic or history at any point.

But County Cricket is unique because of its relaxed and friendly atmosphere. You have the ceremony, the classy players, the thrill of the contest, the changing conditions, the double innings, the sense of camaraderie in the crowd but you also have a quieter more respectful experience. You are able to wander around, change seats, chat with friends and with strangers, go to the bar without fighting your way to an endless queue and you have time to daydream, time to read your paper and have a break for lunch.

There is also a great rapport between player and spectator because the pace is slower and the drama comes in short bursts so the player is more relaxed; the spectator better able to engage. There is nothing more life affirming than time alone at a county match.

MW : What radio do you listen to in the car?

AC : BBC Radio 4 for Drama, BBC 5 Live for Sport & BBC 6 Music for my musical requirements and always cricket, or football, if it’s on ; Exeter City is my football team, but I’m partial to Arsenal too.

MW : What was the last good DVD. movie and TV show you particularly enjoyed watching?

AC : As with my reading matter I tend to enjoy science fiction and detective thrillers.

I think the last good DVD I watched was 1917.

It feels like forever since I’ve been to the cinema and I can’t really remember what I enjoyed there last, but it would have been a Star Wars film I suspect.

The last TV series I really enjoyed was Firefly.

MW : Where can we keep in touch?

AC : County Cricket Matters has a website https://www.countycricketmatters.com/ where you can also purchase magazines at the shop

It also has a Facebook group County Cricket Matters and a Twitter Account @matterscounty

I’m on Twitter @anniechave and on LinkedIn and Facebook.

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werevulvi · 4 years ago

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I don't think I've ever made an in depth post here about where my views really lie, in terms of not just gender identity/trans stuff, but gender and sex as a whole in society. Where my radfem views basically kinda mesh with MRA views. Because it's kinda difficult to put into words. But I want to try. So that you all will know who it is you're actually following. So, I wanna start off with a disclaimer that I will be using certain words and terminology that might make you frown, but please try to see those words as loose descriptions rather than as fixed labels.

I still think that radfem is what lies closest to what my views can be labeled as, if any label at all, as I agree with majority of it. However, there is an MRA twist to them. So to start off... I dunno where to start, but... patriarchy? Yes, how about that! Then let's just ramble on from there. Do I think there is a patriarchy? Yes, I do. I think what's generally called "male socialisation" is inherently destructive to women as a class, and that "female socialisation" is also inherently destructive to women. It raises men above women which takes away our agency and much of our freedom. It exploits us sexually and makes us not only get the short stick biologically but also socially. This is what I generally view as patriarchy. A world of men dominating and controlling women, a rape culture, if you may.

However, what I see, that I don't think most radfems even acknowledge, let alone agree with, is that this patriarchal system is almost as bad for men as it is for women. It assumes men as inherently awful with no chance of redemption, perpetuating basically what's called "original sin" - yet men are taught that they're disposable, only useful if they make a ton of money and sacrifice themselves and their livelihood for women and children. That is an immense burden, and this is where my MRA views come in. I view the world of men and women kinda like this: Imagine an inner circle and an outer circle. In the inner circle are women, protected yet exploited by men, objectified and hold to lesser value, as housewifes, sex objects and baby-making machines, yet don't have as high expectations to contribute in the world. They don't have to go to war, or work themselves to an early grave, they don't have to sacrifice their lives for the opposite sex. But they do have to sacrifice their freedom and their bodies, for men and for reproduction. This is a heavy burden for women to bear.

And in the outer circle are men, having more freedom, yet higher expectations to contribute in the world, as money-makers, disposable soldiers, etc. They are expected to keep the world running and never complain. They are equally as useless unless they perform their reproductive role too, and as disposable slave workers. They are less likely to face sexual and emotional abuse, but are far more likely to face virtually every other kinda abuse. They have tried to fight this injustice, like women have fought against theirs, for as long and as relentlessly, but there is less empathy for men. There always has been. Their struggle is not taken as seriously, because it is less visible. They appear to have it all, but they really don't, and those who do, fought through hell to achieve that.

Men have a biological and social advantage, yes... but for a very heavy price. A price which I don't see many women particularly willing to pay, for those advantages. A MGTOW on youtube once explained that "inner vs outer circle" thing, and... it changed my world view. Since that point I've been on and off between feminism and MRA, because deep down I know he was right. Both MRA's and feminists are right, and that's probably why they cannot work together, nor fold for the other. Nor should they! Maintaining these ideologies as opposites, as enemies, is causing far more problems than either of them are solving, I think.

On a personal note... I am willing to pay that price, for getting the opportunities that men have. Since my transition, I have been made gravely aware of that price that men pay to be successful and considered valuable. Men are NOT seen as more valuable than women. They gain value by working their asses off and making huge sacrifices along that way. If they don't... they're useless neckbeards, "beta males" or homeless with nothing at all. Women also have to put work in and make huge sacrifices to be seen as valuable. Namely, they have to sacrifice their autonomy and their dreams to be caregivers and mothers. That's a heavy price too, but women can't ever become as useless and without value as men can. Albeit horrific, women have intrinsic value in our reproductive ability, but men (according to patriarchy/society) do not have any intrinsic value. They HAVE TO work for their value.

Having said that... I no longer give a shit who has it worse, men or women.

Both suffer under this horribly dehumanising system, which is patriarchal, yes, but it's more so heteronormative. Because it all comes down to our crap biology. Because here's the thing and you may not like reading this, because this where I think MRA's are especially right, which is where I’ll probably lose most feminists: Males are biologically driven to reproduce fast and effectively. They make a ton of sperm and if they don't try to knock up as many females as possible, their genes will get lost and they'll have no family to raise. Their biological value as individuals is dependent on this. Their biological role is miniscule when it comes to breeding, so they try to make up for it by being financial providers and offering protection to females whom are physically weaker and more susceptible to harm.

Females are biologically driven to be selective with their reproduction, because if they're not, they'll go through traumatic pregnancy and childbirth for basically nothing. Females really need to make sure they pick the best genes, and their biological value is dependent on this. Which creates a huge clash between male and female goals, a constant battle hunt of prey vs predator. And that is what creates a rape culture, of males aggressively hunting females for their vaginas, and females desperately protecting their vaginas from useless genetics, bodily harms and getting pregnant too much for their bodies to handle.

This is not just about humans, hence why I wrote males and females, but practically all mammal species. What happens with humans is that we've evolved a little from our primal instincts and intellectualise our existence, and what's the meaning of life. But we still have our biological instincts, and this is what led us to create more complex societies than other mammals do, but these societies are still very similar to most other mammals' equally patriarchal, heteronormative, systems of gender roles. Men did not create this. Nature did. Beautiful, flawless, wonderous... mother nature, damned us all. Patriarchy is not a coincidence, nor a human creation at all. Our societies may be social constructs, but they are based on our reproductive instincts, which have been with us since long before we even became homo sapien.

I get angry when I write/think about all that. Not because "you're all dumb to not get this" or anything like that, but because this hierarchy seen in almost all mammals, including humans... is unavoidable and cannot be fixed. It's an unfortunate outcome of how sexually dimorphic species are biologically built to breed and continue their species. And that is what makes it so upsetting, so aggrevating, so insidious. Because no matter how much feminism, men's rights movements, LGBT communities, humanitarians, socialists and whatever the fuck it all... females will always be at a biological disadvantage, and males will always be at an biological advantage. We can't fix that. Which means, we can't fix patriarchy. Then why even bother? Why try to fight for female liberation, if patriarchy and rape cultures are unavoidable and unfixable? That's what comes down to morals, values, what we want and wish and dream. That matters, it always will, no matter the outcome! I think the world can still be made better than how it is today, especially in third world countries, and that male aggression can be better controlled. I think more choices can be opened up, for both sexes, and that the gender roles can be made less restrictive. And I think that's worth fighting for, even if it's a far cry from feminism's ultimate goal. But I need to also stay realistic and have a plan B, which is to figure out how to thrive, as an individual woman, in this patriarchal rape culture.

And my way of doing so is to try my best to live mostly as a man, taking all the shit men get, for the price of climbing higher up the ladder and avoiding (some of) the disadvantages of being recognisably female - but still take on the female roles that I want for myself, such as motherhood, and take the risks that come with that too. I don't have everything figured out yet, and I don't know what kinda relationship I want yet. But I'm starting to think that maaaybe I would benefit more from taking advantage of the straight privilege I have with my bisexuality, a more pragmatic approach... and get myself a decent househusband, for more convenient breeding. I would like to date another woman again, don't get me wrong, but that feels a bit unfit for my goals, unfortunately. I don’t wanna make hard shit even harder for myself, when it can be avoided.

Love... isn't my main driving factor in relationships anymore. Although I'm gonna need to think it through VERY properly, if I really think that setting love aside for a more practical partner arrangement, is actually a good idea. Regardless, however, I do have attraction to men, but even straight women can marry for practicality and end up miserable and abused because of it. So it has nothing much to do with sexual orientation on that point, but it does in the sense that homosexual marriage can't really be made for practicality. Marrying for practicality is an extremely heteronormative move to make, and one that has been used against homosexuality for centuries, to force gay people into straight marriage. This makes me... extremely uncomfortable and angry, on behalf of all gay people out there, of course.

Yet... I am intrigued by the idea for myself only, as I see the option of marriage from more angles than I used to. I still think marriage should of course be for love as well, and I would never want to choose for others why or whom they should marry, or not marry. That whole dream I have might also be taking on a way too heavy burden and responsibility on my already crumbling shoulders, to aim at being both the provider and a mother, but I want both those things, so it might be worth it. And with that said, having a useful, good, respectful and resourceful husband might be more important to me personally, than any cute frumpy lump of a dude that I just so happen to fall in love with. (But I also wanna point out that my goals and dreams have been switching a lot lately, so please take this sudden, baffling idea of mine with a grain of salt. I'm gonna focus on getting my own ass together first, before I even consider handing it over to someone else again, and I have a lot to work on.) However, say if I'll end up going that route, that is me basically playing into the hands of patriarchy, for the price of getting the best life I can give myself in a broken world which cannot be fixed. I'm not saying my goals are in any way somehow universally favourable. You do you, I do me.

But at the same time I also wanna be inspirational, especially for other women, but in general too. I'll prove to the lot of you that despite being considered a "hopeless case" irrevokably mentally disabled, I'll goddamn make myself into a money-making baby-maker AND a goddamn awesome one at that. I won't give up on my dreams of having a job, financial and emotional stability, and a child. I also won't "correct" myself to fit into the beauty norms of women. I will continue to refuse getting fake tits, laser hair removal, feminising voice training, feminine clothing, makeup, etc. I'm slowly accepting, embracing and coming to terms with being a manly, masculine or even transmasculine, proud woman. And you wanna know why it matters to feminism? Because if I can be a woman, looking like this, living like this... then ALL other gnc females can too. Because not to brag or anything, but I don't think anyone else has taken being gnc quite as far as me before. Almost everywhere I go, I am considered "too masculine" to even be a woman, despite being female, which is a problem that to varying degress affects all gnc females, but I will work hard to change that. And if I succeed to... I'll be paving one fuck of a path for all gnc women after me. You're welcome, sisters.

Furthermore, regardless of my own heterocentric breeding fantasies and whether I make them real or not, I will absolutely continue to stand up and fight for gay, and especially lesbian, rights. No one should be forced, coerced or otherwise shoved into heterosexual stuff against their will, including "girldicks" and "boypussies" - and yes, I will die on that hill. I listen, I hear you, and I will help you spread your word. To wrap it up: So I do CARE about feminism, and trying to make the world a better place by trying to reduce the harm and being a good example in some ways, and I take a very similar approach as radical feminists. I just have a bit of an MRA leaning to my view on patriarchy, which does NOT make that patriarchy any more favourable. I also have a heck of a lot more pessimism about the future prospects of humanity's... own goddamn demise. I'm a nihilist at heart, what can I say? I may love women more... but I don't hate men. No matter how badly many of them have hurt me. No matter how much my c-ptsd makes me fear them. I wanna work with men for a better world that should benefit all of us, not work against them. Yes, I will sleep with the enemy... both figuratively and literally.

#my views #on feminism and such #this may surprise you #it may also be triggering #but dont worry i hate the world too #radical feminism #mens rights #life goals #realism and pessimism #long post #detrans woman

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spaceskam · 5 years ago

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I think you are like one of the only people I have seen who liked the episode xD Can you tell us why? I think I really need a positive spin on some of the content from this episode

Sure! Reminder, I watch stuff the first time on idiot brain and there are some things that'll change on a second watch and I probably won't like it as much, but right now I really enjoyed. Probably enjoyed it this most out of the season so far!

In fact, it'd be easier to say what I didn't like: I didn't like Isobel hitting Rosa AT ALL, I didn't like Liz's further decent into moral ambiguity, and I didn't like that Maria felt her and Alex we're even because I juuuust don't feel like it's even. And it upsets me that literally everything I didn't like had to do with the women of the show and kinda makes me want to put my head in a wall, BUT THATS BESIDE THE POINT

What I did like:

-Michael Vlamis' acting when it came to handling losing Max. I honestly couldn't have asked for more, it was beautiful and real and I could watch just his spirally scenes over and over

-The flashbacks! Obviously the malex one (I am only human) but I really enjoyed how they showed us how the pod squad reunited even if Little Max's speech felt a little weird. I really enjoyed their 21st birthday too even if Medium Max's speech was a little weird. I felt like I got confirmation of a lot of stuff I already felt happened in those years, so it felt good to see on screen. Would I have liked to see more of Isobel elaborating on why she doesn't see why Michael feels like the third wheel? Of course, but I'm not too mad about it

-Overall, I liked the Maria and Alex stuff because it made sense to me. They sat down and talked like adults which is AMAZING! And I like that it really showed how Maria and Alex see Michael as two different men basically. Alex knows him as the boy he loves who changed dramatically and even though he now knows why, it does take a lot of time to rewrite the way you saw everything for a decade. Maria got to know Michael as the Druck With A Heart Of Gold. She knows that he hurts people to push them away on purpose because she views him as a fucked up adult and she's probably seen a lot of guys do the same thing. Alex hasn't quite realized that that pushing away crap isn't just for him. It's a process. I liked them bonding even if it feels a little unearned because Alex is a loyal man if nothing else and he's still learning what he deserves.

-"Kyle and I are not friends" *literally goes to him for solace at the end of a rough night* Kylex brotp rose a bit tonight

-I like that Kyle isn't a dumbass and he's seeing lines blur that Isobel and Liz aren't seeing. He's hesitant and scared that she's losing it, but he loves him so he does it. It kind of reminds me of a Martha and The Doctor from Doctor Who: she stayed because she loved him and did what he asked because she loved him, but realized that it wasn't something that was hers to handle so she stepped away

-Just Rosa in general. Im always happy about her performance and she's literally becoming one of my favorite characters in the show.

-THAT ENDING WITH ISOBEL AND MAX WAS SO FUN???? LIKE I HOPE ITS A GOOD FIGHT AND I DONT LIKE FIGHTS? idk I'm excited

I'm sure I missed anything, this is simply what I remember off the top of my head. Shows are weird and, most of the time, the first season is still them playing around and making shit up to see what works. I take this as the season that really sets the stage for what's to come and I'm genuinely not disappointed. Again, there's a few things I don't like, but most of it is stuff that may come back and be addressed. I just don't know yet and I'm excited for the ride!

#rnm spoilers #asks #anon

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ohmyprodigalson · 5 years ago

Note

Oooh! Malcolm's s/o getting harassed/cat called on the street when Malcolm walks away for a minute. Just a prompt, the rest is up to you.

I had great fun with this because I haven't written Malcolm like this before. He's always been level-headed in my fics, but we all know that isnt always the case... to put it lightly.

Trigger Warning: Cat calling, fighting, bleeding.

---------------------------------------------------

Even though it was brutally cold, Malcolm and (Y/N) had decided to take a walk and get coffee together on a cloudy Saturday morning. As they were walking they talked about work, something funny one of (Y/N)'s friends had sent her, Ainsley's nagging that Malcolm help her ger out of brunch with Jessica, and everything else that had happened during the week. They laughed and delighted in each other's company.

They came upon the coffee shop they were looking for and found that it was incredibly busy. They wanted to continue walking while they enjoyed their coffee so Malcolm decided to go in and order for them while (Y/N) waited outside. "Do you want your usual?" He smiled at her lovingly with his bright blue eyes. She smiled as she nodded in response, and he placed a hand on her back as he leaned in and kissed her cheek.

He turned around to walk into the coffee shop, and as he crossed the threshold, he heard a man call out. "Hey there little girl, why don't you let a real man keep you warm?"

Malcolm stopped in his tracks. He turned around to find three men gathered together across the street. They didn't appear to be doing anything besides standing around, cat calling women until they got lucky. Malcolm didn't see any other woman in their line of sight besides (Y/N), and he suddenly saw red.

(Y/N) had just brushed it off. She had been getting cat called since she was 14, as disgusting as that is. But all of those years trained her to just ignore it. Most men would leave her alone of she ignored their advances, and that appeared to be the case now.

Out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) saw Malcolm turn around and leave the coffee shop. He walked towards her and put a hand on her arm. "Are you ok?" He actually had anger in his eyes and (Y/N) became confused.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but what's wrong?"

He dropped his hand from her arm and walked past her. "I'll be right back. Just stay there." She looked after him with concern. Malcolm only spoke that way when he was going to do something rash.

Malcolm was practically hopping with each step he took because he was so angry. As he left the sidewalk and started to cross the street, he called out to the group of men. "A real man? Is that what you think you are? You're such a man that you have to resort to cat calling women as your only chance at attracting one?" Malcolm's face started to contort as he spoke because he was so angry, and the vein on his forehead popped out.

(Y/N) stood behind him next to the coffee shop, mouth agape. She couldn't believe what she was seeing and she was frozen, incapable of stopping it.

The man that had cat called (Y/N) spoke first. "Woah, dude, chill out. I was only joking, but how dare you question my ability to get a girl?"

Malcolm had crossed the street and was quickly approaching the man, who stepped forward to meet him. "What are you gonna do, hit me?"

Normally Malcolm would never hit another person with being hit first. He believed in talking people down instead of fighting. But that all went out the window when he heard the man cat call (Y/N).

"Yes, actually. Unless you apologize to her first." He motioned over to (Y/N).

The man looked over at her and then back to Malcolm. Malcolm was dressed nicely; too nicely for someone that would put up a decent fight. The man decided that he didn't feel like apologizing to a woman, and he was curious to see what Malcolm would do. He looked Malcolm in the eye and leaned forward a little bit. "No, I don't think I will."

Malcolm looked down at the ground as he smiled an ominous smile. Then he punched the man swiftly, throwing him off his balance. The man was not expecting Malcolm to fight, and he was truly surprised.

In his rage, Malcolm didn't appear to have accounted for the other two men when he struck first. They leapt forward towards Malcolm, fists ready. But between knowing jiu-jitsu and the training he had to get into the FBI, Malcolm was well prepared. He fought all three men at once, but he still got hit multiple times. All four of them were bloody in seconds.

(Y/N) finally broke out of her stupor and ran towards them, yelling Malcolm's name and telling him to stop. When she reached them, she couldn't pull Malcolm back because she would get hurt, but she continued to beg him to stop.

Before long, all of them grew tired. Panting, Malcolm asked, "Are you finished?"

The man that had cat called (Y/N) was sitting on the ground, holding his nose. He nodded and said, "I don't care anymore." He grumbled a few obscenities as well.

Malcolm stumbled a little as he pointed towards (Y/N). "Apologize to her."

"What?" The man squinted at Malcolm in confusion.

"Apologize. To her." Malcolm was stern.

The man paused for a minute before looking around Malcolm at (Y/N). He spoke low and quiet because he didn't want to say it. "I'm sorry."

Malcolm continued to stumble as he left and walked past the man down the sidewalk. His stumbling reminded (Y/N) of the way he walks when he's exhausted himself mentally, and didn't appear to come from pain.

She ran to catch up and then followed him, all the while calling Malcolm's name. After they had gotten out of sight, (Y/N) grabbed Malcolm's arm and pulled him around to look at his face. His knuckles were bloody, and he had a cut on his cheek that was bleeding. The rest of the blood that stained his clothes appeared to belong to the other men. Malcolm was still panting, and his hair was a mess.

"What was that?!" (Y/N)'s eyes were wide as she tried to read Malcolm's, but he wouldn't look at her. He was still high on adrenaline and he was looking everywhere but at (Y/N). Her hand was still gripping his arm, and she gave it a shake as she called his name with urgency.

"I don't know," he said with exasperation. His tone of voice continued to sound frustrated as he spoke. "I heard what he said to you and I just got so mad." He pushed out the last words with force, demonstrating how upset he was.

"Well, you could have gotten seriously hurt, and you're lucky no one called the police." She still sounded like she was scolding him, but that's because she had been so worried. Malcolm still wasn't looking at her and she paused for a moment. Yes, he scared her, but he had been incredibly sweet.

She slid her hand down his arm and found his hand. She held it as she spoke low. "Thank you, for standing up for me."

Malcolm finally looked at her. Her voice brought him back down to earth and his breathing slowed. His eyes smiled with his mouth as he said, "You're welcome."

(Y/N) looked him over again and sighed. "We need to go home and then maybe to the doctor for your cheek. Do you have any idea how much trouble we're going to be in? We are supposed to go to your mother's house for dinner tonight, and she is going to be furious."

He let out a sarcastic yet hearty laugh. "When am I ever not in trouble with her?"

Later that night, just as (Y/N) predicted, Jessica let them have it. Malcolm just shrugged it off with an extra drink.

#prodigal son #malcolm bright #malcolm x reader #prodigal son fanfic #prodigal son imagine #fanfic #imagine #malcolm ~not~ doing something stupid #just like gil promised #lol

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indigosandviolets · 5 years ago

Text

Zim-Zam, Goddamn, We’re Easy Company

Pairing : Joseph Liebgott x OC x George Luz

Summary : Andrew Marin knew that Airborne school would be hell, and he knew that he wouldn’t fit in, but there just happens to be two men there to make it a little more tolerable.

Word Count : 1990

Special thanks to @whatwouldidowithoutgeorgeluz for the script of Currahee! I wouldn’t have been able to get this part on if it wasn’t for that script.

Part One if We Happy Few

Camp Toccoa

The sweat dripped down into Andrew’s eyes as he stood under the sun, in line with the rest of the men of Easy Company. He stood at attention as Lieutenant Sobel found anything he could on the men to get their Weekend Passes revoked. A Weekend Pass could mean anything to an enlistee, and Sobel was intent on ripping it away to “teach them a thing or two”. Like it earned Sobel the respect of his men. Andrew wouldn’t be the first to tell you that this tactic didn’t work.

It came to be Andrew’s turn for berating, and he was not excited.

“Name.”

“Andrew Marin, sir.”

“Private Marin.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why are your boots covered in mud?”

“No excuse, sir.”

“Are you not ordered to keep everything clean?”

Andrew’s boots weren’t the only thing keeping him from godliness, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Sobel that. “I was, sir.”

“So why aren’t they clean, Private?”

“No excuse, sir.”

“You disobeyed direct orders, Private. I’d ought to write you up. Weekend Pass revoked.”

Sobel moved onto the next soldier and Andrew let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Andrew wasn’t too upset about losing his Weekend Pass. He didn’t have anywhere he wanted to go. His friends had already had theirs revoked, and those who hadn’t would inevitably lose them before the hour was out.

Some of the infractions the men had on them were absolutely ridiculous. They were singled out for having something that wasn’t contraband or because they grabbed the wrong canteen or something that wasn’t up to Sobel’s personal standards. If Sobel didn’t like it, you clearly weren’t fit to be a soldier.

“Name.”

“Liebgott, Joseph D., sir.”

Sobel reaches for Liebgott’s bayonet and examines it. “Rusty bayonet, Liebgott. You wanna kill Germans?”

Sobel knew that answer. Everyone wanted to kill the Germans. “Yes, sir.”

Sobel hits Liebgott over the head with his bayonet. “Not with this.”

Instead of returning the bayonet to Liebgott, Sobel held it up over his head to show the company. “I wouldn’t take this rusty piece of shit to war, and I will not take you to war I your condition. Now thanks to these men and their infractions, every man in the company who had a weekend pass has lost it. Change into your PT gear, we’re running Currahee.”

Currahee. Fucking Curahee. If there was ever a way to make a Company hate their CO, it was Currahee. Run up the three miles, run back down in the allotted time. You go over, you do it again, and again, and again until Sobel decides you’ve either had enough or he’s too disappointed in you to go on.

Andrew had to run Currahee twice in one night. He had tripped on the way up and screwed up his time, so Sobel had him run double. Worst night of Airborne School so far. His chest hurt like hell for days after that night, but he never let it show. He couldn’t. Not now.

“Marin!” a voice shouted from behind Andrew. He turned to see George Luz, a good friend and one of the best parts of Easy Company.

“Hey, Luz,” Andrew says with a grin and he pulls his shirt over his chest.

“Still have to wear that posture stuff?”

“Yeah.” Posture stuff. What an excellent lie.

Luz looked down at Andrew’s boots. “Muddy boots make a muddy soldier, Marin!” He said in the most Sobel-like voice he could manage. Luz was always a fan of impressions. “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

“Tell that to the dirt on your M-1.”

The walk to Currahee was a humiliating one. The men of the other companies would almost taunt Easy as they walked up to the mountain. Andrew happened to be by Liebgott on this occasion.

“Oh, Easy Company. ‘Ey while you’re runnin’, don’t worry, we’ll take your dames to the movies for ya.”

Dog Company. Classic.

“Yeah, good, they need some female company,” Liebgott says. Andrew laughs at it.

“Pretty sure there’s only two of us that have really got any women,” Andrew tells Liebgott.

“Yeah? Wouldn’t doubt it.”

Sobel was unrelenting on Currahee. When Muck tripped Sobel shouted for him to not be helped. Of course, Malarkey and Gordon helped anyway, because that’s what you do when you’re at the very least a decent human being.

Andrew suspects he got up the mountain in 20 minutes. His lungs burned and the sweat in his eyes stung to high heaven but he kept going. He had to.

The hour upon Currahee became days on that godforsaken mountain. Those days became weeks. Soon enough, Andrew found himself in the mess hall across from Luz with a plate of spaghetti in front of him. Well, what looked like spaghetti.

“What do ya think, Luz?” Andrew asks. “Fine Italian cooking if I’ve ever seen it.”

Luz put on a big grin. “Perfecto!” He says in a silly Italian accent. “

“Not too loud!” Andrew laughs at him. “You don’t want Guanere to kill you.”

Before Luz can reply, Sobel’s familiar whistle blows and the man himself marches up into the mess hall.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Andrew hears Liebgott mutter. It’s almost funny. Almost.

“All lectures are canceled! Easy Company is running up Currahee! Move! Move! Move!”

Andrew almost threw up. He really didn’t think he would make it to the top of that mountain without hunching over and vomiting himself inside out.

It was worse when Sobel started yelling, right in his face.

“Marin, your chest hurt? You look pale, Private! You’re gonna be sick! Sick men do not make Paratroopers! Get your ass off this mountain and go home!”

It was almost an incentive to get up the mountain. To do it out of spite. To show Sobel that Andrew really did have it, to show that unlike Sobel, he wasn’t scared. He had seen fear in Sobel’s eyes once, a fear that his men would be better than him, Andrew knew that. He just had to show that they all were.

Then, from beside him, Luz pipes up. “We pull upon the risers…”

Just like that, the men of Easy Company began their chant.

“We fall upon the grass,

We never land upon our feet, we always hit our ass,

Highty tighty, Christ Almighty, who the hell are we?

Zim-Zam goddamn we’re the Airborne Infantry!

We pull upon the risers,

We fall upon the grass,

We never end upon our feet, we always hit our ass

Highty tighty, Christ Almighty, who the hell are we?

Zim-Zam goddamn we’re the Airborne Infantry!”

The showers that night were surprisingly empty for Andrew. He stripped down for the first time in what felt like forever. Without the “posture stuff”, as Luz had so affectionately called it, it was like Andrew could breathe again. His muscles ached as he slipped under the hot water, relaxing as he felt he could be totally alone.

The soap going over his body was a treat for Andrew, getting the caked dirt off his hands and the strange spaghetti sauce that someone had coughed up off of his back and the dried salt from his sweat off of his arms was a blessing.

Spaghetti. Andrew wondered if he could ever eat it again without wanting to vomit. He wondered if he could eat any food from the mess hall without thinking about that goddamned mess of spaghetti.

A few minutes under the spray of water was enough for Andrew to lose himself in the moment, to actually think about himself for once. He hadn’t written a letter to his parents except for the first week he was there, informing them of where he was and what he’d be doing. They weren’t too keen on the idea of him being in the military, jumping out of planes no less, but Andrew didn’t let that stop him. He’d gotten one letter from his brother, Albert, out in Chicago. It wasn’t all good news, as it was mainly about what was going on with him and his wife. The general outlook wasn’t great. His wife had cheated on him and he only found out when their daughter didn’t look like him at all. It was funny, but this was his Al, who was always insecure about everything, so it wasn’t supposed to be funny.

Al found out because him and his wife are very dark-haired. The baby was a ginger.

Andrew thought about how his plan didn’t really line up with his brother’s. Al was a real stand-up guy, who always knew what to say and what he wanted to do. Despite his insecurities, he fit in, he blended with the crowd. He moved out to Chicago, started a business, married a girl and got everything he wanted until very recently.

Andrew stuck out like a sore thumb. Everyone seemed to know there was something off about him back home. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. He didn’t think he would make it that far. All he knew is that he didn’t want to be stuck with his parents forever. So, when the war started, he knew what he needed to do. It’s good pay, it’s respectable, he’s fighting for something he believes in. It’s good and he somehow manages to fit in with the guys, something he’s never been able to do.

Andrew gets out of the shower before anyone would’ve even realized he was there. He slipped his clothes back on, tied up his boots, but stopped in front of the mirror as he passed it. He almost couldn’t recognize himself. He’s not really sure if he wanted to.

His hair had become lighter from the sun and the freckles on his face began to become more prominent. He was still scrawny but he didn’t look like the wind could push him over anymore. His hands were now scuffed and his fingers became calloused, like the rest of the men’s. He hadn’t realized how hardened he had become. He supposed that all the men have become like this. Some of them were already hard, like Guanere and Martin. Others had hardened, like Winters. But there were some who Andrew couldn’t picture like that.

Like Luz. Luz wasn’t soft. Luz wasn’t hard. He was silly. He did impressions. He didn’t let Sobel get under his skin. He made fun of the Lieutenant. He was determined to get past Sobel and do what he wanted. He made jokes with Andrew.

Or Liebgott. Liebgott was more sarcastic but he had a perfect sense of humor. He was hard, but he had a real sense of humanity. He was always genuine, but always sassy. Liebgott, like Andrew, kind of stuck out. With his being Jewish and Andrew being Andrew, it made sense that two of them were good friends.

Luz and Liebgott. Liebgott and Luz. Andrew chuckled to himself. The two men he couldn’t really define in Easy Company and they both had ‘L’ names. Andrew stopped where he was. Luz and Liebgott. Thinking of the two made Andrew feel different. It wasn’t like that fun feeling around Muck and Penkala or that brotherly feeling around Bull and Martin. It was different. Safe. Comforting. It was nice.

Andrew knew it wouldn’t be good for him, but at least it was nice.

The barracks were quiet that night. All of the men were sore and didn’t want to deal with more than they had to. When Andrew had gotten back, Luz was fast asleep and most of the men were going in the same direction. Andrew found himself in his bed before long, a book in one hand and the other tucked up under his head. He wasn’t sure what time he fell asleep that night, but he knows that he didn’t get very far into chapter three.

tag list: @alienoresimagines

if you’d like to be added, let me know!

#band of brothers #band of brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #joseph liebgott #george luz #herbert sobel #johnny martin #bull randleman #richard winters #lewis nixon #skip muck #alex penkala #dick winters #my writing #oc fic #trans male character

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caps-lockdown · 6 years ago

Text

Operation: Man Flu Part Two

Thank you to everyone for such kind comments and reblogs on my first part of this new series, it’s been so heartwarming hearing how much you guys love this idea! Without further ado here is part two!

This fic is going to jump time a lot, so just make sure to pay attention to the military time. Also the past will be in italic, forgot to put that in the first part. Thanks so much for reading!

Pairings: Steve x Shield Agent Female Reader!

Words: 4,198

SMALL WARNING: There is a couple of crude adult jokes in this chapter, just letting you know. Also mentions of family death in here too.

Ratings/Warnings: I’m going to put hard R here for the whole thing because there’s going to be cussing, mentions of sickness, alcohol consumption, physical fights, mental breakdowns. Jealousy, love triangles (sort of), angst, drama, and lots of crude humor. Just strap in.

Also no Beta so my mistakes are my only thing to claim, I don’t own any characters either, with the exception of the reader, a doctor, and some random characters here and there.

It is in Y/N (Your Name) L/N (Last Name) format. Enjoy!

Part Two

1100 hours

You sat in the secluded darkness of an unused office, slightly away from all of the current noise of quarantine. These men were tap dancing on your last good nerve in soccer cleats. Rubbing your right temple you tore into the wrapper of a protein bar, your stomach sounding like it was trying to demand Han Solo and the wookie be brought to it.

“Easy Jabba, it’s been a long morning.” You pleaded with your stomach, chewing into the bar without mercy. This was the first moment of silence you had truly to yourself since this morning when Steve Rogers had dragged a near dead Tony Stark off the Quinjet and turned your life into pure hell within a matter of hours. It took sheer skill to sneak away from the chaos, but you’d be damned if you let the circumstances keep you from eating anything.

Right as you were about to enjoy another large bite of your semi-decent protein bar however, the office door was flung open and the lights were turned on. Your eyes squinted to adjust to the bright light, a small hiss leaving your lips as you recognized the looming figure standing in the door way.

“Well look at what I found here. Hungry?” Steve’s blue eyes danced with amusement as he looked you over in your current state. You had crumbs all over you, shoved in the corner of the office and hunched in a chair looking nothing short of some kind of Gollum creature. Your eyes slanted into a mock glare.

“Shut it Rogers, it’s been a shit last few hours and I’m out of coffee.” You sighed, standing up from the chair and straightening out your clothes.

“Easy L/W, I understand.” He chuckled, watching you with a smirk while you made your way over to him.

“When are you going to start calling me by my first name?” You huffed, placing a hand on your hip and taking another bite.

“When you start calling me by mine.” Steve said nonchalantly and you nearly choked, bringing up your free hand to hit your chest a few times to help the food continue down your throat.

“That’s different Rogers,” You tried to brush it off as if it were nothing, noticing he now had a smile on his features, clearly trying not to laugh at you. “It’s a respect thing.”

“So I can’t respect you as much as you respect me then?”

The high pitch squeak of annoyance left you as you processed what he said, pushing past him and stalking away in response. His loud laugh carried through the hallway and although you loved hearing it, you didn’t need him throwing your words from earlier back in your face like that.

~~After the meeting with Dr. Hooper, approximately 0800 hours~~

“Awh hell I knew I should have stayed in bed today.” Sam muttered angrily as he dramatically leaned back in his chair.

“It’s not like Tony thought to get sick Sam, cut the guy a break.”

“Oh I’ll cut something alright. We had plans! All of us did! I don’t want to spend one of the only three day weekends in the year sicker than a dog Y/N!”

“Stop being so dramatic Wilson, we’re in the same boat.” Bucky countered, only earning another glare from Sam.

“I’m sorry I must have forgotten the part where Hooper said that super soldiers, demi gods, and hell even BANNER would all be affected differently and most likely WOULDN’T have the same symptoms or nearly the same intensity!” Sam spat, Clint looking at him with a sad expression. You had to feel sorry for them, knowing what fate awaited them was just down the hall.

They had turned the large conference hall into a quarantined area. The hospital beds and some of the machines had been moved from the small medical bay that Stark Tower had, and by the sounds of Tony’s sneezing fits you’d confirm he was moved in and as comfortable as he could be. It was also easier to lock down this whole floor as opposed to anywhere else, as it didn’t have nearly as much traffic as other parts of the tower.

“Hey at least you don’t have to worry about dropping like a fly within the next couple hours!” Bucky barked back, you looking to Steve with an annoyed expression.

Doctor Hooper had informed your group that those exposed to Tony the longest would be the first to develop symptoms, but due to their “special” genetics she couldn’t tell them exactly what they would experience. Clint and Sam were obviously the most upset, being the fact that even with the arc reactor in place Tony seemed to be going through absolute hell. At least you didn’t have to worry about spending the weekend sick or stuck with these guys.

Or so you thought.

“Don’t worry Buck, I’ll be here to make sure you all survive the weekend.” Steve stated calmly and you bit back a swoon. He was always so collected in dire situations, always kept his head on his shoulders. You envied that in a lot of ways, your temper usually getting the better of you.

“Oh great. You’ll look terrible in a Nurse’s uniform Rogers.” Bucky scoffed, folding his arms over his chest as the table chuckled in response.

“I don’t know, I think he has great legs. Wouldn’t you agree Y/N?” Sam looked at you pointedly, your face heating up as you directed your gaze back to the table top in embarrassment.

“I hope you croak Wilson.” You muttered darkly to him, choosing to ignore his snicker and Steve’s raised eyebrow in your direction.

“Nah you like me too much but hey that gives me an idea! Why doesn’t Y/N help us out this weekend? She doesn’t have to worry about catching anything and she makes really good chicken noodle soup!”

You had never given murder much thought until this very moment in time. Your eyebrows shot up to your scalp as everyone started agreeing with him.

“I don’t think so guys…I like all of you…but um…ah…” You started to stammer, Steve’s laughter ringing in your ears as you slowly brought your gaze to his.

“Not up to the challenge L/N? You don’t want to spend the whole weekend with me?”

“It’s not that at all!” You quickly interjected, letting out a deep sigh and staring back at the table. You said that too fast, you knew for sure he would probably think you’re a creep. Composing yourself, you took your turn looking around at the other faces that made up the table.

“I don’t know if I can handle seeing all of you sick. You’re the Avengers. You save the world sometimes on a daily basis. I’m just a nobody. I don’t have any experience in the medical field, I don’t like blood…” You trailed off, ignoring Sam clucking his tongue at you in disagreement.

“Come on Y/N, you’re not a nobody.”

“Sam I’m literally on a team of agents who are called ghosts.”

“Yea well you’re our favorite ghost!” Bucky tried, earning a small half smile from you in response.

“We respect you a lot here.” Steve’s words caused your heartstrings to bow out and his blue eyes just seemed to suck you in.

“So I can’t respect you as much as you respect me then?” You raised an eyebrow as Steve’s face fell just as you continued,

“What if something happens? What if you don’t get better? What if one of you doesn’t…make it? You can’t ask me to be there for that Rogers. After all, you will probably get sick too.”

“Pepper is going to help out too when she can, and we have Doctor Hooper until late tonight. It’s only a few days and a few sick guys, how awful could it be?” Sam pleaded as he gave you giant puppy dog eyes and you only had to look at him briefly to lose all of your resolve.

1130

Turns out it could be pretty damn awful.

It didn’t take long for the sickness to start claiming victims. Clint dropped first with a one hundred and two degree fever about ten a.m. Bruce had a coughing fit that nearly knocked him out at ten forty-five. It was spreading fast, and you couldn’t keep up with it.

“Y/N I need you to keep calm. We’re going to be alright.” Steve uttered as you watched Doctor Hooper and the couple nurses run tests on Clint, the only noise that could be heard was Tony heaving his guts up a few beds down.

“How can you be so damn sure Rogers? Aren’t you worried for when it hits you?”

“I’ll worry when the time comes. Isn’t going to help them or anyone else if I start now.”

“You are such a damn boy scout.” You scoffed, looking at him with both respect and exasperation.

“So I’ve been told.” He shrugged and you could see why women fell all over him. He was always in control of a situation. It was maddening how he could even find a way to calm you down in all of this mess. You didn’t know if you wanted to smack him or kiss him.

“Steve! Y/N!” Sam’s voice brought you back to earth and quickly your day went from bad to worse as you ran to help him with Bucky, who looked like he had been hit by a truck.

“Can’t..breathe…throat…burning...”

“Jesus Barnes you sound like you just finished giving a cheese grater a blow job.” You said matter of factly, causing both Sam and Steve to look at you with a shocked expression before Sam dissolved into a fit of laughter.

“Y/N where did that come from?” Bucky managed to get out when you sat him on the bed next to Tony, pouring out some nasty looking throat coating medicine into a small plastic shot glass.

“Y/N has always been like this, you clowns just never get to see this side of her.” Sam countered as Bucky took to drinking the dark purple colored liquid, his face contorting in disgust as he swallowed it.

“This….this is disgusting!”

“Sorry Bucky, I should have warned you.” You apologized, looking over to a sedated Clint and sighing at the finally lowered body temperature.

“It’s ok at least you’re pretty. If Stevie here had made me drink that I would have spat it out in his face.”

“Gee thanks buddy.” Steve rolled his eyes as you let out a giggle.

“Don’t mention it pal.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Steve stated plainly before leaving to talk with the Doctor about Tony, who hadn’t seem to be letting up on purging his whole body of everything he had eaten in the last five years. Your eyes wandered over to Bruce, who was sitting upright in his bed and reading a novel. Besides the coughing fit he had been pretty much fine, his body temperature only slightly higher than normal. They had hooked him up to an I.V just to be on the safe side.

Thor, although completely fine, had gone ahead and put himself in the bed next to Clint, leaving a vacant bed in between Bruce and Bucky. Then there was the empty one on the other side of Tony, which you had no doubt was for Steve, whenever he would finally fall ill. Within a mere five hours, three of The Earth’s Mightiest Heroes had gotten sick with varying symptoms. You found yourself hoping no one would decide to try for world domination this weekend. Your world currently didn’t have the man power to stop it.

This was going to be a long weekend.

1500

“Y/N, can you bring me some more water?” You heard Tony ask for the tenth time in the past thirty minutes.

“Can’t Rogers bring it to you? I’m fluffing Bucky’s pillows.” Again. You huffed as you attempted to readjust the blue plaid covered pillows you specifically brought from Bucky’s room for his bed. You had never even considered going in to the winter soldier’s room prior to the request, but found it surprisingly clean and organized for a guy who had his personality.

“But I want you to do it!” Tony whined, you shooting a glare in his direction.

“Listen mister. You have three perfectly good and mostly full water bottles right there on your table. Why do you need a new one?”

“They aren’t cold anymore. And I need cold water.” You let out another exasperated sigh as he looked at you innocently, “Doc’s orders.”

“Ohmygod. Hang on a second then.” You finished Bucky’s request and watched him lay back down on his bed, nodding in appreciation.

“Thanks sweetheart, you’re the best.” You smiled at Bucky before running over to the refrigerator Steve had set up in one of the offices nearby, grabbing a couple water bottles and walking back out into the hallway.

“Here Stark, don’t choke.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm as you placed the bottles on the small table next to his bed. He only gave out a muffled grunt in response bringing the bottle to his lips and chugging half of it.

“Right behind you Doll.” Steve whispered, stepping behind you to grab the half empty bottles, his hand touching your shoulder while he used his other to collect them.

Your breath caught in your throat as your senses were assaulted by his touch and amazing scent. Goosebumps appeared on the back of your neck and you were certain your face was the shade of a tomato. You were completely frozen, your face distant and you didn’t notice Sam’s huge shit eating grin while he stood on the opposite side of Tony’s bed. You were certain this was the first time you had been this close, let alone having the blonde touch you in a way that wasn’t the typical “Good Job” handshake or short pat on the back after a mission.

“I’m going to put these in the fridge so Tony can have them later.” Steve removed his hand from your shoulder and immediately you felt saddened from the loss of warmth from him.

“Uh,…ya…you…youdothatRogers.” You stuttered watching him walk away, Sam shaking his head. Tony spared no time rolling his head up to look at you and calling you out.

“Was that even English Y/N? Sure you’re not coming down with something?”

“She has a different kind of sickness Tony,” Sam cut in, Tony rolling his head to give him his attention. “Don’t worry, nothing a shot of penis-ilin won’t cure. I’m sure Ste..”

“You finish that sentence and I will end you Wilson.” The icy look you had given was enough to send Sam backing away in fear, something you were quite proud of.

“Yes ma’am.”

“You know somethin? I see it now..” Tony mused, your eyes darting to his in a mix of embarrassment and anger. Looking for a way out, you were more than ecstatic to hear Thor mention something about stomach pains.

“I’m on it!” You exclaimed far too happily, rushing away from Tony’s bedside, a very confused Steve returning to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Did I miss something? L/W was off like a bullet.”

“My dear Capsicle, I’d wager you’ve missed a great deal.” Tony coughed out, Bucky nodding to their bewildered friend.

1900

”Well I wouldn’t have to puke if I didn’t have to keep looking at your ugly mug!”

“You want to say that again rich boy? Sick or not I can still kick your ass!”

“Ladies please, you’re both pretty. Can we stop this childish fighting for two seconds?” You interrupted Tony’s and Bucky’s arguing, which they had been doing off and on since Bucky had taken the bed next to him.

“Yea guys, Y/N made us soup the least you could is be a little appreciative. She doesn’t have to help either of your sorry asses. You’re sick, not dead.” Sam tried, beaming over at you from across the sick Stark’s bed.

“Sam’s right. Let ME take the high road and apologize for my terrible behavior.” Tony puffed his chest out proudly before coughing up a lung, earning a grimace from everyone in attendance.

“You are high Stark, those meds they have you are potent. But we can agree that your behavior has been a thorn in my side all day.” Bucky shot back, Tony sticking his tongue out at the other brunette.

“Do you two want soup or not?” You asked the two squabblers before they could get into another row. Instantly the two idiots shut up and looked at you expectedly. Giggling to yourself at how fast you were able to silence them with the promise of food, you made a mental note for later. Should the need arise again that is.

You passed out the paper bowls you had been carrying to the three men. Your laughter escaped you, Sam going to town on his portion like he had been starving all day.

“Man I love this soup!” Sam exclaimed as he dug in, Tony and Bucky giving mumbled thanks and appreciative groans as they took on their soup. You looked on as Steve passed out bowls to Clint, Bruce, and Thor.

“Make sure Clint doesn’t fall asleep into his bowl and drown Rogers!” You called out, causing Clint to frown at you.

“I’m not that drowsy!” The archer shouted back crankily.

“Please. You fell asleep while the nurse was drawing your blood.” You quipped, Clint’s eyes shooting down into his paper soup bowl guiltily.

“Okay…I might be a bit tired.”

“Uh huh.” Rogers nodded as he handed him a spoon, watching him carefully as he began to eat.

“This soup really is amazing Y/N.” Thor complimented, causing a large smile to break over your face.

“Thank you Thor, I’m glad you like it. My mom used to make it for me when I was sick, and my Grams used to make it for her. My Grams taught me everything I know about cooking.”

“Lucky for us.” Bruce commented and the rest of the men eagerly agreed.

A brief moment of sadness hit you as you recalled fond memories of your Grams in the kitchen. She often times would set you up on the counter top so you could watch her work. You usually made a huge mess while trying to “help” but your Grams never got mad at you. Not once. Your mind slipped away from you as you wandered your way back into the office that was slowly becoming cluttered. Medicine bottles, water bottles, a refrigerator, and now a giant pot that had been put on a portable induction cook top to keep the soup warm sat on the desk.

“Do you miss her?” You blinked as Steve walked into the office, looking at you closely as you poured two more bowls of soup.

“Every day Rogers. She was my person, someone who helped shaped who I am. I honestly feel like part of me is missing some days. If she could hear some of the stories I have from working here…” You chuckled as you grabbed a couple spoons, handing a bowl to Steve before taking a seat in one of the many chairs strewn about.

“I bet you probably have some real dirt on us.” The blonde smirked at you while he took a seat in the vacant chair next to you.

“Don’t worry Rogers, you’re safe. Actually my Grams was a huge fan of yours.”

“Really?” He mumbled, slurping into his soup which caused you to giggle.

“Oh yea. Pretty sure she was the president of your fan club. She was always telling me “Y/N, why don’t you find a nice wholesome man like Steve Rogers to date? I’m not getting any younger.” Both of you chuckled at the memory, the soup warming your soul as you started eating.

“Well I’m sorry I never got to meet her.”

“You say that now, but if you had I doubt a crow bar and seventeen firemen could have detached her from you. She always thought you were so handsome.” He nudged your shoulder.

“Quit it L/N I’m blushing.”

“I mean she isn’t wrong but still..” The sentence fell out of your mouth before you could think about it. He had stopped chewing and was staring at you with a soft expression, his beautiful blue eyes intently focused on yours.

“What was that?”

“Nothing at all!” You hurriedly shoved the last few spoonfuls of soup into your mouth to keep anything else from coming out and quickly stood, making a bee line to throw away your paper bowl and rushing out to check on the sick crew. Steve only stared down into his bowl and chuckled, wheels beginning to turn.

2100

“Alright, you two are on your own.” Doctor Hooper’s hand shook yours as you left the hall.

“We really can’t thank you enough for staying and helping as much as you could. I hope your family can understand, please send them my apologies for keeping you from them today.” Walking to the elevator with her, you couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible for the doctor losing precious time with them.

“Oh it’s nothing Y/N, my daughter would kill me herself if anything happened to this bunch. She’s the one who threatened to disown me if I didn’t take the job when Stark offered it. But Pepper should be here tomorrow, so she can handle her husband then. They’ve all been given sedatives to help them sleep so you should be free of them until morning.” The two of you looked back where the men were passed out, your eyes rolling hearing the loud snores that echoed after them.

“God willing Doctor Hooper. I’m going to need to put myself in a quarantine away from them for a few days when this is all over.” She laughed, the three of you stepping inside.

“We’ll manage the best we can Doc.” The super soldier smiled, pulling you into a side hug that left you dizzy.

“I know you will, you two make a great team.” Her knowing smirk ruffled you a bit as you stepped off to your floor leading to your room, jumping slightly when you noticed the large man next to you had stepped off as well.

“Goodnight you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The Doctor called out as the doors shut, heat rushing to your face as you tried to conceal your embarrassment by looking at the wall opposite the tall blonde drink of water.

“I just wanted to make sure you got to your room okay Doll, I’m sorry she has the wrong idea.”

“No, no it’s totally fine! I appreciate that.” You waved dismissively, “Besides I know we don’t know each other that well, and that I’m not someone that someone like you would consider dating. Which again I totally understand and don’t blame you at all and did I mention how much I love this color of paint?” You rambled on, silently counting the number of doors until you would reach your room and shut yourself away forever. Twelve.

“Don’t sell yourself short Y/N. I think you’re a wonderful person.” His bright smile was disarming so you began to study the floor in great detail.

Eight

“In fact, anyone that manages to sweep you off your feet will be really lucky to have you.” Steve’s compliment had you internally screaming, your pace picking up a little.

Five

“That’s going to be a bit difficult Rogers. I’m pretty sure the guy I like wouldn’t know I do even if I stood right in front of him with a giant flag that proclaimed my feelings in huge red, white, and blue letters.”

Three

“I can only hope he comes around and realizes how special you are.” Steve gave you a pat on the shoulder and you found yourself wanting to hit your head against a wall. Oh sweet lord how dense can you be? You thought bitterly as you came to stand in front of your door.

“Well this is me. Thanks for walking me back.” You forced a smile, disappointment bubbling inside you and you wanted nothing more than to throw yourself onto your bed dramatically and cry until your lungs gave out.

“Not a problem at all. Thanks for all of your help today. And in case I don’t say it, thanks for tomorrow and Sunday too.” Your heart broke as he gave you another dazzling smile, you opening your door and looking at him for the final time that night.

“Goodnight Rogers. Sleep well.” It took everything in you to shut the door, not wanting to hear anything else from your crush that would just end up crushing you further.

“Goodnight Y/N.” Steve sighed, turning to head back to the elevator so he could keep an eye on everyone.

It wasn’t until he was headed back down the hallway towards the sick and still snoring men when your words about waving a flag containing your feelings hit him like a ton of bricks, causing him to stop dead in his tracks.

“Son of a…”

Tag List (I couldn’t find all of the recent people for some reason so just shoot me an ask or comment here!): @kaytizzle @cuffski @giggleberts

#steve rodgers x reader #the avengers #marvel #fanfic #captain america

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