#my old abusers were bigots and i hope they realize that at some point | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

Text

[Ficlet] Gonna Hit Rewind

Hi guys! So this is a little drabble inspired by a prompt by my friend @drinkyoursoupbitch, where I show what my MC, Carewyn Cromwell, was up to during a certain scene in the Harry Potter series!

Before we begin, just a couple of notes --

Post-Hogwarts, Carewyn becomes a lawyer for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -- you can read more about her life as an adult here, if you’d like! When it comes to the Order of the Phoenix, Carey-Bear doesn’t formally join, instead providing covert assistance while staying autonomous from Dumbledore (who she doesn’t really like as a person) and looking “subservient” to Fudge’s wishes. Later on, this becomes very useful after the Death Eaters take over the Ministry in 1997: when the Battle of Hogwarts begins, Carewyn actually helps take back the Ministry by placing Umbridge under citizen’s arrest and temporarily taking charge until Kingsley Shacklebolt is officially appointed Minister. Carewyn’s outfit in the sketch enclosed below is inspired by this design. Musical accompaniment for this ficlet were “Leave Me Alone” by Michael Jackson (for Carewyn’s conversation with that...certain family member in the aforementioned sketch) and “Turn Back Time” by Derivakat (which inspired the title of this drabble!). And in regards to Carewyn’s negative attitude toward Time Turners...that is 110% my mother talking. When we read Harry Potter and the Cursed Child together, she absolutely hated that it involved time travel, as she found the whole idea ridiculously confusing and illogical. (The whole climax of Prisoner of Azkaban was even her least favorite aspect of the original Potter books. 😂)

Hope you enjoy -- and much love, Soup dear! xoxo

x~x~x~x

“Down here, down here,” panted Mr. Weasley, taking two steps at a time. “The lift doesn’t even come down this far…why they’re doing it there…”

They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to that which led to Snape’s dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes.

“Courtroom…Ten…I think…we’re nearly … yes.”

As Arthur Weasley rushed down the hall toward Courtroom Ten, he was unaware that in Courtroom Seven, the door of which was left slightly ajar, Carewyn Cromwell was speaking to her estranged uncle, the new head of the Cromwell Clan, at that very moment, nor that their conversation would ultimately determine Harry’s fate in that courtroom happening just three doors down.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Blaise, and you know that full well.”

“I merely wished to speak with the Minister, little Winnie -- you are aware of how much our family still supports the Ministry and, by extension, your career, are you not?”

Carewyn fixed Blaise with a very cold blue eye. “And I suppose Lucius Malfoy speaking with the Minister down here mere moments ago had nothing to do with you making an unscheduled visit?”

Blaise cocked his eyebrows, his identically colored and shaped eyes narrowing under them.

“I can sense you trying to enter my mind, Winnie,” he said very softly, his eyes rippling like light blue flames despite the hardness of his face. “It won’t work. You couldn’t reach my thoughts when you were a girl, and you can’t reach them now.”

His voice became cooler, to the point of sounding condescending.

“Whatever questions you have, you know your uncle would be more than willing to answer them, if you merely ask nicely.”

‘Answer’ -- ha! Carewyn thought to herself scornfully. Lie your face off, more like. But even so...if I’m going to get what I need, I need to keep him talking...

Carewyn went very quiet, considering Blaise carefully and her next words even more so.

“...Are you or are you not associating with Lucius Malfoy?” she asked softly.

“You might recall that he and Father were business associates back in the day.”

“Of course I do. That’s why I’m asking. Or have you forgotten where Grandfather’s activities sentenced him -- where they sentenced you, until you were able to bribe the Minister to reduce the rest of your family’s sentences?”

“Our family, little Winnie,” Blaise corrected her, a notable, fiery edge to his voice.

You all may be related to me by blood, but you are not my family, Carewyn thought fiercely, but she once again bit her tongue. If she provoked his temper the way she was tempted to, he’d be less likely to talk to her.

When she didn’t respond, Blaise continued.

“Lucius Malfoy has always had a working relationship with the Cromwell Clan. It’s only natural that we speak from time to time, as two patriarchs of prominent magical families.”

“Magical families with certain reputations, you mean,” Carewyn said very coolly.

“Cornelius Fudge thinks very highly of Lucius Malfoy.”

“And of you, thanks to your impressive acting. But that doesn’t extend to everyone else, and you know it.”

“Of course,” said Blaise with a very cool smirk. “That’s something we have in common, isn’t it, Winnie? Putting on a charming face to get what we want, and not caring who hates us for it?”

Carewyn didn’t care enough to argue this point -- she’d already had this sort of discussion with Rakepick several times back in the day, and she knew that it meant Blaise was not only trying to divert the conversation, but also was absolutely full of it.

You’re acting like this fact makes us just as bad as each other, Blaise, but it doesn’t. Even if we have some similarities in our methods, that does not make us the same. I’ve never terrorized people to try to advance myself. I’ve never manipulated or forced anyone to join a criminal organization. I’ve never masqueraded as my nephew in order to try to manipulate my niece into selling her soul and her freedom just to save him. However much I’m not perfect, I’m head-and-shoulders above you, when it comes to the moral high ground.

But honestly, there was no point in arguing with people like Blaise. It wasn’t like she’d ever convince him that everything he thought was wrong -- that Muggles weren’t inferior, Charles Cromwell was an abusive monster, and everything he and the Cromwell Clan did to try to get Carewyn, Jacob, and Lane back under their control was reprehensible rather than justified -- and she didn’t feel enough passion to try. Especially not when there were more important things happening at that very moment...

Harry would be in the courtroom by now. She had to hurry.

Although Carewyn tried to keep her face stoic, her brain was working very fast. Her eyes drifted away, off toward the far wall of the courtroom where the Wizengamot benches were lined up.

“...Look,” she said slowly, her voice becoming a little softer, “my Legilimency has become very sensitive, in this line of work. It allows me to read people’s intentions and feelings very quickly, even when I’m not actively trying to. And Lucius Malfoy...he doesn’t see you as an equal, but as a pawn.”

Blaise’s eyebrows came down over his eyes, but he didn’t respond.

“You and the rest of the Cromwell Clan only got out of Azkaban because you were able to appeal to Fudge,” said Carewyn, “but if you’re associating with the wrong people, that could very quickly sour. Your position will become uncertain again, and you won’t be able to protect them -- especially if Fudge gets the kind of control over the Wizengamot that he wants...where charges and judgments are laid down based on favoritism more than legality. We’re already seeing it with how Fudge is now treating Dumbledore and Potter, after how much he always sucked up to them. End up outside of Fudge’s good graces, as they did, and the same might befall you. I realize that you and Malfoy...”

Are Muggle-hating bigots.

“...have similar politics,” she said at last very stiffly, “...but Lucius Malfoy’s politics are far more extreme than yours, and although the courts decided there wasn’t enough evidence to prove his methods were also...we both know that’s also true. If he falls, he will drag you down with him -- and if you take the fall for his actions, he won’t lift a finger to help you.”

Carewyn forced herself to look Blaise in the eye.

“Grandfather’s dealings with R got you all in enough trouble. You bought yourself and the rest of...our family a second chance -- something many others did not get. Are you sure you want to endanger that?”

Blaise considered Carewyn very carefully as she spoke, his blue eyes boring into hers critically. By the end, they’d actually widened.

“...Are you actually expressing concern for us, Winnie?” he asked very lowly.

Carewyn scoffed. “Don’t misunderstand me, Blaise -- I don’t really think you all deserved a second chance in the first place, after everything you’ve pulled.”

Her blue eyes became a bit more solemn.

“But truthfully...I’m not that upset that you were released from Azkaban. Dementors...they’re wretched creatures. I’ve seen what they can do to people.”

Her expression darkened.

“...I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, however terrible they are.”

Something confused and almost disgusted rippled over Blaise’s face, making his nose wrinkle.

“Ugh -- and here I’d thought you’d actually weeded out that weakness in your heart...”

Carewyn’s red lips came together tightly, but she didn’t reply. The two stared each other down for a moment, before Blaise finally exhaled.

“Very well, Winnie -- you want to know why I’m down here?”

He reached into his scarlet robes and pulled out a gold chain, on the end of which dangled a tiny gold hourglass.

A Time Turner.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed upon it.

“Lucius Malfoy has expressed quite a bit of interest in my old department, when we’ve spoken,” murmured Blaise. “One sub-section in particular -- one where records of magical predictions are kept.”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “Prophecies?”

“They are truly a fascinating thing,” said Blaise, his voice sounding rather airy. “So much value is placed on them -- too much, one could argue...just as one puts too much value on all attempts at ‘future sight.’ Alas, the section of my old department that Malfoy was interested in was not my area of expertise -- my area was in the study of Time, specifically backwards-facing. We did occasionally dip into the study of forward-facing time magic, but more in the sphere of inevitabilities -- things that evolve naturally in nature, every season -- not human affairs. Unfortunately when I was there, there was an employee monitoring the perimeter of the section I meant to enter -- I couldn’t have explored further even if I’d wanted to.”

“So Malfoy wanted you to stop by your old desk and pick up something that might help him or someone else enter the Department of Mysteries?” Carewyn asked. “Why?”

Blaise shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

“And yet you have a suspicion as to why?”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed upon Carewyn’s face, not angrily, but almost darkly.

“I may no longer work for the Department of Mysteries, Winnie, but I cannot discuss the more classified branches of their work too deeply. That is part of the Vow I made when I first joined the Department -- it forces me to speak in hypotheticals and vague descriptions more than specific details. But I fear no random stooge using this tool to try to enter my old department, whether Malfoy or otherwise. In fact,” he added with a smirk, “I would frankly love to see them try.”

He ignored Carewyn’s critical, confused expression and pressed on more seriously.

“You’re not a stupid girl, Winnie. I know you know what’s really going on, under the surface. Me offering assistance to Lucius Malfoy early on is merely how I intend to earn enough favor to keep my family safe, should the worst happen.”

“And what is that?” asked Carewyn.

Blaise cocked his eyebrows again. “Ask your mother. She remembers the First Wizarding War just as well as I do -- how it all started before.”

He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Blaise.”

Carewyn speaking his name and sharply grabbing his arm holding the Time Turner made him stop.

“If you wish to provide Lucius Malfoy useful information,” she said lowly, “you can tell him that that employee was not there by accident.”

Blaise looked back over his shoulder, startled. Carewyn closed her eyes tight, trying to block out the intense nausea rippling over her.

“He’s there to make sure Malfoy’s superior can’t reach what he wants,” she murmured. “There are many more, just like him, all with the same goal. It doesn’t matter when you go there -- there will always be someone there who will keep him away from what he wants.”

Blaise stared at Carewyn, his eyes narrowing in bewilderment.

“...Why are you telling me this?” he whispered.

Carewyn swallowed back the lump in her throat.

“I haven’t worked with time magic like you have...but people aren’t supposed to be in two places at once. That I do know. A lot of problems have been caused by people trying to mess with time. Mum told me that once in the 19th century, a whole bunch of people’s lives were erased out of existence, all because someone messed around with a Time Turner...”

“Ah, yes, Eloise Mintumble,” said Blaise, sounding as darkly amused as a bully might upon seeing one of their usual targets wearing a particularly obnoxious dress. “Tried to go back more than a few hours and ended up changing things so dramatically that she both erased 25 people out of existence and aged her body five centuries and died upon return trip. A rather fascinating case study.”

“You’re disgusting,” Carewyn said coldly. But she got back to the task at hand, her voice hardening. “Even if Malfoy couldn’t get what his master wants from the Department of Mysteries with that Time Turner, he could still do irreparable damage with it. If all Malfoy needs is assistance, to believe that you’re helping him and for you to earn enough esteem that the Cromwell Clan stays safe...then give him the intelligence I’ve given you. Don’t give him that Time Turner.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his lips spreading into a rather condescending smirk. “Why? Because it’s wrong, little Winnie? Because it’s illegal and immoral, and ‘not the right thing to do?’”

“I’m not foolish enough to appeal to you with morality, Blaise -- I know you don’t have any,” spat Carewyn. “I’m asking you not to do it for your own self-preservation. For the Clan’s. ...For your family’s.”

Blaise’s smirk actually slid off his face. Carewyn held his gaze as best as she could, even with how ill she felt.

“I may not be one of those who takes turns standing watch in your old department,” Carewyn said very softly, “but Jacob is.”

Blaise’s face went rather white, and Carewyn knew she’d struck a cord. For as cruel, selfish, and immoral of a person as Blaise was, he still saw his family -- all of it -- like his personal belongings. And he “took care” of his belongings. He wanted complete control over them and, like Charles before him, he never respected them as people, nurtured them, or gave them any freedom...but Blaise didn’t want anyone touching “his things.”

The older man’s jaw clenched as a rather dark glint flashed through his eyes.

“...I see.”

His teeth still bared, he extended the hand holding the Time Turner’s gold chain and, very slowly, lowered it into Carewyn’s hand.

Carewyn’s eyes softened in relief.

“Thank you.”

Blaise exhaled heatedly through his nose.

“Jacob always was a fool,” he growled, his voice full of resentment. “Risking his life for people like that Muggle filth who abandoned you and your mother -- ”

“Better than selling his soul and freedom to serve the person who locked my mother and all of you up like prisoners,” Carewyn shot back rather coolly.

Blaise’s eyes flashed angrily. “You will not speak ill of your grandfather, Winnie! Everything he ever did in his life was for us, including you, your brother, and your mother, and I will not have you forgetting that!”

“Crow that lie as much as you want -- it won’t ever make it true.”

Blaise seethed as Carewyn pocketed the Time Turner in her robes. Slowly, his temper cooled enough that his lips spread back out into a rather vindictive smirk.

“For the record, Winnie...Time moves in a loop. If Lucius Malfoy were to use the Time Turner after I give it to him a half-hour from now, the effects would’ve already been felt by us by now. We would have heard about someone having broken into the Department of Mysteries before our conversation even started. The fact that we are not hearing that means that he never receives the Time Turner from me. So, in fact, it was already clear that I would give you the Time Turner before I actually did -- ”

“Oh, shut your trap,” Carewyn said tiredly. Just listening to Blaise wax on was giving her a headache. “I don’t even want to try unpacking all that time travel rubbish. All I care about is that Malfoy and his ilk can’t try to mess with time, now or ever.”

She turned on her heel and strode for the slightly ajar door. Pushing it further open, she then looked back over her shoulder at Blaise.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of. Stay out of trouble, or I will not hesitate to prosecute you.”

Blaise’s eyes were very cold even around his smirk. “If there’s anyone who should be warned to stay out of trouble, it’s you, Winnie. I’m not the only one who’s aligned themselves with people who could drag them down, if they fall.”

“Perhaps,” said Carewyn mildly. “But my friends will catch me if I fall, just as they have before. Just like I always catch them. That makes all the difference.”

She walked away, her heels clapping against the black tiled floor as she strode to the end of the hall, listening at the door of Courtroom Ten. She could hear several voices talking inside -- after a moment, she recognized two as Amelia Bones and Cornelius Fudge.

“...certainly described the effects of a dementor attack very accurately. And I can’t imagine why she would say they were there if they weren’t -- ”

“But dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard! The odds on that must be very, very long, even Bagman wouldn’t have bet -- ”

“Oh, I don’t think any of us believe the dementors were there by coincidence,” said a very misty, serene voice from inside the Courtroom.

Carewyn’s shoulders relaxed, even as her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling.

Dumbledore. He’d made it in time.

Exhaling heavily, Carewyn quickly turned back around and walked briskly back down the hallway, back upstairs toward her office. On the way, she walked by Blaise, who was now deep in quiet conversation with Lucius Malfoy, and Carewyn and Malfoy coldly stared each other down as she passed.

x~x~x~x

Carewyn hated keeping the Time Turner in her desk. She wanted to be rid of the thing immediately, but she knew she had to be patient.

Around 11:00, just before lunchtime, Carewyn asked to borrow a Dungbomb from Tonks and covertly dropped off it just outside the Auror Department on her way back to her tiny office. The resulting smell resulted in the entire floor clearing out, until someone could deal with the smell. Carewyn herself, however, stayed in her office and powered through, spraying some Muggle air freshener to try to mask the smell.

I forgot how much I hate Dungbombs, Carewyn thought dully. Oh well...desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess.

Keeping the files on a case she was working on open on either side of her, Carewyn read through them every-so-often as she pecked away at a letter she had to write. This letter had to be concise and to the point, if its recipient was going to know it was safe and exactly what she had to do, to help keep Harry Potter from getting unjustly expelled.

Right on time, three hours after Harry’s hearing, Carewyn’s Legilimency picked up the feeling that someone was approaching her office. A moment later, there was a knock on her door.

The ginger-haired lawyer exhaled heavily, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Come in,” she said.

Although she kept her voice level, she already felt a headache coming on. She knew who was on the other side of that door -- and sure enough, when it opened, in came tall, silver-bearded Albus Dumbledore, dressed in long midnight-blue robes.

Carewyn’s eyes hardened as the Hogwarts Headmaster closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Carewyn,” Dumbledore said pleasantly.

“You got my message from Tonks, then?” Carewyn asked.

“To come straight to your office as soon as I arrived, but to not let anyone see me entering? Yes. Though I daresay the evacuation of this floor thanks to the smell of Dungbombs helped with that considerably,” said Dumbledore, and his light blue eyes twinkled. “I presume it has something to do with why some members of the Wizengamot were asking what I was doing back here so soon, and why Cornelius looked even more sour at my presence than usual.”

Carewyn’s face was twisted in a deep frown as she finally took the Time Turner out of the drawer and put it on top of her desk.

“The time and place of Harry’s hearing was changed three hours ago, with no notice,” she said stridently. “The hearing originally scheduled for 11 o’clock instead was moved to 8 o’clock at 7:58 this morning. The letter was sent by owl to Privet Drive at 7:59, right before a second letter informing Harry that because he didn’t show up for his hearing, he was presumed guilty and therefore expelled from Hogwarts. Both letters arrived at 8:52. The Order wasn’t informed of the change until a little after 9, but was also informed by Arthur Weasley that you’d had the matter well in hand and had arrived miraculously early.”

“And so they felt no need to send me any post regarding the matter,” presumed Dumbledore with a dewy smile. “But in order for all of that to have happened, I will have to go back and ensure it does happen -- isn’t that so?”

Carewyn nodded curtly as she handed the Time Turner and a sealed envelope to Dumbledore.

“Three turns back should be enough -- you don’t want to risk changing too much, by arriving too early, and I have a closed-door meeting with Chester Davies prior to that. Give this letter to me as soon as you arrive in the past. As soon as she...escorts you out, head straight for Courtroom Ten. You should arrive just after Harry does -- it shouldn’t raise as much suspicion if you make it to the courtroom after Harry, since he was already in Arthur’s office when he first received word of the change...”

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with some mischief. “Clever as always, Carewyn, my dear. You do the Order very proud.”

Carewyn’s eyes flashed. “I’m not doing this for you or your ‘Order,’ Dumbledore, as you know full well. Jacob was completely at R’s mercy after he was expelled from Hogwarts, and I don’t want to even think about where Potter might end up, if the same thing happened to him. And if Jacob’s guarding something in the Department of Mysteries, I don’t want to make it any easier for You-Know-Who and his goons to get the drop on him.”

Dumbledore’s calm didn’t shift, though his eyes did turn a bit more solemn. “And as always, Carewyn, your cleverness is only rivaled by your caring for others.”

Rising to his feet, the Headmaster tucked the envelope inside his robes and then picked up the Time Turner.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said cheerily, “or, should I say, ‘I will have seen you?’”

And with three turns, he’d disappeared.

Carewyn gave an exhausted, groan-like sigh.

“I hate Time Turners,” she muttered to herself.

x~x~x~x

When Dumbledore appeared in Carewyn’s office out of the blue at 8 o’clock that morning, the ginger-haired lawyer reacted with a lot of irritation and suspicion. Those feelings weren’t helped when Dumbledore handed her the letter addressed to her, and yet written in a hand identical to hers.

Carewyn,

First of all, yes, I know you recognize this handwriting. This isn’t a trick -- it’s just the work of a Time Turner: specifically the one Dumbledore’s holding. On that note, ask him to hand it over and then smash it. We have more than enough problems in the here and now: no sense in adding more time travel rubbish to the pile.

Now that that’s been taken care of, let’s get to business --

The time and place of Harry’s hearing was moved just a minute ago. It now starts at 8 o’clock in the morning in Courtroom Ten. Don’t worry, Arthur’s already been notified and is ferrying Harry as we speak, but Dumbledore needs to get down there right now. Kick him out of your office, nice and loudly -- there are people outside who could overhear, and you don’t want anyone to think you and Dumbledore are on good terms. Which, fortunately, you’re not.

Now that Dumbledore’s out of your hair, let’s go over what you need to do --

Blaise has sneaked into the Ministry, specifically the bottommost floor near the Department of Mysteries, on Lucius Malfoy’s direction. No, Blaise isn’t a Death Eater -- just short-sighted and self-serving as ever. The point is that he has a Time Turner on his person, which he cannot be allowed to walk away with, under any circumstances. You’ll be able to catch him leaving the Department of Mysteries if you go downstairs in the next fifteen minutes. He’ll be meeting Lucius Malfoy around 8:30, in the middle of Harry’s hearing, so don’t let him walk away without getting that Time Turner away from him. Don’t come at the issue straight-on, though -- you can appeal to Blaise to give it to you willingly. Just keep him talking. Once you have the Time Turner, you can hold onto it until Dumbledore arrives in your office at the time that was originally scheduled for Harry’s hearing, so he can use it to go back far enough to arrive at Harry’s hearing on time.

I know, this Time Travel stuff is absolutely bloody ridiculous. But at least this way Malfoy won’t be able to use the Time Turner Blaise stole to cause even more havoc.

Burn this letter as soon as you’re done reading it. We don’t want anyone coming across it.

Good luck.

As for Dumbledore himself, he arrived at Harry’s hearing right on time, all according to plan.

“Ah,” said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. “Dumbledore. Yes. You --er -- got our -- er -- message that the time and -- er -- place of the hearing had been changed, then?”

“I must have missed it,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my writing #harry potter #fanfiction #carewyn cromwell #albus dumbledore #cornelius fudge #amelia bones #blaise cromwell #lucius malfoy #time turners #AHHHHHH #YES IT ALL COMES TOGETHER #this took a while to write but it was worth it #but yeah my mum loathes time travel stories #she's a scientist at heart so the illogicality of them just drives her crazy #jacob honestly doesn't like working with dumbledore any more than carewyn does but he does see 'the greater good' of it #so he ends up being a guard not just for the prophecy but also later on for people escaping the death eaters #he likewise just barely evades ministry scrutiny enough to be able to hide people during the War #yes carewyn's choice ultimately does lead to negative fall-out like bode getting imperiused and arthur getting attacked by nagini #which of course carey-bear deeply regrets #but at the same time how much more damage might she have prevented? we'll never know #sometimes in war you have to make bad choices to try to mitigate even worse consequences :(

30 notes · View notes

aregrettablechoiceofwords · 4 years ago

Note

If you use the word "abused" to describe Snape's behavior, then it's only fair to use the harshest vocabulary for Remus Lupin's behavior too. We don't get the last words of a bystander bully who grew into a coward adult who walked out on his wife and unborn baby. No one cares he gave some kids chocolate since he let a believed mass-murderer run around the school. #soloving

*sits up* *cracks knuckles* ok let’s do this

No, Lupin isnt perfect, obviously no one is. Abandoning his family in the deathly hallows made me realize that, and I lost a lot of respect for him then. But is he a coward?

After Harry yelled at him for abandoning tonks and teddy, something he shouldn’t have to had done as a 17 year old, he came back to them.

And the thing is, he wasn’t a deadbeat afraid of failing as a father or something like that, he was afraid his being a werewolf would bring serious harm to his wife and baby, and they might be hunted down for it. He genuinely—and wrongly—believed they would be better off without him.

Coming back DOESNT erases the fact that you left at all, and let’s admit that was a fault. But is lupin. A coward.????

I think not. He fought in the battle of hogwarts and was a hero that died that night. (Along with tonks Rest In Peace u two) he died on the battle field fighting for his family, friends, freedom and rights. He was never afraid for himself, but for his friends.(Unlike Snape who died in The Whomping Willow with his last wish to see Harry’s eyes because even though he treated Harry like scum because he looked like his father who he hated, he was obsessed with Lily Evans and that makes up for it.)

And before that, Lupin went underground working with werewolf connections including ones who must have worked with Fenir Greyback, the monster who turned him as a child. Because Dumbledore told him to. He was hurt, worn, and tired, but he didn’t complain. He wanted to do good in the world.

So if Lupin isn’t a coward, you must think, why did he never tell anyone vital information about Sirius Black being able to turn into a dog while everyone believed he was a mass murderer?

I think we both know considering he resigned himself and everything he did for the Order, it wasn’t so he could keep his job. It was because he loved Sirius, his closest friend. James and Peter (to his knowledge) were both dead, and Sirius, traitor and all, was all he had left. He didn’t want Sirius to get his soul destroyed by a Dementor’s kiss. He thought, oh, turning into a dog isn’t that much of a threat, I’m protecting Harry anyway…

And yes it was so shitty of him to do, to basically choose the safety of his dead best friend’s innocent 13 year old son over the safety of…well, a murderer. The guy responsible for his dead best friend’s death. And that’s why Lupin resigned.

He felt like the worst kind of monster because of that, and I won’t call him one, but it was a horrible thing that happened because of his choice.

(If this was a hate essay on Snape, I would point out that Snape, a death eater who had worked with Peter Pettigrew, knew Peter was the traitor and not Sirius and yet he never told dumbledore this information...and let Sirius go to Azkaban…because of a school grudge... But this is not a hate essay on snape so let’s get back to lupin)

Do you think Lupin is a bad person? I’m genuinely curious, and i would love to know your opinion on snape too.

Look—there IS NO ADULT IN HARRY POTTER THAT HAS NOT COMPLETELY LET US DOWN AT SOME POINT. name any adult, any, and I will explain how horribly they failed the kids.

But flawed doesn’t equal bad person.

Hagrid, McGonagall, Sirius—they were some of the best hp adults, flaws considered.

How many flaws does it take to become a bad person? I don’t know. But I do know snape has so many more flaws than virtues.

I dont think being a death eater necessarily means being a bad person, becuase many people who “fought with Voldemort” were there becuase their fate had already been decided. They had to stick with their families. Look at Draco Malfoy. In the chapter malfoy manor, you can really see how dark and terrifying living with the death eaters are. So much pressure to give everything you can to being a bigot and serving Voldemort. If draco didn’t, his parents and him would be killed by Voldemort, already on the end of his tether. (And yet he still helped Harry but that’s another essay)

Being a good person means how you treat people, and how you fix your mistakes when you fk up. And look how snape treated people.

Admittedly when I was comparing lupin and snape in the original post, I wasn’t talking about the deeper parts of if they were good people or not, though I know it’s not white and black.

I was comparing their professor ways. How they treated children, from a 13 year old’s perspective. I was thinking, hey, I’m as old as Harry was in the prisoner of Azkaban, and if I had to face snape on a regular basis, I would break down.

But yes, they are so much more deeper than who they were as professors. And giving out chocolate doesn’t make you a good person x

But I really do think flaws included, despite his flaws Lupin was a good person. And yes, I should have pointed out his flaws in the op post, so I’m pointing them out now. He is one of my favorite characters, so I hope you understand. I admit he isn’t perfect though, he’s flawed and messed up, but still to me, a good man on more or less.

oh ps— I’m not an anti. When I used to love Snape I was attacked by many people in a comment section for “defending snape” and now I am called an anti. There will always be criticism so let me make something clear.

No, I don’t like snape. But I’m not blocking others from liking him.

I will never let the fact that I don’t like snape make me drag you if you love him. I respect that. I hope you can respect me too!

Anyway thanks for sending this I never get asks, and hope you have a good day!! ♥️ 😆

#hp #harry potter #remus lupin #severus snape #snape #marauders #my asks

21 notes · View notes

turtletotem · 5 years ago

Text

If he wanted you, he'd ask for you

A/B/O fic for Cherik Week! Set post-XMA, or... almost-post-XMA. A little over 2k words.

Erik thought things had been going well.

He, Charles, Jean, and a team of architects were elbow-deep in plans to rebuild the mansion, with certain enhancements; it would all happen very quickly once it began, but had to be planned down to the centimeter, first. All the students who could be sent home safely had gone; the remainder, along with Charles and Erik themselves and a smattering of other adults, were staying in a camp of startlingly luxurious tents down the hill from the mansion site, alpha and omega students kept separate by the larger section of betas in the middle. No one had commented on Erik and Charles sharing a tent; everyone was sharing with someone, and if Hank McCoy had muttered something under his breath about keeping enemies closer, Erik had chosen not to hear it. He knew he had plenty to make up for.

But he was making up for it, he thought, in some small way. Helping with the students, helping with the mansion, helping Charles. It wouldn't bring back the entire city of Cairo, but nothing else would, either, including his death. Those were Charles's exact words, over a chessboard in the privacy of their tent, when they talked about the diplomatic efforts Charles was making on his behalf, and the scars inside Erik's mind where Apocalypse had used some form of persuasion power to steer Erik, Storm and the other horsemen in the direction he wanted them to go.

Erik had thought that too much had happened between them for him and Charles to ever return to the easiness, the deep understanding and connection they had once had, before everything went wrong. Instead, he was shocked speechless sometimes by how much of it was still there—and how much more of it he could feel waiting, behind scars and defensive walls, inaccessible now but still there, if they could find a way to bring it out of hiding again. They slept in their separate beds on opposite sides of the tent, but small touches were beginning to reappear—fingers that brushed as they passed a dish, hands clapping shoulders to celebrate a good joke or small breakthrough. Three days ago, Erik had dared to swipe his palm across the newly bald expanse of Charles's head and call him Professor Eggsavier. Charles had laughed and pushed him off, letting their hands linger together.

The next day, Charles moved into another tent, alone.

He hadn't explained it beyond a casual mention that they had a spare now that the Letson twins had gone home after all. He hadn't reacted to Erik's surely visible dismay and hurt, had acted like he didn't hear his stammered questions. He had simply disappeared into the other tent, and not come out since.

"You don't think someone should check on him?" Erik demanded, at the little outdoor kiosk that mostly served as Hank's office.

"He's fine." Hank sounded baffled by Erik's anxiety. "He's keeping in touch," he gestured at his temple, "any time I need him. He just wants a day or two to himself. Heaven knows he's earned it."

"Of course he's earned it, but you don't think it's out of character? He's not the kind of man that just takes a day or two to himself, he's always up to his eyebrows in everything that's going on—"

"What would you know about it?" Hank said irritably. "When have you ever been in his life for more than a month at a time? Leave him alone, Erik. If he wanted you he'd ask for you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to get done."

Talking to Raven was just as frustrating.

"Let me get this straight," she said, barely looking up from the math tests she was grading, because somehow lessons had to go on. "The man you've nearly killed multiple times, who is putting his neck all the way out trying to get you pardoned by multiple governments for the unforgivable shit you did in fact do, and that we can't prove Apocalypse manipulated you into doing—this guy has made himself somewhat less accessible to you, and you consider that some kind of emergency?"

"He's not 'somewhat less accessible,'" Erik snapped, "he's basically disappeared! He hasn't come out of that tent in three days now, not for anyone or anything. Not for Storm's nightmare, not for Carlo's broken arm, not for a potentially disastrous supply problem with the construction—"

"You make it sound like he's ignoring everyone! We've heard from him whenever we needed to." Telepathically, she meant. And they had, everyone had. Except Erik. Erik hadn't heard a word. "Leave him alone," Raven said, pinning him with a gold-eyed glare. "He'll come out when he's ready. You're the last person in the world who should push him."

She was probably right. But Erik was an old hand at ignoring good advice.

The fourth night, he dreamed that Charles was calling for him, calling for help. When he woke, there was nothing—no psychic echo, nothing—to indicate that it was anything but his own dream. He got out of bed anyway, and slipped through the camp to Charles's tent.

He felt resistance as he approached, a telepathic shield trying to turn him away. But Erik was too accustomed to the feel of Charles's telepathy; he wouldn't say he was immune to it, but he had the ability to question it, counter it. He clenched his teeth and pressed forward, into the tent.

It was silent inside. Erik stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, more complete here than out under the stars. Nothing seemed strange or out of place; the tent held all of Charles's expected belongings, his wheelchair waiting by the bed where Charles lay still and peaceful.

Too peaceful. Too still. Absolutely nothing unexpected. And telepathy was still buzzing at the edges of Erik's mind.

"You're altering my perceptions," Erik said. "Stop it. I don't know what you're hiding, but I'm not leaving until I find out."

"I could make you leave." Charles's voice, his physical voice, hoarse and strained; so the image of him asleep in the bed was definitely an illusion.

"Do it, then," Erik said, and waited.

After a moment, he heard a sigh—half-agonized, half-relieved—and the illusion melted away.

The tent was a shambles, Charles's books and papers randomly piled if they weren't thrown around the floor. The bed was a mess of tangled sheets, Charles sitting up against the headboard with his face flushed and chest heaving, and everything was heavy with the smell of—

"You're an omega," Erik breathed, staggering back against the wall of the tent.

He had never once considered that Charles might be an omega—and wasn't that strange in and of itself? Charles clearly wasn't an alpha like Erik himself, but Erik had always assumed he was a beta; betas were more than twice as common as either alphas or omegas, and his scent had never hinted at anything else. It wasn't as if Erik really cared. His feelings for Charles would have been the same, beta or omega or fellow alpha, and anyone who wanted to argue about it could meet the sharpened point of Erik's favorite paperclip. It didn't matter, but—some deep instinctive alpha part of Erik was thrilled beyond words, was already thinking about things like bonding and scenting and children, they could have children—

"I once hoped that my paralysis might at least mean being spared this," Charles said, panting and dashing sweat irritably from his eyes, "but it only makes it harder to ever—be satisfied."

"You're in heat."

"Yes, thank you, I am an omega in heat," Charles snapped, "do you have any other obvious facts to share with the class?"

"Why did you hide it? You've hidden it all this time—or do the others know?" They'd been so unconcerned with his withdrawal into solitude…

"Only Raven," Charles said. "I keep the rest from suspecting…" He tapped his temple. "As for why I hide it, I think you have enough of a brain to speculate."

"There are certain disadvantages, yes," Erik said slowly, stepping closer almost involuntarily, "but to go to these lengths…?" It had been hundreds of years since omegas were treated as chattel, decades since they faced serious prejudice. One might still encounter the occasional tasteless joke or even raging bigot, but that hardly seemed like enough to make an out-and-proud mutant live a lie.

"These lengths," Charles said bitterly, "ensure that no one tries to take advantage of my heat. No one can abuse what they don't realize exists."

Erik stopped, only a few steps away from the bed now. Charles's scent, sweet and smoky, was intoxicating—but his words had a dampening effect on any desire Erik felt. "Take advantage," he repeated. "Charles, who took advantage of you?"

Charles didn't answer, not aloud, but images flickered in Erik's mind of a stocky, brutish young man with greedy eyes. Erik had never seen him, but if it was who he suspected, Charles had once described that young man as having a mind that had never once thought of anyone but himself, in all his life.

"Your stepbrother," Erik said.

"He was an alpha," Charles whispered. "He knew what I was before I did. Only my powers kept him away—mostly. Usually."

"So you learned your only safety was in hiding." Erik didn't realize he had come closer again until he saw his own fingers trail across Charles's hand. He tried to pull back, but Charles caught his hand, held it tightly. His skin was fever-hot, and Erik's body wanted desperately to answer that fever with his own. He swallowed, forcing himself to stillness.

It was still incredible to him that he'd never known this. He'd shared Charles's bed for weeks, before Cuba—but an omega experienced heat only two to four times a year. Luck, good or ill, had kept Charles out of heat during that time, and during their brief reunion in Paris a decade later. His scent should still have given it away, but Charles was uniquely situated to disguise that, not in physical fact but in everyone's perceptions of it.

"So you've never had anyone," Erik said, "to help you through a heat? No one?"

"No."

"That sounds miserable."

"It is." Charles laughed blackly, writhing half-consciously against the headboard. He was, of course, naked—Erik couldn't imagine his skin tolerating clothing right now—and in a state of arousal intense enough to make Erik wince even as the sight made his mouth go dry. How much could Charles feel, there, now? He knew Charles did have some little sensation in that area, and with the increased sensitivity of heat…

"You're staring," Charles said.

Erik forced his eyes away. "Yes. I'm staring because you're beautiful."

"Beautiful? This is beautiful?" He had never sounded more bitter and broken, not even in the plane on the way to Paris.

"It could be." Erik looked down at their joined hands, where his thumb was stroking the back of Charles's hand, gentle as breath. "You have someone to help you now. If you want me."

"If I want you? You could be anyone right now and I'd want you! You understand that, don't you? Of course I want you, someone, anyone—but I can't trust anyone—"

"I can't do anything to you that you don't want," Erik said, tapping his own temple. "Everything's in your hands, Charles. You can even wipe my memory afterward. You could even wipe my memory right now, send me back to my bed with no idea this conversation ever happened."

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't."

Because you took my hand. It was too delicate to say aloud; Erik knew Charles would hear him regardless. You let me see the truth, and you let me take your hand.

Charles pulled him down and kissed him.

In the morning, Erik woke sore and exhausted and contented down to his bones, at peace in a way he couldn't remember ever feeling before. The windows in Charles's tent were tied shut, but sunlight peeked around their edges and glowed faintly through the material of the tent itself, giving the space a sepia haze of morning. Charles was breathing slow and even, nestled against Erik's chest. His heat had peaked and broken, sometime during the frantic passion of the night. Charles had been overwhelmed enough to cry with sheer relief. That had never happened before, apparently; he'd always had to endure days of the heat slowly withering and trailing off, unsatisfied.

Thinking of it, Erik couldn't help tightening his arms around Charles and brushing a kiss against the crown of his head. He hated that Charles had suffered so much, so unnecessarily. Hated that he might suffer just as much again, next time, without Erik…

"That's up to you, love," Charles said sleepily, and Erik looked down in surprise.

"What?"

"Whether you're here next time," Charles said. "That's up to you."

"You're not going to wipe my memory and send me away?"

Charles snorted. "I don't think it would work now even if I wanted to. Or haven't you noticed we're bonded?"

"Is that what that is?" He could feel it now, the subliminal hum between them, the way their scents mingled together, the deep rightness of Charles's skin against his. Bonding wasn't the be-all and end-all that the poets tried to paint it as, Erik had known that for years. But… everyone agreed it was nice. If this was what it was, it felt nice.

"Look at that smile," Charles murmured, tracing fingertips over Erik's mouth. "I wasn't sure I'd ever see that smile again."

"You can see it anytime you want," Erik said, and drew him in for another kiss.

#cherik #my fic #CherikWeek2020 #tw: referenced noncon

101 notes · View notes

gra-sonas · 5 years ago

Text

Alex Manes - an essay

Alright, my inbox is bursting with asks, and I’ll get to them (tomorrow, it’s almost midnight D: ), but I’ve been thinking about this all day while trying to work (had to get up and angrily pace my flat several times), and I had to write it all down to get it off my chest. (Also, I’m sorry, but once again Tumblr won’t let me add a Read More, after two attempts at creating new posts with a Read More, I’m giving up 🙈)

As viewers, we’ve been introduced to two different versions of Alex.

Alex at 17

wears mostly black

puts on nail polish, eyeliner and jewellery, including a stud earring and a septum piercing

loves skateboarding

plays the guitar

works at the UFO Emporium

his mom, a Native American woman from a New Mexican tribe left the family when he was younger

has 3 brothers, presumably they’re all older than Alex

Alex at 27/28

a soldier, he’s been in the Air Force for a decade

a decorated purple heart airman with three deployments under his belt

an amputee, he lost part of his right leg in an attack in Iraq, sometimes uses a crutch

a codebreaker who's hacked into Russian and Chinese intelligence

a man who still dips fries into his milkshake

the nail polish, spiky hair, piercings and jewellery are gone

Alex wears fatigues occasionally, his civil clothes are mostly neutral colored shirts/jeans (until The Leather Jacket™ in 1x13)

we don’t know whether he still plays the guitar

his brothers are also all military, Flint (~2 years older than Alex) is a Special Forces Weapons Sergeant with the US Army

Quotes from/about Alex’s youth (incl. Jesse’s abuse)

1x01, Alex: "We're not kids anymore. What I want doesn't matter.“

✧→ 17 year old Alex hoped to escape his father one day, he dreamt of making music. His hopes were shattered that day in the toolshed, and Alex hasn’t allowed himself to go for what he wants since then - including Michael.

1x02, Alex: “Made me think about... I don't know, who I was when this started. Before I went to war.”

1x05, Kyle: “Do you remember that night your dad made us set up that tent to teach us extreme weather survival?” Alex: “Yeah. Your dad had driven home for the night, so mine concocted a brand-new form of kiddie torture.”

1x05, Alex: “My dad was a homophobic, abusive dick."

1x05: Alex: “The dad I got was a monster. Is a monster.” Kyle: “Because he sent you off to war?” Alex: “My father was my war. And your dad saw it, when we were kids. Do you remember the summer - that we built the tree house?” Kyle: “Yeah.” Alex: “That's the summer that my dad found out I was gay. He knew before I did. He thought he could beat it out of me. Jim tried to intervene. But you can't make someone stop hating someone. And my dad hated me.”

✧→ Alex is talking about his father/childhood matter-of-factly, but the language he’s using to describe his childhood allows a glimpse at the hell he went through: torture (through extreme survival trainings), homophobic abuse, his dad is a monster, sent him to war, for years tried beating the gay out of Alex, Jesse hates him. This is not just a homophobic remark his dad made at the dinner table, this informs us about years of violence and abuse Alex endured at the hands of his father.

1x06, Alex: “Things at my house suck.“

✧→ Many teenagers will probably say this at some point while growing up, this isn’t about Alex being upset about a curfew, or having to do his homework tho. This is as much as Alex will disclose about the ongoing abuse.

1x06: Alex: “Dad, this has nothing to do with you.“ Jesse: “Everything you do... everything. And I will not be humiliated.“

✧→ This is Alex, terrified of what his dad might do. And he knows that Jesse will do something (he’s already picked up the hammer). Alex expects violence, because that’s what his dad has done to him numerous times. 😔

1x07, Mimi: "You look like your dad today." Alex: "Oh, good. I was hoping that the rage face might skip a generation."

1x08, Alex: “I've been looking for leverage my entire life.“

✧→ “My entire life”, a clear indication that having Jesse as a dad’s never been a walk in the park, Alex just got the special ‘anti gay’ treatment as a bonus when he got older.

1x08, Alex: “When I was...- I wanted to make music. You sent me to war.“

✧→ Alex at 17 wanted to make music, and although he never says it, I think it’s implied that he never planned to join the military. Jesse didn’t give him a choice though, he made Alex enlist, probably threatening him with what he’d do to Michael if Alex didn’t do as he was told.

1x08, Alex: "Why are you trying to frame Michael? Haven't you done enough to him?"

1x08, Alex: "Do not talk to me about unprovoked violence!"

1x09, Michael: "And what do you want to say, Alex?” Alex: That I loved you. And I think that you loved me. For a long time.” Michael: “Yeah.” Alex: "But we didn't even know each other that well, did we? I mean, we just, we-we connected, - like something… -“ Michael: “Cosmic.” Alex: "Yeah, but we didn't even do that much talking."

1x10, Alex: "My dad is a bigot with no moral compass."

1x12, Flint (to Alex): "You ever get tired of being the black sheep of the family?"

1x13, Alex: "Look... I shouldn't have left you behind when I enlisted. I could... I could stand here and tell you that I didn't want to leave, but I did. After what my dad did to you, I just, I... I wanted to be the kind of person who won battles. But now I-I look in the mirror, and I-I don't even see myself sometimes. I see my father. I'm still fighting his battles. Not mine."

✧→ It’s kinda implied that Alex never wanted to enlist, but once Jesse forced him to do it, he tried to make the most of it. He wanted to be the kind of person who won battles. He was also looking for leverage, something he could use to take his dad down.

✧→ Alex at 17 wanted to get out, he wanted to make music and live life his way. Since Jesse was going to beat him for being gay anyway, he’d at least wear what he wanted, put on make up, and wear jewellery. Jesse hadn’t manage to break Alex.

✧→ The shed incident changed everything, because someone else got hurt. And from Alex’s POV it was because of Alex. Because he’d been selfish. He’d wanted Michael. And because of that Michael got injured.

Now that we’ve established the basics, onto Carina’s statement.

“Alex was too ashamed of Michael (not of being gay, which Maria knew, but of michael specifically) to name him to Maria for 10 years - until he saw Maria as a threat.” [x]

✧→ At 17, we saw how much Alex cared about Michael, that he wanted him safe and warm bc nights twere too cold to sleep in the car. That’s why Alex offered Michael to stay in the shed. He liked Michael, and he wanted to spend time with him. He even brought Michael a guitar bc he thought Michael would like to play. None of Alex’s behavior gives any indication that he was ashamed of Michael before the shed incident.

✧→ 17 year old Alex was afraid of his father, no surprise after years of abuse, but he also seemed confident, defiant even, believing he could handle it for a little bit longer until he’d finished high school and would finally be able to leave to make music. Despite living under Jesse’s roof, he dressed in all black, openly wore make up, nail polish, and jewellery/piercings, refusing to be another picture perfect son of his military father. We didn’t see it on screen, but given Jesse’s homophobic views, Alex’s behavior very likely caused his father to punish him in some way for it.

✧→ Then Michael kissed Alex at the UFO Emporium, Alex kissed back, one thing lead to another and they ended up at the shed where they had sex for the first time. It was Michael’s first time with a guy, we don’t know whether it was Alex’s first time tho. Alex still didn’t show any signs of being ashamed of Michael.

They were SO in love and happy in that moment. 🥺

✧→ When Jesse and the hammer happened, and it changed everything. Up until that moment, Alex had been used to his father’s abuse, he’d been strong enough, he’d been convinced he could take it, but this time someone else got badly hurt, and I think that broke something in Alex.

✧→ We never saw how things played out for Alex after Michael left the shed, all we know is that Jesse made Alex enlist. And given Jesse’s preference for blackmailing (he blackmailed Jenna, and Alex asked Flint what Jesse had on him) it’s probably fair to assume that Jesse threatened to go after Michael should Alex not do as he says.

Alex didn’t tell Maria for a decade because he was ashamed of Michael (at 17)?

Say what now???

There are several good reasons why Alex wouldn’t have told her, but shame isn’t one of them... I’m sure Alex thought of Maria as a trustworthy friend back then, but the most important reason why he wouldn’t reveal who ‘museum guy’ was would be the one the straight showrunner of the show’s apparently not aware of:

Alex would’ve outed Michael (without Michael’s consent I’d like to add) to Maria by telling her who it was. As a gay kid in 2008, I’m sure Alex was very well aware of LGBTQ etiquette, and the first rule of queer club is, you don’t out a fellow queer. And guess who’d just experience a brutal attack because he’s queer? Why would Alex ever consider outing Michael and potentially putting him at risk???

The outing reason alone would be enough to explain why Alex never told her who it was. And in 1x10 he didn’t outright out Michael either, Maria realized it was Guerin and Alex reluctantly confirmed (there was no way for him to plausibly deny it).

1x10, Alex: “It is just a standard, run-of-the-mill boy problem. Oh, come on. Don't give me psychic face, Maria.” Maria: “It's the guy from the museum, the one that kissed you into crazy stupid love when we were kids. He's back?” Alex: “Wha... How-how do you do that?” Maria: “You're just... I feel it, you're-you're hopeful, like you were before. Who is he? Come on, spill it. I've been waiting ten years for this. - Come on.” Alex: “You... you wouldn't believe it.” Maria: “It's not like you're hooking up with Wyatt Long or Michael Guerin or something. Geez. Please tell me you're in love with Wyatt Long. Wow.” Alex: “Michael's not so bad after a shower. But you know that.” Maria: “I had no idea...” Alex: “I know. I mean, how would you?” Maria: “It meant nothing, Alex. Seriously, I swear, it was just a drunk, dusty, no-good Texas rounder."

Another reason why Alex wouldn’t necessarily have told Maria: Alex was traumatized by what happened at the shed. This wasn’t just the ‘normal’ kind of abuse he endured on the regular (which is a boatload of trauma all of its own), someone else had been hurt, someone Alex liked, and because Alex liked him. On top of that Jesse likely threatened him. There’s no way Alex wasn’t scared and deeply traumatized. It’s fairly common that victims of abuse don’t tell anyone about it, out of fear even more bad things could happen, there’s surely also a lot of shame and self-blaming involved.

Alex also knew that Michael was homeless, and probably not yet of age. Jesse could’ve threatened Alex to put Michael back into the system or whatnot.

Absolutely NOTHING we’ve seen on screen suggests that Alex was ashamed of Michael when they were 17. Alex joined the military afterwards, and was away for a decade. Not many opportunities to talk about it to Maria, but again, the first reason (outing Michael) is a perfectly valid reason not to tell her for an entire decade. And this being a major trauma, Alex probably didn’t feel like opening that box again after such a long time.

And wow, claiming that Alex waited to tell Maria (which isn’t exactly what happened) because she felt threatened by her? Sure, Alex just waited for the right moment. 🙄

Is Alex ashamed of Michael at 27/28?

In 1x03 it seems like Alex let’s his father’s words get to him. “Seems to me the only one you're embarrassing is yourself, son.“ I’ve always interpreted this as a thinly veiled threat tho, and Alex, on instinct, immediately put distance between himself and Michael. Because before he talked to his father? Alex was perfectly happy to be seen with Michael, if he'd been ashamed, as Carina claims, he wouldn’t have approached Michael in public in the first place.

This is also how I read the scene in 1x02: “What happened at the reunion cannot happen again.“ In the pilot, Jesse had been part of the group of soldiers poking around Michael’s Airstream, and Alex saw the way his father looked at them talking. Then they kissed at the reunion, and I’m sure it felt so good and like coming home, but the fear of what Jesse could do if he found out was back the next morning, and Alex once more tried to put distance between himself and Michael to keep Michael save.

This is not an excuse for Alex pushing Michael away, not an excuse for Alex to call him a criminal either. That is absolutely shitty behavior and not okay. I just don’t buy this ‘Alex is ashamed of Michael’ shtick.

Friendly reminder that Maria did not only tell Alex in 1x10 “It meant nothing, Alex. Seriously, I swear, it was just a drunk, dusty, no-good Texas rounder.", here’s what she said in her next scene with Guerin:

1x10, Maria: “We're closed. - You found my necklace.” Michael: “Clasp broke. I fixed it. I think it calls for a celebration. And by celebration, I mean booze, preferably the free kind.” Maria: “Alex is one of my best friends.” Michael: “Congrats.” Maria: “I never would have slept with you if I knew you two had history. It can't happen again.”

So in 1x10 Maria

learned Michael is 'museum guy’

realized that Alex is in love with Michael (still), and hopeful

swore to Alex it was a one time thing and that it meant nothing

told Michael that Alex is one of her best friends (and you don’t go after your best friends’ love interests)

she would’ve never slept with Michael had she known

she also says it can’t happen again

And yet Carina’s surprised why many few fans don’t understand

what made Maria ignore Liz’s advice to talk to Alex (which would’ve been the fair thing to do, no one’s mad at Maria for catching feelings, it’s that she acted on them without talking to Alex first what upsets and angers people)

why Maria invited Michael to kiss her just 3 episodes later

why she’s still chasing after Michael 2 weeks later without having talked to Alex

she’ll continue to go after Michael but still won’t talk to Alex

and therefore some are having a hard time not to dislike Maria to some degree? Okay...

Either way, imo Alex was definitely not ashamed of Michael at 17, and I don’t see much evidence of him being ashamed of Michael at 27/28.

Apart from that, shame is for sure NOT the reason why Alex never told Maria.

Alright, this got LONG, but it I had to write it all down. I think I provided facts in the form of dialogue quotes. In addition, I’m sharing my interpretation of these facts.

I don’t claim that I’m right, I don’t claim that I know more than Carina (who seems to have forgotten some things she herself wrote tho), none of that. This is my interpretation of what happened, based on what we saw on screen, what’s been said by the characters, and what we know about the different characters involved.

I also don’t claim that Alex didn’t do anything wrong, that he’s a saint, or whatnot. But I strongly disagree with the notion that by not telling Maria Alex is somehow to blame for her going after Michael.

#alex manes #malex #michael guerin #long post is long #my apologies for the missing read more #i tried but tumblr wouldn't let me #🙈#rnm opinions #the alex essay

97 notes · View notes

fantastic-nonsense · 5 years ago

Note

Do you like James's attitude? Rich, narcissistic boy, who attacks everything he doesn't like, Lily said no, and as a rich boy, he didn't stop until he got it and after that, behind her back, he kept teasing, for fun.He is the closest thing to Draco, but Draco has his abusive father, at least. I am Lorena, greetings.- PS: When the Author, I will not mention her name, was benevolent with Snape or any of its main characters?

I have soooooooo many thoughts and opinions on this ask, and I COULD theoretically make a huge long post showing how you’re wrong in basically every respect, but since I uh....just can’t summon up enough effort to care, you get angry bullet points instead of thoughtful meta:

I’ve been a Jily stan since I was in middle school. I am now 24. My perspective on their relationship has drastically changed as I have gotten older (what 10-year-old looks at a relationship the same way as a 24-year-old, after all?), but my love for it has not. This isn’t new. This isn’t novel information about me. If that makes you uncomfortable, you’re welcome to unfollow.

People are allowed to grow out of being an asshole, especially if those behaviors occurred when they were literally a teenager. God knows that if everyone remained exactly who they were in high school the world would be a much worse-off place.

Am I excusing James’ actions? Absolutely not. They were terrible, but uh....importantly, those actions were treated as terrible by the narrative. Harry is horrified by how his father acted, and rightly so. And then Sirius and Remus assure him that he grew up and grew out of it. This isn’t that hard to understand.

Also just saying I have absolutely zero problem forgiving a 15-year-old for being an arrogant jerk and a bully but growing out of it into a better person, especially given that his “vicious schooldays rivalry” is with a boy who gave just as good as he got but promptly refused to grow up and be mature about it later. Snape aimed a cutting curse at James’s neck in that flashback by the lake. “Levicorpus” is a spell Snape created. There is absolutely zero chance that James just happened to know how to use it on Snape that day at the lake without Snape using it on him at some point before that.

We get ONE GLIMPSE of 15-year-old James being an absolute dick while asking Lily out on a date, where she said no and he textually took her at her word. There is zero textual evidence to support the idea that he “didn’t stop until he got it” or that he refused to stop asking her. Fanon is not canon.

All of this fanon that surrounds the relationship between James, Lily, and Snape is just that–fanon. We have a very tiny window into their relationship before their relationship was even a thing, and people can change a lot in two years. All we know about their relationship is that they started going out in seventh year after James “deflated his head,” “stopped hexing people for fun,” and “grew up a bit.”

The difference between James and Draco, TEXTUALLY, is that James canonically:

a) risked his life and did something highly illegal simply to make a friend’s life happier and easier,

b) aided his best friend in escaping from a toxic and abusive household,

c) didn’t regularly use racial slurs towards persecuted populations

d) re-evaluated his life choices, acknowledged that he was being a bully, and GREW THE FUCK UP freely and of his own accord,

e) fought in a war for the sake of what was right (protecting a persecuted population) even though he could have totally sat it out or joined up with the Death Eaters because he was a pureblood, and

f) went out to face Voldemort with the absolute surety that he would die on the off-chance that his wife and child would get away and live. He had zero hope for himself but chose to selflessly die to help others escape. That tiny snapshot is more than enough to convince me that James did major growing up.

Meanwhile...Malfoy quite literally tried to two-time both sides during the Battle of Hogwarts by convincing each side that he was “really on their side” so neither side would kill him.

You want to talk to me about how he’s “close” or “worse than” Draco Malfoy???????? Okay. Come back when you’ve actually read the books and taken a look at how Malfoy acts, loser.

Like, James had a friend facing bigotry and he became an illegal animagus to help make that friend’s life better at a high potential cost to himself, and then joined a war effort to protect people facing bigotry.

Snape had a friend facing bigotry and he called her slurs & joined up with the bigots.

Malfoy came from a family of bigots and wholeheartedly embraced that bigotry until he had a direct, in-person window into the legitimate terror that said bigotry inspired and realized he was in over his head, at which point his response was not “defect and join the other side” but “work on the Bad Guy’s side while trying not to particularly help or hurt the Light Side’s efforts.”

End of contest. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.

#asks #james potter #hp #harry potter #severus snape #draco malfoy #real talk this ask makes me so angry #Anonymous

35 notes · View notes

thejollyroger-writer · 5 years ago

Text

Heart and Soul - Part 1 - A CS Concert Series Fic

SUMMARY: Private music teacher Killian Jones wakes one morning to the sound of his ten year old neighbor playing the bane of his existence: the recorder. In order to keep his sanity, he offers to teach Henry to play any other instrument -- though partially because it means he gets to spend more time with Henry's mother, Emma Swan.

TW: mentions of alcoholism, abusive parents, backstory that goes a little deeper than necessary

a/n: This fic was inspired by waking up one morning over the summer to hear my neighbor playing the trumpet -- though, thankfully, Sam is a much better musician than a beginner recorder-player. I complained about it on discord, and bam! this story appeared, a joint effort between myself and Meredith (@captainsjedi) . Even though she was unable to help me finish it because of her busy work schedule, her ideas are riddled through the story, not to mention the incredible art she made for it.

Thanks to @csconcertseries and @clockadile, who gave me a reason to finish this story!

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

There aren’t many unusual things Killian truly hates.

Sure, he hates things like seeing horrific stories on the news, bigots, and people on the road who don’t utilize their turn signals. But those all seemed fairly normal within the realm of things that are passionately disliked.

The one standout thing he despises, however, is the recorder.

His animosity toward the instrument — if one can even call it an instrument — feels like a betrayal to his career at times. He spends his weekdays teaching both children and adults to play music, helping them discover hidden talents and find as much comfort and happiness within the notes as he does. The piano and the guitar are his most popular contenders among students. But he’s also had a bit of experience teaching violin and harmonica, along with one memorable incident with the drum set in his basement that resulted in several complaints from the neighbors.

Recorders? He intentionally keeps a fair distance from those.

If he’s being honest, it’s probably hindered his career a bit over the past few years. Since he moved to Storybrooke and word got out across the small town that he was a music teacher, he’s had countless parents approach him whose children had brought home recorders from school, asking him to give them lessons to improve their playing and put the rest of the family out of their misery.

Killian has always declined. He’ll offer to help by teaching the child another instrument instead, but recorders are out of the question. It’s simply not worth his time, not when there are so many better options available.

Needless to say, he’s less than pleased when he’s woken up before seven one morning by the sound of “Hot Cross Buns” being played on the dreaded instrument.

Something’s not right. He has to be hearing things, isn’t he? The house to the left of his is vacant, and the one to the right is the home of his neighbor and her son, the latter of whom should be resting as much as he can before the beginning of his school year.

What reason would he have to be playing the recorder this early in the— bloody hell, he thinks to himself. Yesterday was the first school day for the year. He should have remembered considering the extensive adjustments he's had to make to his schedule from lessons over the summer.

Killian doesn't know all that much about Henry Swan and his mother. They'd moved into the house next door last fall and the lad had introduced himself not long after. He knows that Henry is about nine or ten years old, is a student at Storybrooke Elementary School, and is a Star Wars fan, judging by the number of printed t-shirts he's seen him wearing when they come across each other arriving to and leaving their respective houses.

He knows just as much, if not even less, about Emma Swan. Only that she works as a sheriff's deputy for her older brother, and favors beanies and leather jackets during the fall and winter months. Killian assumes that she’s single considering she and Henry are the only two occupants of the house, and he’s never seen any visitors there aside from her family.

Which is a relief, because he's also infatuated with her.

Perhaps that’s a bit of a stretch considering the few interactions they’ve shared. Killian is aware that he doesn’t exactly know her well enough for any type of infatuation to really exist. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s managed to make him feel like an awkward schoolboy who can’t maintain some sense of dignity around a girl.

Their most recent interaction had taken place the Monday prior; he was getting ready for his morning run when Emma returned from what he assumed was the night shift at the sheriff’s station. She’d given him a brief smile and waved as she unlocked her front door. He was so surprised that he tripped and almost fell over his shoelace that he’d forgotten to tie thanks to the unexpected gesture.

(It was hard to tell whether she noticed. He’s hoping the answer is no.)

All of this to say, he likes the Swans. But he’s not sure just how long he’ll be able to tolerate what has to be Henry and his recorder, especially this early in the bloody morning.

Of all the songs in the world, what would bring him to choose “Hot Cross Buns” anyway?

Killian gets his answer a few weeks later. Every afternoon since the end of the school year save one or two (plus a few choice mornings), he’s been treated to the sound of Henry attempting to play a number of different songs, each one a tad more annoying than the last. There’s been “Yankee Doodle,” “Skip to My Lou,” and, oddly enough, “Jingle Bells.”

Something has to be done before Henry tries to learn “Baby Shark.”

He knows he should act his age and learn to embrace his young neighbor’s new hobby. (Or buy a good pair of earplugs.) After all, Henry’s a child, and Killian is glad he’s chosen to dedicate part of his free time to learning music.

But he really needs to choose a different instrument.

It’s what leads him to knock on the Swan’s front door on a Saturday morning a month into the school year. Emma and Henry are both home judging by the yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked in the driveway and the squeaky recorder notes coming from an open window on the second floor.

Emma answers the door. Her blonde hair is tied into a messy knot on the top of her head, and she’s sipping coffee from a bright red mug and wearing running shorts and a faded t-shirt that he’s willing to bet are her pajamas.

He’s never felt more attracted to her. But that’s not the reason he came by.

“Oh, hi, Killian,” she greets him, eyebrows shooting to her hairline. Her reaction makes him consider if he should have given some kind of notice before coming over.

“Good morning, Swan. I’m sorry to bother you this early, but I heard the lad playing and assumed you were both up.”

“Yeah. He’s been at it for a while.” Emma bites her lower lip and glances back and forth from him to the staircase he can just make out behind her. “I’m really sorry if he’s been annoying you with the music recently. I’ve suggested he only play later in the afternoon, especially since I've been trying to have the windows open more often so we don't have to keep running the air conditioning, but he always makes some comment about liking to start his day off with music, and I hate to discourage him when he’s finally found a hobby he’s enjoying.”

Hearing these words causes Killian to feel guilty for being irritated with Henry’s playing, but it also makes the reason he came by seem even more appropriate. “Think nothing of it. I’m quite happy to hear the lad has taken an interest in music. But if you don’t mind my input, lass, I think he could do well with a more versatile instrument that allows him to explore his capabilities even further.” It’s the nicest way he can think of to discourage her son from ever touching a recorder again.

Emma is quiet for a moment, brow furrowing as she contemplates his suggestion. “I don’t think I understand— oh!” A look of realization crosses her face. “That’s right. You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and he’s great!” The face of Henry Swan pops up behind his mother; he’s already almost as tall as she is. “Hi, Mr. Jones,” he says. Killian smiles at him before he turns back to Emma. “Remember, Mom? He played with some other parents at the last school fundraiser. You were there.”

Killian remembers the night in question vividly. He and a handful of other parents who played music had been asked to perform a selection of songs at Storybrooke Elementary’s annual spring event. (Emma had worn a tight red dress and heels. He was playing the piano and had come close to butchering the opening of their first song when he’d noticed her.)

She remembers the event, too, if the blush on her cheeks is anything to go by. “Yeah, kid, I remember. I just...haven’t had enough caffeine yet this morning.” She takes a long sip from the mug she’s holding as if to prove a point.

“Aye. Well.” Killian pauses, the shift in conversation having made him briefly forget the purpose for his visit. “I was just telling your mother, Henry, that I’m quite glad that you’re interested in playing music. I didn’t know how you felt about possibly trying other instruments as well? Guitar, piano, saxophone, triangle…” he trails off.

He knows the bare minimum about saxophones and doesn’t think Henry would actually want to play the triangle. But he’ll offer to give him harmonica lessons so long as he never touches a recorder again.

Henry considers his suggestion. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Miss Greene just gave us the recorders to take home so we could practice.” (Killian knows of the Miss Greene he is referring to, and resists the urge to message Tink and suggest she not guide her fourth graders in that direction ever again.) “I guess it would be cool to play something else though.” He smiles up at Killian. “Do you think if I tried to play the piano that I could be as good as you someday?”

Killian’s heart swells with pride at the boy’s admiration. Truth be told, he’s been complimented for his talent on numerous occasions by all kinds of people from different walks of life. But something about hearing his abilities praised from a ten year old with excitement in his eyes means more to him than any recognition has in quite some time.

“Perhaps,” he tells Henry. “If you utilize as much practice and dedication as you seem to be doing for that recorder, I’m sure you’ll be a seasoned pianist in no time.”

Killian is so thrilled by the smile that spreads across the lad’s face that he almost misses the wince that crosses his mother’s.

Almost.

“Henry…” she starts, her eyes turned down to the ground, and Killian’s eyes are drawn to her hands wringing in front of her.

“What, mom? Mr. Jones wants to teach me how to play the piano, please let me learn how to play the piano!”

The shadow of a smile crosses over her face, but it doesn’t stay. “It’s not—” she pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth, gently sucking on it for a moment before releasing it and finally raising her eyes to meet Killian’s. “We don’t have a piano, and, well… I don’t think we can afford to get one for him to practice on.”

Henry’s expression, his shoulders, his excitement, physically fall. “But mom, don’t—”

Killian doesn’t even let the boy pose his argument, because he already has the solution — hopefully a solution that works for all three of them. “That’s really not a problem, love,” he says, his smile growing when her bright green eyes start to sparkle with the hope he is giving her son. “As it happens, I just bought a new piano for the studio, so I have one that I’m hoping to get rid of. If you want it, it’s yours.”

It’s not quite the truth: he has his baby grand in his living room, the one that he practices on himself; and he has the two uprights in his studio, one much newer than the other, and as much as he has wanted to replace the older one with an updated model, he hasn’t gotten around to it. Getting rid of one of them wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and it would certainly clear up some space in the basement, though it would keep some of his students from practicing while he’s in another lesson.

But with the smile that grows across Henry’s face, and Emma’s to match it, the little white lie seems like the worst of his problems. Because, gods above, he has it bad for this woman.

Moving the old upright piano from his basement to the Swan’s living room the following Saturday proves much more difficult than lying to them about it. It’s an adventure that requires his brother, Emma’s brother, and Emma — and not, he doesn't fall to notice, the man who he assumes to be Henry’s father, who shows up with the boy right as they’re struggling to get through the front door.

Killian hates him before he even opens his mouth to speak, seemingly the only one to notice his run-down dark green pick-up truck parked by the curb while he stands in Emma’s entryway, trying to keep the piano from tipping over. The only one to notice him, sitting in the driver’s seat and making no motion to get out, even as Henry jumps down from the passenger seat and begins collecting his soccer gear from the back seat.

“This thing really doesn’t look like it would be this hard to move,” Emma’s brother — David — grunts, trying his hardest to help ease the piano up over Emma’s front step.

“Oh, come on, Nolan,” they all hear from behind them, everyone else finally noticing. “You having a little trouble with that?”

“You know, Cassidy,” David calls out, and Killian notices a vein in his forehead popping out as they try to lift it from the bottom and up the single step. “You could always get your ass over here and be helpful.”

Emma laughs from the other side of the piano. “Yeah, right.”

The guy in the truck laughs louder, turning his head in a way that makes Killian sure that he’s staring at Emma. His words make him even more sure: “I prefer the view from where I am, actually.”

“Asshole,” David says, either a bit louder than he meant or exactly as loud as he meant; Killian has a feeling it’s the second.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Henry asks, dropping his soccer stuff on the porch behind Emma. At least the lad has manners, Killian tells himself, finally guiding the piano into the entryway. He gets them from his mother.

“Just stay out of the way, bud,” David tells him between gritted teeth, the three of them pushing the piano the rest of the way through the door.

“Are you the lucky lad who gets to play this piano?” Liam asks once they’ve all made it into the entryway, Killian tossing one last glare towards Henry’s father pulling away from the curb as he closes the front door. When he turns to Henry, he’s beaming.

“Yep! Killian offered to teach me so he could stop hearing me practice the recorder every morning!”

The bluntness of Henry’s statement pulls a laugh from all of them.

Henry takes to the piano like a fish to water, which doesn't surprise Killian in the least. The lad is bright, Killian has learned that just from talking with him during their time as neighbors, but when he is able to play most of his scales and "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" by their second lesson, he knows he has stumbled upon true talent.

And spending time with his mother certainly doesn't hurt, either.

(The way her laughter carries through the open windows when Henry plays through a song brightens up his days in ways he didn't think was possible anymore, as well, but that's a secret he plans to keep to himself for a while.)

But by the end of September, four o'clock on Tuesday comes by slowly, especially since his and Emma's schedules have apparently shifted so they're never coming or going at the same time, but when she answers his knock on her door, he immediately feels a calm wash over him. Sure, he feels his heart in his throat, and when she smiles at him and takes a step back to let him in the house, he can swear that he has never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

Shit, he's in deep.

"Hello, love," he says, returning her smile as he steps through the doorway.

"Hey, Killian," she says back, leaning back against the door to push it shut. "I, uh, thought I already said something to you, but Henry's not here right now."

"Oh." He tries not to let his upset show on his face. This time that he spends with Henry Swan and his mother has become the highlight of his week, but since Henry isn't here, he assumes that means he should go home.

But neither of them move.

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, as it does every time he's found himself in this gorgeous woman's presence, and he counts the moments that pass through his heartbeats: one, two, three, four.

"Where is the lad, if you don't mind me asking?"

She shrugs, still physically blocking him from leaving. "He's with his dad."

"On a Tuesday night?"

She looks down at the floor, holding out her hands out into her line of vision. "We’re going away next weekend with David and Mary Margaret, so it’s to make up for the time he’s missing. But believe me, he would much rather be here with you."

“I’ve only ever heard him say good things about his father.”

“Do you really think that he would tell a stranger about the bad things?” she snaps, and he reels back immediately, regretting ever bringing it up in the first place. Biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth, he tries to push memories of doing the same thing from his mind, tries not to think of all the times he wanted to tell someone other than his brother of the way he was being treated — and he, of course, remembers the embarrassment that came whenever someone tried to bring it up.

Killian thinks back to the only time he’s met Henry’s father, after helping move the piano into their living room, and he begs once again that this man is nothing like Brennan Jones.

“Of course,” he says finally, his voice soft with regret and the memory of his own father’s drunken escapades, and he swallows the memories down like bile.

A beat passes between them, long enough to make Killian sure that he should simply excuse himself and go home, but it’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Do you want to come in for lunch?” she blurts, her eyes quickly flitting away from his when he tries to find them.

“Pardon?” He’s not thrown off by the question, really, as much as he is the sentiment.

“I just — I feel bad that I forgot to tell you that Henry’s with Neal, and now you don’t have anything to do for the next hour, and I was already reheating some of Marg's soup and making sandwiches, so I can — you know what, just… forget it, forget that I asked—”

“I would love to.”

The look on her face when she finally brings her eyes to meet him makes him sure that his acceptance is the last thing she expects.

Her kitchen is much more welcoming than his, bright and colorful with the fitting smell of chicken soup wafting from it. "Grilled cheese alright?" she asks, moving past him towards the fridge after gesturing for him to take a seat at the table.

"Is it ever not?"

The twinkling laugh she lets out actually seems to brighten the kitchen even further, which he would not have thought possible.

"I knew I liked you for a reason."

If the words affect her nearly as much as they do him, she hides it well, moving daintily through the kitchen to gather the rest of the supplies for the sandwiches. He is thankful for the moment of silence that passes between them, noticing for the first time the soft music coming from a small speaker on top of the fridge — he half-recognizes the song, he thinks from Harry Potter? — as he regains his composure, settles the pounding of his heart in his chest.

"What made you start playing music?"

And just like that, the pounding comes back. It's an innocent question, one that he gets asked a lot, and one he usually brushes over with a mention of his mother and her affinity for the piano. But, in the welcoming warmth of Emma Swan’s kitchen, he finds himself wanting to tell her everything, wanting to tell the whole story for the first time in a very long time, all the broken bottles and broken promises and broken wrists, the happy songs and the sad songs and one too many damn funeral marches, the drunken spat with the drunken man that almost made him lose his hand, and the life of sobriety that he swore himself into, exchanging his hatred for one parent with his love for another.

And then he hears the words coming from his mouth, a poisonous story uninvited into this space, into this wonderful woman's life, but it becomes the edited and abridged version as quickly as he can save it: "My father wasn't the nicest man, though he treated my mum the worst of all of us, and in order to find some semblance of peace in the world, she taught herself how to play the piano. And she taught me, too. Tried to teach Liam, but he was never very good at it. So it became a stress relief for me, and I just kept finding new instruments and learning how to play those to keep myself from spiraling, and when it came time for me to figure out my place in the world, music was the obvious answer."

She hums from her place at the stove, slowly stirring the small pot of soup with a wooden spoon. The movement of her nodding head is small, almost enough that Killian wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t watching her so intently. Somehow, he can tell that she wants to say something, maybe has a story like his own that she’s trying to piece together into a semblance of something normal, and he doesn’t push her.

“I get that,” she says finally, still not turning her attention away from the stove. He doesn’t mind; he’s not sure that he’s ready for that level of intimacy, for looking at each other while sharing their backstories — quite the jump from the casual neighborly hello’s and short conversations they have shared by this point. “That’s why I run, even though sometimes it makes me want to die. It was the only time I had alone when I was in—younger, and it’s still the only time I can do something and not be drowning in my own thoughts the whole time.”

He wonders about her slip of the tongue, the eloquent way she caught herself — and the way she straightened her back slightly as she corrected herself.

But the last thing he wants is for her to question anything that he said, so he’s certainly not going to say anything, only watch her as she reaches into a cabinet to pull out two bowls, pouring some soup in each of them.

“That’s how I am with the piano. When I sit down in front of it, it’s like my whole brain shuts down and there’s nothing except the music. My mum told me she was the same way when I got a bit older, and it explained why I would wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and hear her downstairs on the old upright the church donated to us. And Liam says the same thing about being behind the wheel of anything.”

When she finally turns towards him, a bowl of soup in each hand and a smile on her face, he knows that he has finally found someone to understand.

And he could not be more ecstatic that it is Emma Swan.

-- Part Two will post as soon as I finish it! --

tags: @let-it-raines @shireness-says @wellhellotragic @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @teamhook @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @superchocovian @carpedzem @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke -- if you want to be tagged in part two, let me know; if you no longer want to be tagged in my works, just send me a message!

#captain swan #cs fics #ouat #cs ff #ouat ff #cs concert series #music teacher! au #teacher!killian

106 notes · View notes

grimecrow · 4 years ago

Text

Sometimes Those Who SHOULD Be Your Greatest Allies Won’t Be But...

I’m writing this for all those LGBTQ people still hiding who they are, especially to the younger ones. Sharing my experiences with you may honestly make you more fearful of things at first but please read till the end. So, I knew I was gay when I was ten. I didn’t know what gay was, I honestly didn’t consciously understand much if anything at all about sexuality I just knew I really liked how pretty some guys in my comics (and my class) were and never felt that way about girls. I never acted on it, I never told anyone, I was ten it’s not like dating was a really big priority or anything. My parents were split by this time and my bigoted father must have suspected something was up when I turned down buying the new Marvel swimsuit issue thing. He sat me down shortly there after told me the truth about my mother, she was a lesbian. He then proceeded to tell me about how homosexuality was unnatural, and it was so unnatural that nature had made a disease that will rot those nasty homos from the inside out just because they were homos and it was THAT wrong. We had just entered the 90′s at this point but my father was extra bigoted towards homosexuals because my mother had married him to be able to have a baby and live off his money. Leaving him for a fling, in such a way that everyone at his work and stuff knew. Well needless to say I hated myself and was afraid of myself, not that I could talk to anyone about it. Not even my mother because anytime I asked about how you knew if you were gay she’d get mad and tell me I wasn’t. Weird right? A lesbian who had known since she was young that she was homosexual being so aggressive at her kid for wanting to talk about the idea of homosexuality in general? Especially given how her family had reacted to her. Her mother abused her, and sent her to an institute that touts it’s self as such a fucking ally to the LGBTQ community yet never acknowledges that they ever did anything wrong; hiding behind the fact that they were ‘just using the science of the time’. That back when my mom was a teenager being various forms of water based tortures, sleep deprivation and applied violent electricity based deterrents. Her brother helped inflict horrible things on her with his friends in an attempt to ‘fix her’. Anyhow in the later half of the 90s, in grade 9 I was gay bashed for the first time, I hadn’t come out but people suspected and I never did anything to prove those suspicions wrong. Despite it happening on the grounds of a school and parents even encouraging their kids to join in with video evidence the cops assumed that cause it had been labelled a gay bashing I was gay and had set it up to happen for attention. ACAB, even in Canada as the department’s views on the LGBTQ community hasn’t changed no matter how much they wanna march in the parade to pretend it has all these years later. My mother was furious and though I thought I had been outed by the incident she had double downed on my straightness and this was just a horrible case of bullying. In grade 10 two of my mother’s friends convinced me that despite my fear that my mother would be supportive of her gay son. How could she not be? And it made sense when they said it out loud. So I officially came out to my mother and...she kicked me out onto the street going on about how I was fucking up her life. I was supposed to have a girl friend she could jokingly flirt with (gross) and all of that. Well I was now homeless, with no family, a part of my mother winning custody of me the last time I was swapped was that I couldn’t go back to my dad. Which honestly was for the best as he and his wife thought an acceptable reaction to a nine year old using pins instead of sticky-tack to put up a poster was to throw them down the stairs. So...given that and my father’s history of aggressive homophobia it’s not like he would have been an option even if I could have gone back to him.

I thought I was screwed, that was it my life was over. All my mother’s extended family that was alive was super homophobic and hated my mother cause by this point she had conned them all out of cash.

But those two friends of my mother who had convinced me to finally come out to her without me asking gave me a couch to sleep on. They not only gave me a couch but made sure my clothes were clean and I was fed for the next short bit. They also went pretty hard at my mother, going so far as to tell the rest of the community my mother was a part of what had happened and the community came down on my mom for throwing the poor little gay out of the house just for being the way she herself was. My mom came up with the excuse that she had kicked me out on the street in hopes of scaring me straight. After all; she knows all the terrible things an LGBTQ kid at that time would have to face so she wanted to protect me from them by...throwing me out. This didn’t make sense to anyone but my mom told me I could come home and her friends would check in with him pretty regularly for a while after that to make sure things were okay, and that I was as okay as I could be. As you probably have come to the conclusion to yourself, the excuse she gave to her friends and the community makes absolutely no sense. Years later the truth of the matter would be realized. My mother is a user, an exploiter and once I had aged enough I had two purposes left to fulfill. One being to take care of her and be her retirement plan when she grew old enough, and two the more important one give her grandchildren. Once I couldn’t give her grandchildren my overall use was over and in her anger she threw me out; as all I was at that point was just a drain on resources. She could always either scam or bet her way to another retirement plan after all. I know I got really, really lucky. Not everyone has a community that will stand up for them like that when things get to their worse or at least it will seem to be that way. I know this all sounds really scary too. I know the fears of coming out, even when there is a potential safety net or everything in the world dictates that you will have obvious allies. I know what it is like to live in a house of violent abusers who are very active in their hatred all the while you’re secretly ‘the enemy’. (Hey I was first suicidal at the age of 12 cause it seemed to be the only escape.) The reason I am even writing all of this is to tell you. Sometimes those who SHOULD be your greatest allies won’t be but...there will be allies if you keep looking, keep trying, and keep living. Stay safe.

#coming out #lgbt discourse #lgbtq #lgbtq youth #homophobia #transgender #trans rights

4 notes · View notes

arcticdementor · 4 years ago

Link

One can divide antiracism into three waves. First Wave Antiracism battled slavery and segregation. Second Wave Antiracism, in the 1970s and 1980s, battled racist attitudes and taught America that being racist was a flaw. Third Wave Antiracism, becoming mainstream in the 2010s, teaches that racism is baked into the structure of society, so whites’ “complicity” in living within it constitutes racism itself, while for black people, grappling with the racism surrounding them is the totality of experience and must condition exquisite sensitivity toward them, including a suspension of standards of achievement and conduct.

…

I suspect that deep down, most know that none of this catechism makes any sense. Less obvious is that it was not even composed with logic in mind. The self-contradiction of these tenets is crucial, in revealing that Third Wave Antiracism is not a philosophy but a religion.

The revelation of racism is, itself and alone, the point, the intention, of this curriculum. As such, the fact that if you think a little, the tenets cancel one another out, is considered trivial. That they serve their true purpose of revealing people as bigots is paramount—sacrosanct, as it were. Third Wave Antiracism’s needlepoint homily par excellence is the following:

Battling power relations and their discriminatory effects must be the central focus of all human endeavor, be it intellectual, moral, civic or artistic. Those who resist this focus, or even evidence insufficient adherence to it, must be sharply condemned, deprived of influence, and ostracized.

Third Wave Antiracism is losing innocent people jobs. It is coloring, detouring and sometimes strangling academic inquiry. It forces us to render a great deal of our public discussion of urgent issues in doubletalk any 10-year-old can see through. It forces us to start teaching our actual 10-year-olds, in order to hold them off from spoiling the show in that way, to believe in sophistry in the name of enlightenment. On that, Third Wave Antiracism guru Ibram X. Kendi has written a book on how to raise antiracist children called Antiracist Baby. You couldn’t imagine it better: Are we in a Christopher Guest movie? This and so much else is a sign that Third Wave Antiracism forces us to pretend that performance art is politics. It forces us to spend endless amounts of time listening to nonsense presented as wisdom, and pretend to like it.

…

Many will see me as traitorous in writing this as a black person. They will not understand that I see myself as serving my race by writing it. One of the grimmest tragedies of how this perversion of sociopolitics makes us think (or, not think) is that it will bar more than a few black readers from understanding that I am calling for them to be treated with true dignity. However, they and everyone else should also realize: I know quite well that white readers will be more likely to hear out views like this when written by a black person, and consider it nothing less than my duty as a black person to write it.

A white version of this would be blithely dismissed as racist. I will be dismissed instead as self-hating by a certain crowd. But frankly, they won’t really mean it, and anyone who gets through my new book on this subject, which I am now publishing in serial, will see that whatever traits I harbor, hating myself or being ashamed of being black is not one of them. And we shall move on. As in, to realizing that what I am documenting matters, and matters deeply. Namely, that America’s sense of what it is to be intellectual, moral, or artistic; what it is to educate a child; what it is to foster justice; what is to express oneself properly; what it is to be a nation—all is being refounded upon a religion.

This is directly antithetical to the very foundations of the American experiment. Religion has no place in the classroom, in the halls of ivy, in our codes of ethics, or in deciding how we express ourselves, and almost all of us spontaneously understand that and see any misunderstanding of the premise as backward. Yet since about 2015, a peculiar contingent has been slowly headlocking us into making an exception, supposing that this new religion is so incontestably good, so gorgeously surpassing millennia of brilliant philosophers’ attempts to identify the ultimate morality, that we can only bow down in humble acquiescence.

But a new religion in the guise of world progress is not an advance; it is a detour. It is not altruism; it is self-help. It is not sunlight; it is fungus. It’s time it became ordinary to call it for what it is and stop cowering before it, letting it make people so much less than they—black and everything else—could be.

…

However, there is nothing correct about the essence of American thought and culture being transplanted into the soil of a religious faith. Some will go as far as to own up to it being a religion, and wonder why we can’t just accept it as our new national creed. The problem is that on matters of societal procedure and priorities, the adherents of this religion—true to the very nature of religion—cannot be reasoned with. They are, in this, medievals with lattes.

We need not wonder what the basic objections will be: Third Wave Antiracism isn’t really a religion; I am oversimplifying; I shouldn’t write this without being a theologian; it is a religion but it’s a good one; and so on. I will get all of that out of the way as we go on, and then offer some genuine solutions. But first, what this is not.

…

My interest is not “How do we get through to these people?” We cannot, at least not enough of them to matter. The question is “How can we can live graciously among them?” We seek change in the world, but for the duration will have to do so while encountering bearers of a gospel, itching to smoke out heretics, and ready on a moment’s notice to tar us as moral perverts.

One more thing: We need a crisper label for the problematic folk. I will not title them “Social Justice Warriors.” That, and other labels such as “the Woke Mob” are unsuitably dismissive. One of the key insights I hope to get across is that most of these people are not zealots. They are your neighbor, your friend, possibly even your offspring. They are friendly school principals, people who work quietly in publishing, lawyer pals. Heavy readers, good cooks, musicians. It’s just that sadly, what they become, solely on this narrow but impactful range of issues, is inquisitors.

I considered titling them The Inquisitors. But that, too, is mean. I’m not interested in mean; I want to get these people off the bottom of our shoes so we can actually move ahead. Whoops—that was mean. But I intended it as an accurate metaphor—this ideology impedes moving ahead.

The author and essayist Joseph Bottum has found the proper term, and I will adopt it here: We will term these people The Elect. They do think of themselves as bearers of a wisdom, granted them for any number of reasons—a gift for empathy, life experience, maybe even intelligence. But they see themselves as having been chosen, as it were, by one or some of these factors, as understanding something most do not.

“The Elect” is also good in implying a certain smugness, which is sadly accurate as a depiction. Of course, most of them will resist the charge. But its sitting in the air, in its irony, may also encourage them to resist the definition, which over time may condition at least some of them to temper the excesses of the philosophy, just as after the 1980s many started disidentifying from being “too PC.”

…

But there is a difference between being antiracist and being antiracist in a religious way. Following the religion means to pillory people for what, as recently as 10 years ago, would have been thought of as petty torts or even as nothing at all; to espouse policies that hurt black people as long as supporting them makes you seem aware that racism exists; to pretend that America never makes any real progress on racism; and to almost hope that it doesn’t because this would deprive you of a sense of purpose.

Elect ideology affects people in degrees. There are especially abusive Elect ideologues. Some are comfortable ripping into people in person; more restrict the nastiness to social media. Other Elect do not go in for being mean, but are still comfortable with the imperatives, have founded their sociopolitical perspectives firmly upon them, and are hard-pressed to feel comfortable interacting socially with people in disagreement. They allow the openly abusive Elect to operate freely, seeing their conduct as a perhaps necessary unpleasantness in the goal of general enlightenment.

I do not wish to imply that The Elect are all of the especially abusive type; the vast majority are not. The problem is the degree to which the perspective has come to influence so many less argumentative but equally devout people, whose increasing numbers and buzzwords have the effect of silencing those who see Elect philosophy as flawed but aren’t up for being mauled.

The Elect are, in all of their diversity, sucking all the air out of the room. It must stop.

#john mcwhorter #read the whole thing

1 note · View note

fandomwarriorqueen · 5 years ago

Text

Maybe it’s because I grew up watching Disney movies all the time but I don’t like the Disney movies for their romance. Yes the romance parts are great especially in some of the later movies but there’s so much to learn from each and every princess. Ps, this is really fucking long but I think it’s important and carries a lot of good life lessons. Sorry for bad grammar and weird language. My only language is English but I don’t speak it that well when I’m tired.

Snow White: She didn’t let her fear get in the way of her caring heart, and the only reason why the old crone was her stepmother was because her stepmother actively looked for her knowing that Snow would help her because of how kind she was, which is how she convinced her to take her into the house. The only person who did something wrong was the Evil Queen in taking advantage of a girl of 14 who doesn’t understand what she did wrong.

Cinderella: Being brave enough to follow your heart and work to make your dreams come true is something I especially think that we could learn form today. She worked to get all her chores done and because of everything she did for them the mice helped her finish the dress. The fairy godmother saw how hard she tried to go to the ball, and so she helped Cinderella get there and make sure she wasn’t recognized by Lady Tremaine so that way she couldn’t be abused further for leaving the house. Also while Cinderella was excited by the idea of meeting the Prince, she was excited because she wanted to meet to him and talk to him and that’s what ultimately drew him to her. She wasn’t throwing herself at someone because of his money or titles like Drisella or Anastasia or the other women, in fact she fell in love with him and married him for the way he loved her.

Jasmine: A lot of people don’t recognize the strength it takes for Jasmine to make the decisions she made. Instead of quietly submitting to a marriage she instead used her position as princess to make a point and refused to sit idly by as a glorified prisoner within the palace walls, and a lot of people don’t realize that a lot of women/girls in middle eastern countries aren’t allowed to leave their homes or are forced to married the men that their fathers chose for them either because they don’t know better, or fear of retribution. It also makes a point that just because women may be the money makers doesn’t mean that the man is any less important in the relationship. Jasmine chose Aladdin because he supported her as who she was as a person and recognized that she wouldn’t want to marry a prince who thought he was worthy because he was a man/Prince so rather he proved that he wanted to marry Jasmine because he loved her for all of her.

Mulan: This is another one because Mulan broke the gender roles that are present even with modern Western societies. Men go off to fight in wars and women stay home get married and maybe get a job and raise the kids, but there are so many women who fight for our country and rights and our freedoms, and continue to fight to make sure we can keep them, but also create more and help others. Also Mulan shows that sometimes it goes beyond raw power and the ability to follow orders that makes a person successful. You have to be driven, hard-working, creative, and cunning in order to achieve your goals. Also not to mention it teaches girls to be proud of who they are as fighters, and not to hide behind any type of mask because they aren’t worthless. Also there are so many unspoken women in history that did a lot for their countries during war times, and Mulan barely begins to cover it.

Belle: This is one of my personal favorites for multiple reasons. Beauty and the Beast is my favorite movie and Belle is my favorite princess and theirs a reason. There are so many types of people out there and being book loving introvert that didn’t have a lot of friends growing up Belle was a huge role model for me. For one she didn’t take shit Gaston and refused to let him and the villagers influence her values and get in the way of her passion for reading and refused to let people make fun of her father, because her parentage was something she was proud of, and rightfully so, as her father was a ingenious inventor. Also not to mention she didn’t take shit from the Beast as well, being the first person to let him know throw a healthy way *cough* unlike the Enchantress *cough* that he wasn’t treating people with the respect they deserved, but she still helped him when he saved her life showing that she has a good heart, as she just returned to the very castle she had been escaping. Of course another thing she does is instead of immediately leaving, as soon as she sees hope of progress and change within the Beast she teaches him what it means to be a good person, acting as a teacher and good influencer. The reason she doesn’t do this with Gaston is because he not only refuses to change, and instead tries to change her, he also threatens her, and as soon as she’s not submissive to him, he labels her as crazy and casts her to the side and goes on a jealous rampage against the man she does have feelings for, as I do often see within my own school. Belle also sees past the views of the villagers, who see Gaston as more then a strong handsome guy and instead for the asshat he is, which is something that girls should keep in mind when approaching anyone of the preferred gender. Look at personality and not physical features. Most of the time you can see the warning signs of an abusive relationship before it actually starts, if you look for them.

Ariel: This is one that I find really intersting and I’m at odds with. On one hand I think that Ariel had a right to be curious and she was right to look past her family views and try to see humans for what they were rather then what her family labeled them to be. This applys great to people who have bigot parents and absolutely encourage curious people to ask me questions about my heritage and my sexuality and a lot of my guy friends ask a lot of what it’s like being a girl. Education isn’t always what you read in books. Also I like how even though Ariel was putting herself at risk, she recognized the need that Eric was in, and set her own self aside to save Eric, as you should always value life and try to help others in need when possible. On the other hand, Ariel gave up a lot for Eric. While I understand her need to leave her family behind she knew nothing about Eric or if he was in fact a mermaid killer as she had never had a true conversation with him, and you should never jump headlong into relationships like that because it’s not always healthy and can lead to a lot of miscommunication. Also another thing I don’t like is the Flotsum and Jetsum reminded me so much of creepy old men luring kids into cars. Stay safe and aware. Your life isn’t worth a guy or whatever your willing to get yourself killed for. There was a reason Sebastian tried to warn her and a reason Flounder took his side. Your friends often times have your best interests at heart, and are looking out for you. Listen to them. Sometimes they can see stuff you can’t. Also the fact she gave up her voice for Eric is something I’m at odds with. Yes relationships do take sacrifice and work, but you should never ever feel the need to give up such a huge part of yourself for someone else, and a person who cares about you would never ask that if you. If Eric truly cared about Ariel he would have saw past the tail and they could have tried to find another way to be together without putting Ariel in danger. Also irrational choices. Times of emtions and clouded judgment are not the time and place to make life changing decisions. Also people may claim to be helping but often times if they want something out of it, especially something big and personal, they are you using and should not being trusted.

Aurora: Not gonna lie I don’t have much to say because she wasn’t in much of the movie. But yeah talking to people isn’t a bad thing, you can’t let your guardian determine your social life that’s for you to figure out. For me it’s social media and a lot of theater nerds, for others they’re sportsy and they like taking to people and making friends face to face. But also talk to people a bit before asking them in a date, and if they name a sketchy place or seem to have a sketchy background don’t meet them. They could be fishers or rapists or just weird. Not really Aurora’s fault and for the time picking her up at a woodsman cottage in the middle of the woods isn’t that weird, but Phillip hun if the lights aren’t on and the voice sounds like the wicked fairy from your fiancées baptism then don’t go in. Also don’t date people if your engaged it’s rude.

Pocahontas: While I understand a lot of the movie isn’t historically accurate for a kids movie about looking past race and understanding someone before you judge them, and misplacing your anger, 100% done right Disney. Amazing. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Also find those key supporting figures in your life like Grandmother Willow, because those are the people that in the long run, will be there for you and love you forever. Also, again, be true to yourself. Pocahontas wasn’t happy with being the conplacent wife, don’t be the conplacent girl. If you have dreams, go fucking get them. They are so within your grasp all you have to do is leave the haters behind, jump in your canoe, and look at what’s around the river bend. Also thank you for discussing how precious every single bit of life on our Earth is and how much we should preserve it, but also for calling out white imperialism. You didn’t come form this land, just because you say mine like a spoiled child, doesn’t give you the right to commit genocide and kill multiple cultures and thousands of people, and destroy the land they worked so hard to preserve, and then deny them rights in their own country. My ancestors are guilty of this, and my ancestors have also been the victims. While it’s horrible and needs to be taught better in schools and bigotry needs to be erased, we also need to move past it a preserve the dying cultures by teaching people about them, even if they don’t necessarily belong to the culture by blood. I’m more Irish then Aztec, but I want to know more about my heritage on both sides. And I live for teaching people my history if they’re willing to listen.

Tiana: Girl you are a strong black women and you have a dream and you work hard and you make your daddy proud every goddamn day. But you also have to remember that you need to give yourself the space to grow and be a person outside of work. You need to remeber to have fun, and you can only give 100 if you treat yourself like you’re 100. But also you can’t dilly dally along all day, and you’ll never get anywhere if life if you don’t work for it. Even the smallest of dreams is something more then nothing (looking at you Naveen) also hey maybe that person worked for that shit you don’t know, but don’t go about the wrong way of doing something through anger because it never ends well. Also hey thanks for showing off the racial devide of the historyocal time period. Just letting you know it was extremely rare for white anf black girls to be friends because most of the time they wouldn’t see each other. Also allowing Tiana into the costume party was truly revolutionary on Charlotte’s part as black people weren’t supposed to be treated as equals. That obviously had changed a lot but it also needs to change still. Not to mention Naveen would have never been allowed to marry Charlotte due to his skin tone even with her daddy’s blessing unless he was a prince, because he would’ve been lynched otherwise. Also that image of family and neighbors being one. That’s was something amazing. Share what you can with those around you cause they other have less. Also let’s make sure that the divide between white and black folks keep getting smaller ok.

Rapunzel: Boy could I go on a tangent about this movie because recognizing who you are as a person and who you want to be is just the start. Mother Gothel was horrible, terrible, awful, and no-good in so many ways I’m surprised the movie is rated G with the level of abuse portrayed in the film. First off you shouldn’t steal, and you cannot claim something made for those in need for yourself when there are others out there suffering so much worse. (Definitely talking about the Medicare system here get your act straight) Also you shouldn’t find the need to control everything about your child’s life. You have to let them be there own person and figure things out on there own otherwise the message will never get through. Also treat your child like a goddamn person they aren’t a slave or your own personal slave they are a human being. Don’t get me started on stealing a child because holy fuck how bad of a person do you have to be.

Merida: I love this movie for a variety of reasons. First a female character does not need a romance to be a successful lead role. Also sane thing, your child isn’t a mini you, or a mold to make as you want. They are a human being. They must grow and learn on their own, or they’ll never truly understand the lesson. The best you can do is support them. Also like with Merida and the princes, a girl doesn’t need a man to be a Queen, a man or another person of preferred gender should just make her stronger. Also one of the things I have learned is that this movie wasn’t Queen Elenore finding the courage to let her daughter be herself, or Merida finding the courage to admit her mistakes, but more then that, it was finding the courage to live in a way Disney had never shown before. Brave was about family love, and how there are so many bonds and relationships that are so much more important and valuable to use then our selfish parts of us like pride, being a family with people who hold different values then yourself is one of eh hardest thing, take it from a person who knows. But you have to find the courage and the strength to move past the fear, anger, and sadness to work together as people who where originally designed to love each other unconditionally, and make a family work, and as shown it only works if every person who’s part of it, puts in the effort and emotion in order to truly create the bond needed to love each other above all else.

This was my long ass rant as to why I think Disney princesses are important and don’t necessarily hold a bad message I didn’t talk about lesser know princesses or Frozen because that is a whole rant in itself that I’m not going to get into because it’s nearily one in the morning here.

#disney #disneynerd #disney pride #disney princesses #life lessons #blabbering insomniac at work

12 notes · View notes

buzzdixonwriter · 5 years ago

Text

You Don’t Say

For me, one of the unforeseen benefits of Facebook and other social media is that it gives me a chance to do rough drafts of ideas, assembling my thoughts and getting feedback before committing to more permanent form.

And sometimes, like asteroids colliding in space, two separate ideas / posts slam into one another and either create something new and unexpected, or else shatter themselves and reveal interesting aspects of their nature heretofore hidden from view.

That happened recently with a pair of Facebook posts I made on Dennis Prager and Harlan Ellison.

Let’s get the turd out of our mouth first.

. . .

Dennis Prager is a purveyor of herpetology lubricants admired by many on the right-leaning-nazi side of the spectrum, primarily because he keeps his mouth closed when chewing. Half of what he says is repackaged self-evident truths of the “Don’t eat the yellow snow” variety, a quarter is opinions that if not startling original are at least not genuinely harmful, and the remain quarter is egregious bullshit for which he deserves a public pants down spanking.

Hmm, what? Oh, yes; purely metaphorically, of course.

I long since wrote off Prager as a. utterer of inanities, but recently his turdmongering was forced on my attention by someone who posted a link to Prager’s argument that the “left” (i.e., basically anybody who thinks Auschwitz was a Bad Idea) is inflicting harm on both the American body politic and the universe at large by denying people like Prager the right to drop the N-bomb whenever they feel like it.

As some of you no doubt already knew, Prager is a member of what polite bigots used to refer to as “those of the Hebrew persuasion”.

That a person from an ethnicity that historically suffered hatred so vicious and specifically targeted that a special word had to be created for it (“anti-Semitism” because the original word -- “Jew-hatred” -- was too damned ugly even for bigots to use) now has his knickers in a twist because he’s “not allowed” to use the only other word of equal or greater impact -- also coined specifically by oppressors for expressing unrestrained hate and contempt against those oppressed -- is so rich in irony that all I can do is swipe a phrase from Jim Wright over at Stonekettle Station and say Dennis Prager has “all the self-awareness of a dog licking its own asshole in the middle of the street”.

First off, he’s lying: Neither the “left” nor American law prevents him from dropping the N-bomb whenever he feels like it and I invite him to go down to the intersection of Normandie and Florence in South Central and drop it at the top of his lungs for as long as he is able and please make sure to take plenty of video recorders along because I really wanna see what happens next.

Second, why the fuck would you want to say that? Seriously, other than in an evidentiary context (a cop giving testimony in court, a journalist reporting what some bigoted politician says, etc.), who today gains anything from repeating the word other than inflicting unjustified distress on people who have done nothing to deserve it?

(This is the point where a bunch of alt-right trolls are gonna jump up and say “but whatabout all the times when black people say it?” and to those trolls I’m gonna say STFU & STFD; if you can’t grasp the difference in context then you’re too damned stupid to be allowed out in public except at the end of a leash and with a ball gag in your mouth.)

It’s a word specifically created and designed to be used to brutally oppress people who did nothing to deserve that brutal oppression. Why would anybody outside that group use it except to participate in that brutal oppression?

. . .

Least there sit any in the cheap seats who presume the above rant was targeted at Dennis Prager simply because he was Jewish, guess again, ya yutzes.

Few writers enjoyed as brilliant and as incendiary a career as Harlan Ellison, and I count myself privileged to have been one of his friends.

Ellison, as many of you know, also was Jewish, a damned tough little bastard, singled out for hatred and abuse as the only Jewish child in his backwater Ohio school, growing up with nerves & balls of chromium, a bona fide Army Ranger, and a writer so honest and fearless that when he wrote about juvenile delinquency in the 1950s he did so by infiltrating and joining a street gang to get first hand experience and insight on the kids who ran in that crowd (and as icing on the cake, James Caan played him in the TV version!).

Top that, Dennis.

Harlan’s electric eclectic career features many highpoints, but the one I want to focus on is his brief 4-year run as TV critic for the legendary Los Angeles Free Press (a.k.a. The Freep) from 1968 to 1972.

What’s interesting is that Harlan did this while at the same time at the height of his demand as a TV writer.

You got any idea how hard it is to make a living while you’re gnawing on the hand that feeds you?

Harlan may have been crazy, but damn it, he was honest.

Back to the issue at hand.

Recently I’ve been re-reading his TV criticism columns, collected in two volumes, The Glass Teat and The Other Glass Teat.

The depressing thing is that all the evil we see today was in place back in those days, and the same smug pious frauds and their dimbulb marks kept congratulating themselves how wonderful they were as things continued to spiral out of control.

Oh, we've had good moments when we made changes that improved the lot of people who'd previously been marginalized, but the core cancer is still there. Harlan was no cock-eyed sentimentalist -- he was often filled with anger and could vent it spectacularly at deserving targets -- but he did have hope that somehow we could keep nudging the ball further towards the goal lines.

The columns make fascinating reading; they are nowhere near as dated as one might suspect. Sometimes they offer diamond-like brilliant dissections of a particular instant in the cultural gestalt, other times they examine the unseen (well, to most audiences, that is) tides of Hollywood that shape our media, sometimes he turns his attention to bear on seemingly insignificant and forgotten local programming only to show with McLuhan-esque clarity how that tiny piece of seemingly insignificant fluff is symptomatic of a much wider, much vaster, and far more serious problem.

One entry caught my eye in particular, the March 7, 1969 column on a failed ABC pilot called Those Were The Days.

Harlan sat in the studio audience watching the taping of that pilot, and his column praised the courage and insight of producers Norman Lear and Bud Yorkin, the brilliant performances of Carroll O’Connor and Jean Stapleton, and the raw honesty of the pilot’s sharp comedy and writing.

Those of you not in the cheap seats have already realized this was the second failed pilot for what would eventually become All In The Family over at CBS (there was an even earlier original pilot called Justice For All back when Archie and Edith’s last name was Justice, not Bunker.)

I remember the hoopla when All In The Family finally aired in January of 1971 as a mid-season replacement.

You might count Archie Bunker as the white Dolemite insofar as the comedy sprang from the shock of all the crude and vulgar things he said.

Lear and Yorkin were mocking that mindset, belittling bigotry, exposing the Babbittry of millions of “good” Americans who lacked either the self-awareness or the courage to take a long introspective look at themselves and realize how badly they were failing as citizens of this country.

Audiences weren’t supposed to like Archie Bunker.

And that’s where Lear and Yorkin made their fatal mistake.

No, audiences didn’t like Archie.

They loved him.

. . .

Asteroids collide, and sometimes they form new planets, and sometimes they shatter and expose what lies beneath.

Prager’s modern day Babbittry crashed into Harlan’s half-century old anti-Babbittry, and from the explosion a stark truth revealed itself.

It’s almost impossible to make an outlaw a villain in popular media.

No matter how many banks they rob, stages they hold up, sheriffs they shoot, the mere fact that somebody wrote a song / dime novel / movie about ‘em makes them into heroes.

Demi-gods.

People to be admired.

Emulated.

Professional wrestling knows this.

You can never be so big a heel that you won’t have a legion of followers.

And you can turn a heel into a baby face in the blink of an eye and none of the fans will remember the despicable acts the wrassler did just last week.

You put an Archie Bunker on TV, you do not get millions of people to recognize themselves in his hateful / hurtful behavior and change their ways.

Oh, hell no; you get millions of people to applaud him for saying and doing what they say and do in private.

And now that it’s all big and bold and brassy on TV, why it becomes even easier to say it in the privacy of your own home, then over the fence with the neighbors, then in the bar down the street, then on the street itself, and then against people who have done you no harm, who have committed no sin other than the heinous crime of not being exactly like you.

I remember watching and liking All In The Family when it first came on because I, like millions of other Americans, got the joke: Archie was no hero.

But it wasn’t long before the voices cheering Archie began to drown out the voices laughing at him.

Lear and Yorkin tried undoing their damage with Maude and The Jeffersons and Good Times and other spinoff shows, but the bigot was out of the bottle.

Archie Bunker, even though written in a way to ridicule his use of bigotry and stereotypes, became a champion and defender of those who clung to said bigotry and stereotypes.

So tell me again why you want to drop that N-bomb, Dennis.

Explain to me -- even while you talk out of both sides of your mouth and claim even if everybody can use they word maybe they shouldn’t use the word -- how that does anything to help anybody…

…other than bigots and hate mongers.

Your argument is as circular as the thumb and forefinger gesture white supremacists use to signal one another, a gesture deliberately chosen because it lets them transgress openly by lying about the truth meaning of their gesture.

And Harlan, you were right about Those Were The Days as it began evolving into All In The Family. Absolutely brilliant -- but absolutely deadly.

Not airing All In The Family wouldn’t have eliminated racial / ethnic / sexual prejudice in the United States…

…but it would have denied those ideas a voice.

The narcissist always proclaims, “I don’t care what they say about me so long as they spell my name right.”

Well, that’s what we got with Archie Bunker.

None of the bigots cared if we made fun of their ideas…

…just so long as they got their ideas out there.

Because ideas are made legitimate by their presence.

Now clearly, this is a bade that cuts both ways.

Ideas once unthinkable -- liberty and justice for all in the form of racial and gender equality, f’r instance -- need to be championed in public.

But we need to shout down and stamp out the bad ideas.

The United States took their foot off the neck of the defeated white racists after the end of the Civil War, and as a result jim crow came roaring back, and things did not change for millions of Americans for another entire century.

We allowed bigots and hate mongers and slavers to be whitewashed and glorified and forgiven for their crimes against humanity…

…and in the process we allowed them to continue victimizing African-Americans more and more.

Every song about the Ol’ South, every novel glorifying plantation life, every movie showing happy field hands, every statue commemorating murderous traitors as men of honor and principle, every single iteration of that idea made millions of people’s suffering not just possible but inevitable.

. . .

Now this is the point where the alt-right trolls are gonna jump up and ask “did you ever drop the N-word?”

Not in casual conversation, no.

I was born and raised in the South (Appalachia, mostly); my father’s side of the family were almost all Southerners.

Almost all.

My paternal grandmother was born and raised in New Jersey and met my grandfather when both served in the U.S. Army medical corps in WWI. When my grandfather died in his 40s, my grandmother originally moved back to New Jersey, but her three children (dad and two aunts) felt heartbroken at having to leave their Southern cousins and friends behind so even though she carried no particular love for the South, my grandmother moved her family back and stayed there for the most of her life (she and one of my aunts moved out to California to be near us, but that’s another story for another post).

One thing my grandmother absolutely refused to tolerate was use of the N-bomb anywhere near her, especially under her roof or in the homes of her children.

This included both the -er and -ra variants, because Southern racists who didn’t want to appear as uncultured and as boorish and as bigoted as their backwoods cousins preferred the second pronunciation because they could claim they were actually speaking respectfully about “colored people”.

So I grew up in the rare white Southern home where the N-bomb merely wasn’t used, it was actually denounced as wrong.

Now, don’t go thinking my grandmother was some great paragon of virtue; she wasn’t (she was hell on wheels, in fact, but that’s another story for another post).

But she did recognize there was something wrong with the use of the N-bomb, and whether she demanded her children never use it in any form to keep them from appearing to be boorish, bigoted louts, or whether she just thought it was simple good manners of the golden rule variety not to use it, I dunno.

But I do know we never used it, and when my parents heard our neighbors or schoolmates use it, we were reminded in no uncertain terms that we were never to use it.

But that doesn’t mean I haven’t used it.

A couple of decades ago I wrote a screenplay based on the life of Robert Smalls, in particular his incredible escape from Civil War Charleston by hijacking a Confederate gunboat and sailing it right past Ft. Sumter to join the Union fleet, bringing his wife and several other escaping African-Americans with him.

As a skilled harbor pilot, Smalls enjoyed certain privileges other enslaved African-Americans didn’t.

For example, he was allowed to go about the streets of Charleston unescorted…

…provided he wore a big diamond shaped brass tag around his neck.

Like a dog.

The tag indicated to slave catcher patrols that he was one of the “good” ones, that he could be trusted because he was helping his masters in their struggle against the Union by guiding blockade runners into the safety of Charleston harbor.

But knowing Southerners the way I do, and knowing the kind of low class good ol’ boy types they recruited for such jobs, I couldn’t imagine the slave catcher patrols being particularly courteous to him, even when they knew they had to let him pass because clearly he had the protection of some high positioned muckamuck.

And I could easily imagine them flinging the N-bomb at him with great glee, taunting him, daring him to act “uppity” so they could beat the crap out of him and teach him some manners and remind him of his place.

So I used the word in their dialog in my script.

Would I use that word today?

Probably not.

It’s not that crucial to the story, and if the viewer doesn’t grasp the concept that these are bigoted bully scum from their actions and attitude, then I’ve failed my job as a writer.

Have I ever quoted people who dropped the N-bomb?

Yeah, I have, in the past.

I’ve quoted Richard Pryor and Blazing Saddles and Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction.

I would excuse it then as the aforementioned evidentiary context but ya know what? I don’t quote those lines anymore.

I still think Pryor is hilarious and will recommend his routines to anyone I think might be interested, but he as a member of the African-American community at large (because like any other ethnic group, African-Americans have numerous sub-cultures and sub-communities among them), he could say things in a way neither I nor any other white person could say them.

(And, yeah, there’s a big debate going on to this very day among African-Americans about the appropriateness of that word and you know what? Whatever decision African-Americans reach for themselves is their business and should not involve any input whatsoever from we white folk; we not only can’t use the word, we can’t even comment on how they choose to use it. Period. Full stop.)

Blazing Saddles when it came out used the N-bomb to be deliberately transgressive, to make a sympathetic point re how unfairly African-Americans were treated.

All well and good.

But nine years earlier there had been a movie called A Patch Of Blue and while it wasn’t a raucous comedy like Blazing Saddles it tried making a point about race relations in America and it was a really. Really good movie and it made some important points but today is virtually unwatchable not because of any flaws in it but because the times have changed.

Ditto Blazing Saddles.

We don’t need to approach the problem that way any more.

Quentin Tarantino? I really like what he does as a director and a screenwriter but his use of the N-bomb to show us how transgressive his characters are is really shallow. I have a strong feeling his movies are going to be considered embarrassingly passé’ in a generation or two, much the same way as benign-yet-stereotypical characters in 1940s movies render many of them passé’ today.

Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction lose nothing by changing the N-word to something else.

Maybe an argument could be made for its use in Django Unchained or The Hateful 8 but even there I think substituting another word wouldn’t significantly change the tenor or tone of either movie.

So I stop quoting those lines from Tarantino’s films, at least not fully.

I can admire his skill / talent / craft without signing off on his problematic elements.

Let me offer an analogy: If a creator can get the same dramatic effect by pretending to shoot somebody but not actually blasting them with a gun, then they can get the same dramatic effect by using something evocative of the N-bomb without actually dropping it.

(By the way, for those who may be curious, my mother was from Naples and a bona fide card carrying member of Mussolini’s Fascist Youth Brigade, but that’s another story for another post.)

. . .

We are plunging into a new cultural conflict -- and while I think there will be violence, I don’t see it being violence on the scale or level of political organization as the Civil War -- and we can only win by refusing to let the bigots and the hate mongers spew their bullshit in the marketplace of ideas.

There is no compromise with an oppressor.

Stand up to it every time you encounter it.

Make it unthinkable, never acceptable.

#racism #race relations #morals #ethics #Harlan Ellison #Dennis Prager #N-bomb

2 notes · View notes

thenightling · 5 years ago

Text

Opinions

“Opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one and most of them stink.” - Quote source unknown.

This is a controversial opinion in and of itself (irony!) but I felt like sharing it.

Yesterday in my Gothic Horror Group on Facebook I removed someone who called my stance on Beauty and The Beast and human capacity for change and personal growth “stupid and dangerous.” They went on to get on a soapbox and HEAVILY imply I was condoning people staying in abusive / violent relationships. The reason? Because I dared say that I don’t like the popular mindset that people can’t / don’t really change.

That’s not true. Life is change. Or tastes change. Or favorite things change. Our opinions change. Every time we realize were mistaken about something and acknowledge we were wrong we change because that is a change in point of view. This isn’t opinion, this is simply fact. If we didn’t change your favorite show from when you were four-years-old would still be your favorite show. Your favorite food from when you were nine would still be your favorite food. Your favorite book from when you were six-years-old would still be your favorite book. Some of this stuff might not change but a lot of it does.

Learning new things, discovering new things to like- these are forms of change. I don’t like dismissing things by saying people don’t really change because it also discourages efforts for us, to seek to better ourselves. It essentially tells us to give up, that we can never be better than what we are. We can never improve ourselves.

This, by no means says that you should stay in an abusive or violent relationship. I even said as much in the original post that earned me the insult and mansplaining about why I’m wrong and why I’m condoning abuse... No, most abusers don’t change their ways and no, you should not stay with them. I have said this so many times in the last forty-eight-hours that I’m exhausted by the annoying reminder that someone was getting ready to chew me out for daring to suggest people can better themselves.

Change isn’t always good, mind you. Some people don’t change for the better. Sometimes addictions develop or get worse. Sometimes mental illnesses get worse. Sometimes personalities take a shift as a person ages. And it’s not always growth. Sometimes people “grow down.” Change can be good or bad. Be vigalant for the bad.

Anyway, back to my original point. I removed the person who tried to chew me out and call my stance “stupid and dangerous” and infuriated me by making it look like I was pro-abusive and violent relationships.

This was immediately followed by some people telling me that what he said was no big deal. And that I “need to respect the opinions of others.”

Here’s the thing. And here’s the controversial part of this post.

*I don’t think you need to respect every opinion!*

Let me repeat: I don’t think you need to respect every opinion.

Sometimes people hide behind the word “opinion” like it’s a magical shield. If someone calls you an insult or belittles you and you get upset, you have a right to be upset. They can’t just throw up the magical shield of “Why are you angry I called you an asshole? It’s just my opinion. You have to respect other peoples opinions.”

Some opinions can be hateful and bigoted, like opinions claiming this or that race is inferior or naturally violent.

Some opinions can be sexist and claim a woman’s place is serving a man.

Some opinions contradict established facts, like denying climate change is real while watching the polar ice caps melt...

These are not opinions that have to be respected. The only real opinions that probably should be respected are positive opinions of self-worth and opinions that are a matter of taste. An opinion to be respected: “I think of myself as an attractive human being. I find my own looks pleasing.” That doesn’t mean someone else’s opinion that you are ugly should be equally respected.

And opinion to be respected: “I prefer chocolate ice cream to vanilla.” This does not mean the person with that opinion has the right to deny vanilla ice cream to those who actually like it.

If an opinion is harmful or hurtful (in that it willfully and deliberately insults) or if it is bigoted it does not deserve to be respected. If it is a fallacy or lie that contradicts established facts then it is no longer opinion and should not be respected as opinion.

As I said, not every opinion deserves to be respected and I think we need to stop throwing around therms like “We must respect everyone’s opinion” because this all-encompassing statement ignores that things like Nazism started with ain opinion. It’s okay to not respect every opinion. If a man has an opinion that women shouldn’t be allowed to read- I sincerely hope you don’t respect it.

Think critically.

2 notes · View notes

mag7dumbies · 5 years ago

Text

Magnificent Seven Series (1998) Pilot major spoilers

So I finally finished watching the Pilot and good lord I had thoughts, and no this is not the first time I’ve watched this episode, I’m just that extra when I watch TV

(Here we go yet again folks strap in)

(I have mentioned I hate the confederates- garbage humans the lot)

(Also giving birth is better in a squatting position- or at least that’s what I’ve heard)

(Seminoles are actually a very interesting tribe to read about)

“I respect no man’s law but my own” well fuck you too racist bastard (not only that but you need to get a fucking haircut and someone to repair that ratty flag of yours or better yet burn it)

I hate that he is so right cause we still have nut jobs in the south who are in denial that we won the war

The movie was so much nicer goodness (I mean violence wise it wasn’t as insane as this is)

I hate that the general is not completely bad (he isn’t close to good but he still has morals, which is hard to believe considering what he believes)

(The general is nuttier than an oak tree)

OKAY HOW DARE YOU, I’M NEARLY A TRILLION PERCENT SURE THAT SAND IS SACRED AND YOU JUST FUCKING CHUCK IT WHO RAISED YOU

AND YOU PUT THAT MASK WHERE YOU FOUND IT GODDAMN IT

“I believe I can turn gold into bullets” (what does that even mean)

(Didn’t realize that this whole episode was a week’s worth of stuff huh)

(I love that they included freed slaves just makes me happy)

Lordy boardy here we go

Chris this is not the time for a drink

The duster flaps in the wind- okay we get it Chris is a badass- he was drinking glass, earlier we know

The Marshall is a coward (this reminds me of a fantastic fic I once found that had the Marshall return and Nathan was understandably pissed it was awesome)

He’s wearing an apron- oh Vin you have fallen so far, (I’m glad he has long hair though, in the movie it was pretty short which didn’t really fit cause you know Vin isn’t one for conventions or white men tradition)

Mary, Mary quite contrary-angry I mean angry good lord I love her

(I always pronounce gangrene as gaygrene and its super frustrating cause I’ll try my hardest to say it right but my mouth doesn’t work that way or at least it doesn’t sound right)

Only in the nineties could you say darkie doctors on TV and not be immediately cancelled or there to be some sorta outrage, same thing applies to lynching, you can hang white folks on TV but the minute a black person is having the noose we have problems (which is really good cause there are people still alive that have probably witnessed a lynching of someone who certainly didn’t deserve it)

That son of a bitch, pushing Mary was stupid because not only are you being racist which is a trait no one likes but also being a sexist pig- (you are in for it now)

Uh-oh Vin is pissed that isn’t good for anyone (well Nathan but that isn’t the point)

Do you think Vin gives a damn about being employed- and how did he get the apron off so fast like damn

THE FUCKING NOD

Here he comes the stupidest boy in the Wild West- (I’m gonna punch something I swear)

He’s so little

Chris nearly shot Jd’s foot off

“Where’d you come from” where did you go where’d you come from, tall dark stranger and his weird friend

(The saloon bit tickles me to death)

(For some reason it reminds me of Lone Ranger and I don’t know why)

Vin is a fucking sweetheart and I love him

Poor Nathan I hope his throat is okay

Vin do you have to be negative and suicidal in the same swoop seriously

Its Buckaroo time everybody, hell yeah

Then he jumps out a fucking window like a moron, and Chris is just standing there like a he’s too cool for school

(Is it Josiah or ‘osiah, not entirely sure)

And here comes the Ez, ugh he’s about as cute as he can get

“Sorry for the mess” lordy be

(Love Ez’s one-liners)

“I abhor gambling” carefully baby don’t want Maude to hear you and fuck you too you Southern bigot (I know he gets better but still, that language isn’t okay)

What the fuck is he doing with his fancy footwork just leave the saloon for mother’s sake

It’s too early in the morning to deal with Jd just goddammit (I’m gonna make some popcorn and come back to this cause I seriously can’t)

(Okay I’ve calmed down and I am ready for the stupidity)

What did he think was going to happen, of course, you fell off your fucking horse you side saddled that bitch and startled a horse that you don’t even know you’re better than this

(The only thing he can’t do is have a brain cell)

Chris is an asshole

This damn kid

Buck what the hell are, you doing, leave the kiddo be

(I also find it difficult to trust white men)

And here comes the boy and Buck (Jd’s hair is just bad, it’s like Snape’s)

Buck is right about Jd being a prep

“We’ll carve it on his tombstone” brutal Chris just brutal

(Vin is a sweet boy have I said that already cause he is)

Ezra is so good with kids damn

(Ron Perlman’s arms hell yeah)

Ezra nearly died good lord and he just goes with it and pretends he did it on purpose

Here comes Rainey girl I love her

Nathan why you hurt me, and RAINE THIS ISNT THE TIME TO PLAY MATCHMAKER

I love Raine’s dad he’s fantastic

Buck is such a goof I love him

Why is the guy, so raspy what happened

Jd getting punched is my favorite

This is so cringe, and I really like it “I was in prison for not being white” (that is still the case for some people and we all know it)

Buck CHILL THE FUCK OUT

Vin are you serious, you don’t know Chris and there you are just hanging out and suddenly you’re like hey dude if I die, take my body to Tascosa you will get a huge payday, he didn’t have to do that at all but he’s just that dude I love him too much

(There’s also a really good fic about Josiah and his crows it's great)

Ezra, I’m done with you, good lord just go home

Here we go

Nathan is a gift to all

Buck don’t waste bullets and Josiah go to a hospital, Jd you’re an idiot and nearly died plus Ezra what are you doing go to Nathan, dumbass

Buck spewing truth everywhere

Bruised my ass Ezra just accept help like a normal human being goddamn

Nathan does not take no for an answer and ow I heard that crack in my own arm ouch

Nathan called him out

Josiah, I love you so much, (usually, I really hate missionaries cause they can be extremely intolerant to other religions especially those of Native peoples,) but Josiah tries his best to respect them which is a breath of fresh air

Josiah fainting isn’t helpful I don’t care what the crows, say (he’s a birdbrain)

Poor Jd, I just wanna give him a hug, and dude chill you are being a mess, like drink like a normal person

Buck stop telling people Chris’s past it isn’t appropriate

And I swear we own an old blanket that looks exactly like Josiah’s poncho no joke

“I’m a spiritual man, sometimes I turn to the wrong kind of spirits” I love this line

Ezra stop corrupting the youth, (Ezra is like O’Reilly and I love that characterization)

What debts they can’t be older than 10, Ezra stop, please

Nathan, I get you love, her -chill, and Jd “I haven’t shot anyone yet” are you kidding me, seriously

“Buck you’re full of crap” “You’re just figuring that out now” (Had I mentioned I love their dynamic cause I really really do)

(I did some research on Laudanum, purely for fun and apparently, it’s basically just a mixture of every opiate available and then some, plus it’s illegal to make for obvious reasons,)

That’s right Ezra you aren’t a coward or at least not completely

(Jd’s story makes me think that maybe MAYBE he was abused as a kid in the stables, not anything too horrific but still bad and I really wanna write about it)

Btw there is a wonderful thing (I think it was posted by 7men not sure though) anyway it says something about Jd used some of the money to take care of his mama before she died, and after there wasn’t enough to go to college but there was enough to go out west) I think about it at least once a month

(The war is over if only some people could get that through their thick heads)

Ezra you sneaky son of a bitch pulling a Chico

Chris is such a badass I mean that must hurt pulling off that handcuff

Round Three

I’m a bad bitch “You can’t kill me”

John Daniel Dunne- are you kidding me, are you trying to make either myself or Buck die because if you are you’re doing a great job (He is so stupid)

Buck, really you could have tackled him or really done anything else- instead you decide to fucking get stabbed by a sword (this is why you only have half a brain cell- I mean God fucking damn it)

Really Jo seriously like thanks for taking a bullet for Buck but really

Watching this episode has taken almost three hours but it’s totally worth it

(This is the worst part ugh it's like a weird zombie movie)

“You were like a son to me” Bitch you nearly shot him with a cannon

Chris thank you I wasn’t sure if that stupid general was gonna bite it or not

Jd cut out the angst you’re gonna hurt yourself

This old dude is a gift

“Buck, you look awful” kid your hair looks awful don’t let me get started

Nathan, Raine and the kid look like the perfect family and it makes me smile

“Where you going? Get down off that horse” poor Nathan what did he do to deserve the stress of dealing with those idiots like seriously what did he do

The good thing though is I’m pretty sure Josiah got a new poncho which is definitely a win

Raine gets it though she’s just ‘look those white morons are gonna get themselves killed so it’s better if you at least try to save their skins’ I can handle things here

Poor Josiah, he is just as hunched over as he can be, its pitiful

Okay I’m FINALLY done with this episode, think I may read a little before I get back on the saddle and on to my absolute favorite episode One Day Out West

6 notes · View notes

lamujerarana · 7 years ago

Note

people have been calling the ff dated for ages but I still don't understand it - I get that the dynamic is based off sixties sitcoms but I don't see why a story about family is perceived to be too old fashioned to resonate now - why do you think the ff lost their popularity?

I’ve written already on why I think the FF are still relevant and more important today than ever.

But as to why people consider them outdated, well, I think it’s a combination of two main things:

First, perceptions of the FF, among the general public but especially in comics fandom, are stuck in the past or very simplified. I think people see the bright uniforms and the family dynamic and assume that the FF are a happy, functional family who lead overly privileged lives, have no real problems, and always have goofy, ridiculous adventures. They think the FF’s lives are unrealistically bright and wholesome and happy, like something out of a Disney cartoon, which isn’t really in vogue at the moment. It’s similar to why people think Superman is no longer relevant (they are wrong on both counts).

Of course, they don’t realize that the FF’s lives aren’t like that in actual comics canon (this is why actually reading comics and not relying on fandom interpretations is important). Honestly, they never have been. They love each other, but they are not perfect people with perfect lives. That has literally always been the point of the FF. They’re more realistic and natural and flawed as people than the heroes who came before them (and, I’d argue, plenty who came after them). They bicker amongst themselves frequently. They have very real problems. As Waid wrote in FF V3 #60, the FF as a family is more Addams than Cleaver (or Kennedy). But the thing is, together they – and their love for each other – are perfect, and they can get through anything as a family. So, yes, there’s a hopeful message at the heart of FF comics, but that doesn’t mean their lives are storybook perfect. More like beset by tragedy, despair, and disillusionment, but that’s what makes the fact that they do overcome in the end so important. They’re the ones who never give up, no matter how bad everything gets, and things do get very, very bad for them. Literally, that is where Peter Parker and so many other heroes learned that “never give up!” phrase from.

I mean, for fuck’s sake, just to list SOME of the things they’ve been through:

Cut for length.

Johnny and Sue watched their father get murdered in front of them way back in 1964, when Johnny can’t have been more than 17. Johnny nearly died stopping a nuclear bomb from destroying a small town at 16, the same year he was one misfired bullet away from being shot to death. He is a rape survivor. He was trapped for two years in a Negative Zone prison where he was violently murdered and brought back to life, over and over, hundreds and hundreds of times. He’s been experimented on repeatedly, including by a future version of his own sister. He was beaten, during Civil War I, into a coma by the same civilians he’d repeatedly risked his life defending since he was literally a child. Ben’s superpowers are a thinly-veiled metaphor for full-body disfiguration, which he struggles to cope with daily (in Mythos: Fantastic Four he actually suffered full-body burns in the accident, which later turned into the rocky skin). Ben’s brother, father, and mother all died before he hit 18. Reed suffers from chronic anxiety because of his superpowers and the effort it takes him to retain a human shape. For several months, half of his face was badly scarred by Doom, and he believed there was no cure (it took divine intervention to fix it). Sue had her mind invaded, violated, and warped by the Psycho Man. She also witnessed her future self’s murder at the hands of Doom and held her own funeral. Reed and Sue’s kids have been possessed, thrown into hell, kidnapped, and forcibly taken away by court order. The FF lose everything periodically. Every member of the FF at one point or another has been either actually dead or presumed dead, and, yes, the others grieved. Are grieving, in Ben and Johnny’s case, over the loss of their entire family. Their origin story is 100% a horror story, where they are all turned into monsters against their will by a horrible accident they are lucky to have survived at all, and it was experienced by every member of the FF as deeply traumatizing. People never understand that the FF’s celebrity is a carefully constructed shield to protect the FF from discrimination and ostracization, or that it’s only partially successful. They have been called freaks, refused housing, subjected to bigoted mob violence because they are metahumans (and Franklin is a mutant), had people refuse to associate with them, been taken in the dead of night to military prisons and studied, where they witnessed another inmate being called a freak and executed…and that barely scratches the surface of what the FF have been through.

So, again, their lives are not always – in fact, rarely ever – like something out of a storybook. The point is that they overcome difficulties and tragedy as a family, not that they never face any the way people bafflingly seem to assume. This misconception of what the FF are like very much contributes to the hatred of the most recent FF movie as “too grim and dark,” when it is actually not too far off from the comics. Most of that film’s plot was taken from Ultimate Fantastic Four, and the scenes from the military prison are, frankly, watered down, less horrifying versions of Fantastic Four: First Family and 1610/616 canon in general. The FF in the comics are fascinating. They are all complex characters with complex problems. They can at times be delightful, hopeful, and happy, but there’s an undercurrent of tragedy and horror to their story that never goes away. They took a terrible, tragic accident and made the best of it, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t tragic.

Which leads me to my second point: fandom characterizations of individual members of the FF also tend to be outdated, simplistic, and so much duller than actual canon. For the most part, they are inaccurate, pure and simple. I partially blame the 2005/7 films for misconceptions about Johnny (who is NOTHING like that in the comics) and maybe Sue, partially the tendency fandom has to whip out 30-50yo, out-of-context panels to verify their outdated characterizations, and partially the mischaracterization of the FF when they guest star in other comics (Reed gets the worst of this by far – I still get angry about what Civil War, Mighty Avengers, and New Avengers: Illuminati did to his character. It was just petty and unnecessary and OOC – I suspect the writers were intentionally making him look bad to prop up their Avenger faves, which is gross and has done a lot of damage to fan perceptions of the FF).

So, for the record, Reed is not an arrogant, selfish jackass who loves science more than his family. That is the exact opposite of who he is. It was a literal plot point during Hickman’s run, that he has to listen to his heart just as much as his mind. Reed’s entire life revolves around his family. Everything he says or does is for them. And, for the record, he’s actually shown in canon being 100% involved in his wife and kids’ lives. Family picnics, family dinners, family movie nights, date nights, romantic island getaways, reading his kids bedtime stories, putting them to bed, nightly feedings, ball games, vacationing with the family at his California summer house – for fuck’s sake, he homeschools his kids. I have a VERY hard time buying that he neglects his kids when he’s sitting in a classroom with them several hours a day, five days a week. He’s also driven by his desire to make the world a better place – i.e., he feels a great deal of sympathy for the people around him and a moral responsibility to care for their well-being. And he is not boring! He’s an explorer! He’s Mr. Adventure! He’s half Indiana Jones, half Einstein. The FF’s lives are never boring when he’s around, and they all love him for it and love the life fantastic he makes possible for them all. And Reed works hard to give them that life because he feels so deeply guilty for the space flight accident that gave them their powers, which he believes robbed them all of a chance for a normal life. (No one else holds him responsible, but that’s Reed’s thing. Taking responsibility for everyone and everything around him.)

And, I can’t believe I actually have to say this because it is one of the most ridiculous arguments fandom has ever concocted, but Reed does not now nor has he ever abused his wife and children. Even in the 1970s, he broke through some serious mind control because the thought of physically harming Sue was so repulsive to him. He would literally die for her. The panels that typically get bandied around as indicative of his abusiveness are part of a badly-written plot that necessitated Reed act like a jerk for a few moments to save his wife’s life. Is it a terrible plot? Sure. Does it mean Reed is abusive? FUCK NO. It actually means the opposite – that is framed as very unlike him in the actual comic. So. Was he sexist/dismissive of Sue at times in the beginning? Sure, but pretty much every other male superhero who has been around more than maybe two decades was the same way about women. Let’s not kid ourselves – many male heroes still are condescending to women. So if we’re dismissing Reed because of period-typical sexism from 50-30 years ago, we’ve got to hold every male superhero who’s been around, oh, more than two decades accountable the same way. What matters is that Reed’s characterization has shifted since 1961 and he’s rarely – if ever – depicted as sexist these days and consistently hasn’t been since the late 1990s, which is more than I can say about certain popular, beloved male “heroes” who regularly get taken up as feminists by fandom, despite their lengthy history of violent, abusive behavior towards women, behavior that has never been addressed and they’ve never been held accountable for (is it sad that I am thinking of two separate “heroes” when I say this? Reading the comics is important, kids, because it keeps you from doing things like that). Mostly I think we need to differentiate between period-typical sexism – which we can assume would no longer occur in a modern-day context when a sliding timescale is taken into account (i.e., a character expresses a sexist belief because it is seen as normal in the time period in which the comic was written, but once it’s updated to a modern-day context, they would no longer do so) – and virulent misogyny, which is a set character trait that does not change even if you move the story forward into modern times. Reed is the former, not the latter (he was actually, if you can believe this, considered “hen-pecked” in the 1960s). As a point of comparison, Reed nowadays is consistently depicted treating his wife as his equal if not better, while Namor’s toxic, condescending, misogynistic treatment of Sue remains very much unchanged (despite the disturbing tendency of some writers to romanticize Namor’s unhealthy obsession with Sue). So. Reed’s sexism in the 1960s was period-typical, Namor’s was and is due to his own misogyny. One changes, the other does not. And also? Reed’s wife is one of the most powerful women in the Marvel Universe, and she’s smart as hell. She doesn’t let him get away with anything, even on those very rare occasions when he tries, believe me. If he keeps a secret out of a misguided desire to “protect” her, he knows it’s only a matter of time before she figures it out, and she always, always does, sooner rather than later. (It’s hard to keep secrets from someone who can turn invisible.) But most of all, Reed and Sue are equals and partners, in every sense of the word. They are one hell of a power couple, emphasis on the “power.”

Sue isn’t a weak, passive, neglected housewife who dotes on Reed’s every word. Please stop with that. She’s a ridiculously powerful badass superhero, the COO of Fantastic Four, Inc., a dedicated philanthropist, an intrepid explorer, a part-time SHIELD agent, a skilled diplomat, the Queen of Old Atlantis, and a woman who can defeat the Avengers singlehandedly, terrify seasoned supervillains into fainting from sheer terror, and easily outsmart men who are trying to outmaneuver her politically. And she’s a very happily married woman, thank you very much, who adores her husband and considers herself his equal, and he feels the same way. He has, in fact, called her the true leader and most powerful member of the FF, and she describes him as a man who “oozes integrity” and calls her love for him “the lodestone of my being.” He’s grateful that she loves him, and says he loves her more than anything. She loves Reed and she loves that her life with him is always interesting, one adventure after another. Let me explain something that sums up Reed and Sue’s modern-day dynamic to you: bad guy does something to piss Sue off (like threatening/harming a family member), Reed makes sure other good guys keep out of the way so she can personally kick bad guy’s ass, doesn’t even question whether his wife can handle it because he knows she can, enjoys watching Sue kick the shit out of said bad guy because she’s such a badass and he’s so proud of her. This happens more than once. Reed gets captured, body swapped, mind controlled, etc.? “Not worried. I know Sue will save me, even if she has no reason to think I’m in trouble. She’ll figure it out and save me because she’s so smart and wonderful.” Sue needs to do something well-nigh impossible? “She can do it. I believe in her.” He trusts her implicitly. So. Reed is sweet and gentle as a lamb, and Sue is as fierce as a lioness. Personally, I have to say, sweet, absent-minded, unassuming scientist/husband and scary, badass, overly capable, powerful COO/queen/wife is exactly the sort of ship I love. So, hey, guys? Maybe don’t assume their marriage has the same dynamic it had 50 years ago. Because it doesn’t, and I think if you stopped to think about it for ten seconds, you would know that a sexist dynamic like that wouldn’t have survived this long.

Johnny’s not a conceited playboy/frat boy or a jock. I assure you he has never been in a frat in his life – he dropped out of college to be with his serious girlfriend – who he nearly married – not long after enrolling (…at like 19, he was already trying to get married…he just wants a family). He’s very noble, compassionate, gentle, heroic, loathes violence, and cares deeply about the greater good/helping other people. He’s very paranoid about potentially losing control and harming other people with his powers because he would literally rather die than let that happen. He’s VERY responsible and always in control when it comes to his powers, because if he’s not people die. He doesn’t like sports very much – he’s a geek who canonically loves video games, Star Wars, The Matrix, Quantum Leap, Sliders, and Buffy. He loves fashion and cars and Broadway and cooking and babies and his family and his hair. He has very low self-esteem – mostly he thinks he’s worthless without his powers and that people only like him for his looks (which is why he’s so fixated on them, btw). He wants desperately to find true love, get married, and have kids of his own, but he never manages to do it, which always negatively affects his self-esteem. He’s only ever broken up with someone ONCE in his whole life (Lyja, for excellent reasons) – his partners, on the other hand, dump him, over and over, in the most traumatizing, dismissive ways possible. He is bipolar (he’s called himself manic-depressive in 1970s FF canon, an older term for bipolar), and suffers from chronic depression. He’s also word-of-god canon queer, and his character has a pretty lengthy history of queer-coding. So, you know, maybe stop assuming he’s a straight dudebro jock when he’s very much not in the comics.

Ben, as I’ve mentioned, isn’t a happy-go-lucky guy who is just a collection of antiquated quips – he struggles constantly with his superpower/disability and the depression it causes. It took YEARS for him to work up the courage to go out in public (when not superheroing) without hiding behind a trench coat/hat combo. He thought of himself as hideous and monstrous and would frequently have angry outbursts when people reacted to him with horror or disgust. It was only his family’s unconditional love and loyalty as well as Alicia’s capacity to see the good man within that helped him, after a very long time, to accept himself. His story is one of struggling with disability and learning to love yourself again. It’s hard for him! It’s incredibly hard and he still backslides some days. Also, he’s Jewish! Why doesn’t anyone ever know that he is canonically a Jewish war hero who originally fought in WWII? He’s a fascinating, important character and I think he could resonate strongly with modern audiences.

Basically, fandom is very, very wrong about all of them. Everything about the FF that fandom thinks is “outdated” or “boring” or “unlikable” is either an invention of fandom or something it cannot move past even though canon (largely, with very few exceptions) did long ago, and thus it does not coincide with actual, modern-day canon.

Fantastic Four comics are not stuck in the 1960s. Fandom is.

#androidavenger #fantastic four #reed richards #ben grimm #susan storm #johnny storm #brief rape mention #i didn't add links for everything #but if you want to know where in canon #im getting something from #let me know #ive got the panels #fandom problems

29 notes · View notes

autistickitten · 7 years ago

Text

(added a readmore)

This is going to be long and ranty, and my Asks tend to get eaten by the piece, so I thought maybe a Submission would be better…

Anyway, I’m kind of…distraught? I’ll try to make this as brief as I can… I’ve been trapped in an abusive household my whole life. I’ve come to this blog several times for advice and venting, but now I’m at a point where I realize I don’t have to deal with it anymore. And because of that, I’m also thinking about how I can't do it anymore.

I’m the anon who has come here to ask if I was sexually abused by my older brother because I didn’t want him to run his hands down my thighs when I was eleven. I am the anon who has come here to ask about helping my younger brother after he hung himself to “prove to me that suicide isn’t pretty” (5150 anon; I did save him). My older brother continues to violate my boundaries, and gets upset when my mother tells him to not, and my father gets mad at me for denying my brother’s hugs. My younger brother is the very one who will say that he’s probably autistic while spewing the most ableist language and ideals at me (again, not saying he’s not autistic, but if he is, he’s a pretty ableist disabled person, which makes things ten times worse). I cannot repeat anything he says with mixed company because of how horrible it is (he might as well be Right Wing, ironic enough for a Latino mentally ill, possibly autistic, man). I am the anon who has come to vent about my anti-vaxxer father who shut me down when I tried to tell him that vaccines don’t cause autism, claiming that he “knew more about autism” than an autistic person, his autistic daughter.

I have put up with being told I couldn’t understand how people could be mean bigots because I was “young, naive,” God Forbid, “r*tarded.” I have been put down all my life by these men, and then berated for wanting to leave this family, this existence, because it “wasn’t the right thing to do” or “selfish.” Like, how dare I be affected by things that hurt. Why can’t I just put up with it for the good of the family?

I am also the anon who just recently came to share the love story about me and my partner, the one who loves me for me without the “despite the autism” rhetoric. We have been making plans that will be a little slow, but because we are being as practical as we can and we trust each other, I am certain that we’ll be able to pull through.

So… Just recently, something came up. There was a family gathering at my place, so pool and water guns and all that fun. Except, I started the day with a haze when I thought about how much I hate this town I have been trapped in all my life; I hate it because of all the abuse I’ve gone through here. I didn’t want to engage in the pool and water gun fun, but I joined everyone because they were expecting me. My older brother shot me with a water gun, and I just left. I was already not in the mood, so I needed to remove myself to decompress. I could hear my mother explain to him that I did not want to be shot with a water gun. The next thing I know, everyone is asking me, “Awww, what happened to him, is he okay? :(” or “Did you say something to him? Cause he’s in his room, crying.”

I will admit, I am bitter as all hell. I have cried my eyes out because of something hurtful that was said to me, by my father or one of my brothers. I have had tears fill my eyes, with no one noticing. Not even if they were right in front of me. Someone tells my brother that I don’t want to be shot with a water gun, and he goes to his room and cries. Now everyone is so concerned for him that the party fun is interrupted.

I lost it. That was the first time in a very long time I had the gall to remove myself from my own house. But as I was leaving, my cousin and father were trying to talk me out of it. My father kept saying it “wouldn’t be right.” I almost snapped at him. “You know what’s not right, is all the bullshit you’ve subjected your children to.” But I kept it to myself. My cousin asked me if I needed a moment. I told her I needed to go, lest I explode and fuck everything up. Like I always do. Because I’m so selfish.

For once in a very long time… I had a place to go. I went to my partner’s and decompressed. We watched Breaking Bad. He made sure I was okay.

When I went home like five hours later, I unloaded in my room. I saw that my older brother had left his prized novel on my computer chair and…my heart sank. I’m 24 years old, and at a point now where I’m finally saying, “I can’t do this anymore.” And he’s finally trying to say, “I’m sorry.” It hurts because I know he has nothing else he could possibly give me to tell me how sorry he is, though I’m not sure he knows exactly what he’s apologizing for. All his life, he was never told that there were consequences for violating my boundaries. It was always my fault for getting mad.

I am going to work on getting some form of employment (it’s been a while) before I go anywhere. But I may have to stay with my partner for a while.

I guess the one concern I have is… I don’t know if this is ironic or not, but what will become of my family once I’ve left. I don’t just mean to stay with my boyfriend for a while to get away from it all, but once I’ve made my own life. I’ve always thought about it growing up, but now that I actually have that option available to me–the option of finally breaking free and leaving–it’s…strange. Like it’s almost not happening, it’s just a weird dream, no this shouldn’t be happening, what happened to me caring for my family…

I’m also wondering what I could possibly say to them by the time I am ready to leave. Is there anything to say? And I tend to get a little nervous about the idea of…cutting them out of my life. While I’m kind of hoping that some distance between us will loosen the tension, I’m almost not expecting them to change for the better… I don’t know. Guess we’ll see when the time comes.

Most people reach an age when they will leave the familial home. Some people even break ties with their families, for their own good. I don’t think there’s much of substance to say besides “I’m ready to move into my own place now. I’ll see you (or I won’t.)”

It’s okay to wonder about what will become of your family after you leave ! It’s even okay to care for them. But it was never your responsability to hold the family together. You’re the child. You get to leave the nest and build your own life, on your own terms.

Hang in there and I wish you all the luck !

- Sister Cat

#Autism #Story #Actually Autistic #Submission #submission #abuse cw

8 notes · View notes