#or insisting they don't have any white privilege

[thepoisonroom]

'I flirted with the idea that instead of being trans that I was just a cross-dresser (a quirk, I thought, that could be quietly folded into an otherwise average life) and that my dysphoria was sexual in nature, and sexual only. And if my feelings were only sexual, then, I wondered, perhaps I wasn’t actually trans.

I had read about a book called The Man Who Would Be Queen, by a Northwestern University professor who believed that transwomen who were attracted to women were really confused fetishists, they wanted to be women to satisfy an autogynephilia. And though I first read about this book in the context of its debunkment and disparagement, I thought about the electricity of slipping on those tights, zipping up those boots, and a stream of guilt followed. Maybe this professor was right, and maybe I was only a fetishist. Not trans, just a misguided boy.

About a year later, on the Internet, I come across a transwoman who added a unique message to the crowd refuting this professor. Oh, I wish I remember who this woman was, and I wish even more that I could do better than paraphrase her, but I remember her saying something like this: “Well, of course I feel sexy putting on women’s clothing and having a woman’s body. If you feel comfortable in your body for the first time, won’t that probably mean it’ll be the first time you feel comfortable, too, with delighting in your body as a sexual thing?”'

-Casey Plett, Consciousness

[noperopesaredope]

"Mini" Ramble

(Sorry if this sounds like I'm targeting Europeans. I'm just talking about my experiences. Europeans, feel free to talk about this from a European POV)

One issue that I've noticed come up in regards to American race vs. European race (and honestly different places with different idea of race in general) as a half-Black African-American is how people will come to another country and not think about how they will be perceived by others in said country based on race.

Americans have long been trained to be able to generally tell what someone's race is and are often extremely observant when it comes to little features. We have a weird need to know everyone's race (don't ask why, it's an impulse at this point) and tend to use this knowledge to adjust our behavior accordingly, because again, race is very important in America.

It is one of the biggest aspects of identity for a lot of people, whether consciously or subconsciously. Race can affect your everyday interactions and experience in the world. Saying race doesn't have an impact on someone's life experience (at least in the US) is almost like saying gender doesn't have a big impact on someone's life experience.

But as I said, in the US, ethnic groups are often lumped together into broader racial categories, which isn't quite as prominent in Europe. So while someone might be considered a POC in Europe, in the US, they're just White. Thus, they are treated as White, and it can feel weird for them. It's almost like how I, as a white-passing/presenting (don't know what the correct term is anymore) half-Black person am definitely considered at least relatively black in the US (and so are many lighter Black-Americans). But in a lot of other places, I will be considered almost completely White, which can actually feel a little upsetting even if I understand why.

This can also go the other way around (though not with Europeans usually), kind of like with Trevor Noah. He is a half-Black half-White person from South Africa who was raised amongst Black folks. In South Africa, among fully Black folks, he was consider White, or at least mostly White. People referred to him as a "White boy." Fully White people would still be dicks to him, but it was kind of complicated and he had more White privilege.

But when Trevor came to the US, he was considered to basically just be a light skinned Black person. In fact, I didn't even know he was half-White until I read his autobiography/memoir. The definition of Blackness is much broader here than it is in a lot of other places (though this isn't just the case in the US). So he was a bit caught off guard to deal with American anti-Black racism, or at least had a slightly different understanding about what he could and couldn't do, as well as how he would be treated and perceived.

This is a tricky thing when it comes to different definitions of race (as well as cultural experiences as a whole). People aren't prepared for how people will perceive their racial identity in another country with a completely different idea of race or who counts as what. So we sometimes get mad when we aren't perceived the way we are used to being perceived and it feels invalidating at times. Thus, I think people also need to emotionally prepare for/be understanding if people from different countries and different cultures perceive them as a certain way.

They aren't trying to be too invalidating, they just have a very different concept of race than you. That's why some of these posts by Europeans talking about how Americans think they are White (or shouting at non-Europeans in general for calling them White) kind of annoy me to a certain degree. I am half-Black and it is important to my identity, but if someone from a majority Black country where most people have a much darker skin tone calls me White, I probably won't be that mad. I only really get mad when other Americans call me White or not Black, because we grew up in the same country with a similar understanding of race and I will deal with some of the struggles they will due to my Blackness. But non-Americans? I'll usually let it slide.

I get it, it can feel shitty to have your identity invalidated. This issues you face within the place you grew up in are valid, and to be considered a certain way can feel like your struggles are being dismissed. But that's what happens with cultural differences, and you need to be prepared for that. Just stay calm, explain how you feel and identify, and maintain patience if someone doesn't fully understand.

Hot Take: When it comes to the topic of race and racism as a whole, Europeans and Americans need to have separate conversations from each other.

(Explanation in this reblog)

[fabiansociety]

there's been a post going around in the last several days about how leftists need to stop demonizing men, and particularly young men, if they want to deradicalize them, and i honestly have no idea what the heck they're talking about. there are a ton of men in leftist spaces — a disproportionately large number of men in a lot of them. a lot of leftist movements aren't just skewed male, they're fairly aggressive towards even basic sorts of gender demography or timekeeping.

but even leaving that aside, i don't think i've seen any leftists bag on men as a class? on the patriarchy, sure, on toxic masculinity, absolutely, inasmuch as people talk about men at all, but criticizing the patriarchy or toxic masculinity isn't criticizing men, no matter how much MRAs and incels and the antifeminist crowd try to frame it that way. i'm deeply suspicious of people who frame calls for basic dignity for women, for queer people, for trans and intersex people, as attacks on men; that doesn't speak to a willingness to actually listen.

i think we really do need to acknowledge that many men are in favor of male supremacy, and vote accordingly, the same way that many white people are in favor of white supremacy and vote accordingly. they may not phrase it in those specific terms, but that's the effect of their choices. and those choices are rational enough: there's a big percentage of the country that is willing to accept increasingly severe income inequality rather than lose the privileges their race and gender accord them, because those privileges are concrete and economic.

this isn't to say this is inherent to men: male supremacy and white supremacy are both philosophies that are constantly and insistently propagandized. but whether you frame your concerns harshly or gently, it's not the tone that ultimately matters. there are lots of people who experience any criticism, no matter how mild or general, as an existential attack on their personal identity.

i don't know what you do with that, i really don't. but it's not just or even primarily a matter of tone. people choose systems of power.

[traegorn]

what's ridiculous to me (as a brown, queer woman, first gen, whose family is from the global south, a place these people claim to care about) is how people keep framing anyone who is afraid of trump as a white liberal, because that's the only way to justify their argument. they don't want to reckon with the difficult situation of hating what's going on in gaza but also hating what trump has said he will do here. they insist that anyone who's afraid of trump is "fearmongering" because we "survived" his first term. they assume his second term would be exactly the same as his first, no worse, even though trump and those around him have said they plan to be much more efficient and much more violent this time around.

they talk about mass deportation and that is terrifying, when your family is full of immigrants. but that's not a narrative these (often white) terminally online leftists can deal with so they flatten anyone who's saying to vote anyway because trump is dangerous into a "white liberal", conveniently ignoring the harm that would be done to poc if he comes back into power. me and my family don't have the privilege of pretending he's not that bad, because we'll actually be affected if he wins again.

It's in part because these are largely "online leftists" who don't do any real activism beyond complain online. They're like the douchebags I knew twenty years ago who'd smoke cloves outside the coffee shop talking about theory or the revolution, but do nothing when it comes down to it beyond sit at home on election day.

And that's not actual leftism.

I'm a leftist. I know plenty of actual leftists in real life. Who organize. Who do mutual aid. Who get involved in local government to make a difference. And every single one of them is voting Harris this election. Not because they like her, but because they know they can't move their cause further under a Trump presidency.

Because real, actual political action involves making pragmatic moves. Working towards collective good means putting your own ego aside and doing what you can when you can.

People forget that back in 2016 we were fighting for a better minimum wage and universal healthcare. Instead now we're fighting for female bodied people's rights to autonomy. We went backwards because of Trump's first term, and I'm tired of self important jackasses pretending like we didn't.

These folks don't realize how worse shit can get.

Because if Trump wins again, it's going to.

[lucysarah-c]

—

A little sneak peak from the Arranged marriage Omegaverse Alpha! Levi x Omega! Reader fic I've been working on!

Let me know what you think as I had been writing some chapters and so far this is one of my favourite scenes.

—

The pressure that his fingers applied to the bridge of his nose was so strong that the pain of it overcame the migraine. Strong footsteps echoed in the corridors as cadets moved aside to make way. Since the Scouts were almost wiped out, more and more people had been joining their ranks, and Levi was not enjoying the crowded halls.

"The day I decide to call all this shit off, I'd like to see them surviving without me," Levi thought, clenching his teeth. The stress was taking a toll on him lately. The military was expanding so much, particularly the Scouts, and they simply lacked soldiers in higher positions to handle everything from mundane tasks like organizing lines to making highly important decisions regarding the Marley issue.

Swinging the door of his chambers open, his eyes fell on her. She was looking out of the window, book in hand and cat on lap, dying of boredom as if she were either waiting for rescue or for her death. His grimace was a mix of empathy and annoyance. He had insisted at least five times that she could help in the kitchen, sew uniforms, or work in the laundry room. All his proposals had fallen on deaf ears. Yes, he pitied her, closed up in his office all day and night with nothing better to do. But her privileged upbringing, which made her repulse the idea of helping with anything related to housework, rubbed him the wrong way.

And the horrendous day he was having, having to listen to all of Zeke’s demands from the other side of the damn world, was simply not helping. Slamming the door shut made her turn and look at him.

"Pack your stuff, we're moving," he spat out, already moving to his room to gather the few belongings he actually had. He threw the black trousers of his uniform out of the drawers onto the bed to pack them, regretting the decision as soon as he saw his immaculate, perfectly washed trousers covered in cat hair.

"Moving? Moving where?" Y/N jumped from her place at the window and followed him, excited. Her eyes shone brightly, feeling her prayers had been answered.

Eyes shut as tight as his clenched teeth, he took a deep breath in and out. He was fond of animals, and the white Persian cat was lovely, but the fur was something he wasn’t getting used to easily, and it just added to his day.

"Where are we moving?" she insisted, not sensing his lack of patience. "Are we finally moving to the Capital facility?"

Levi, trying to find any remaining good mood inside him, turned to his side and raised an eyebrow. "No," he said, "To the south."

The excitement dropped substantially, and she frowned at him. "We ARE in the south."

That made Levi quickly realize this was not going to be a quick and easy conversation. "No, we are in Wall Rose."

"I'm not moving to Shiganshina," she said, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together, and her voice raising.

Levi sighed as he folded one uniform. "Lucky for you," he said, each word dripping with his remaining patience, "we're not going there."

"Then… where?"

Levi knew he should have delivered the news more gently, but he had no time to spare and no energy left to deal with her lately. "South, we're setting up a camp next to the coast. Construction has already taken place, so we'll have a room. Pack your stuff; we're leaving by horse to arrive sooner and organize everything. The luggage will be taken by carts that will probably take a week to reach."

"What?—NO!" she quickly complained, her voice filled more with tears than anger. "I don't want to go to the end of the shitty world!"

"The soldiers from Marley are already arriving, and we need to be there to make sure everything evolves as planned—"

"Aren't you listening to me?!" She screamed loudly enough for Levi to close his eyes at how it reverberated in his ears, only fueling his headache. "I'm NOT moving there. We will be in the middle of nowhere; there’s no communication with the walls. I want to be closer to my friends and family, not there."

The air began to fill with her scent, demanding she wasn’t submitting. Challenging him, and Levi felt how each breath he took through his nose was tinged with it. He had no good temper left, and her insistence on asserting dominance was the final straw. Her even daring to assert dominance over him. Her, the omega the government had saddled him with.

Turning to his right, his piercing eyes locked onto her. "Don’t," Levi ordered, his own pheromones mixing with hers and warning her. The stare of a high-breed alpha, his own body warning her that fighting with him was a bad idea. Maybe it was because he had been hearing demands from Marley soldiers and allies all day long, people challenging his authority. But Levi wasn’t going to allow an omega to step on his dominance. He had been, in his opinion, more than good and patient with her—probably more than any other alpha would have been. He wasn’t one to use his stare to force omegas to do what he wanted, but he was having none of it.

Lips trembling, fists clenching, deep frown, and her eyes struggling to keep eye contact. Fighting against her own biology, she could feel how each fiber of her body trembled in trying to maintain the resistance. Eventually, she couldn’t keep it up and looked to the side, breaking the stare and lowering her head in submission.

A long sigh left his nose as his demand withdrew once she ceased the claim. “Pack your stuff,” he ordered, lowering his voice sensing that the rebellion was over.

But it hardly was. “I’m not going. I’ll move in with my parents. I’m not going to some rotten, muddy camp in the middle of nowhere.”

Levi shook his head. “You’re coming because that’s the arrangement between your parents and the military board. So pack, and that's the end of the deal.”

“No! I don’t want to go, I’m not going to pack!”

“NO! NO! NO! NO!”

Her complaints echoed in his head as the headache pounded against his skull, his teeth clenching so hard he was even showing them. “ENOUGH!” His hand slammed against the drawer, the loudness of it ceasing all noise. The room fell silent, and the scared cat ran to hide under the bed.

Levi finally turned to fully face her. “We are going to do this whether you like it or not,” his voice harsh and leaving no room for interruptions. “It can be the easy way or the hard way.”

Raising his hand in the air, showing three fingers. “I have a meeting, and in three hours I’ll come back and pick you up. Either you pack and get ready for when I return, or you don’t pack and not only will you be in a shitty, muddy camp at the end of the world stuck with me, but you’ll do it without any of your fancy stuff. And I warn you, there are no stores there.”

As he left the room with the same urgency he came in, he said, “You choose!”

But as the door was slamming shut, a cadet interrupted him. “Ehm… Captain?” The tremble in the kid’s voice indicated he sensed the environment was not conducive to another demand. “Commander Hange needs a signature?”

“Fuck off!”

[spacelazarwolf]

sometimes when talking to cis white women i’m just like. completely floored by what a warped perception of privilege and oppression they have. i was talking to a white cis woman i’d just met, right after the emergency order went public in missouri restricting gender affirming care for trans missourians of all ages, and we were just casually talking about clothes. i mentioned that i often have a hard time finding men’s clothes that fit, and she responded “well at least you have the privilege of pockets now.” i laughed, thinking she was joking, but instead she doubled down and insisted that having larger pockets in my pants was a legitimate societal privilege because it meant i didn't have to spend money on purses. and again, this was after the missouri attorney general had pushed through emergency legislation targeting trans missourians, legislation that will absolutely kill trans people.

i've also had cis white women tell me i'm privileged because apparently they thought that as a trans man all i'd have to do to get sterilized is just say 'pretty please' and any doctor would immediately approve a hysterectomy. they told me that "cis women have to fight for the right to have sterilization surgery, but trans men don't because it'll just get covered under gender affirming care." which is just so absolutely fucking wild on so many levels. 1. trans men do regularly have to fight for the right to get sterilized, and our fertility is frequently used as an excuse not to provide us any sort of gender affirming care at all. it's one of the most common arguments republicans all over the country have been using in order to ban gender affirming care. 2. it's incredibly common for sterilization to be pushed onto people of color and disabled people, and even some trans people.

and idk i feel like that very much contributes to this attitude among cis queer women that trans men just have it so easy, because their perception of oppression is based entirely in their experience as a cis white woman, so if someone doesn't experience oppression exactly like they do then clearly they're not experiencing Real Oppression. idk it's just wild.

[jewish-vents]

I lost my best friend of 25 years over this conflict. She was being purposely cagey about it because she didn't want to lose me, and knew she would. On the 7th itself when I turned to my best friend to help me through my grief and terror she just said "I'm not the right person to discuss this with. I'm getting on a plane. Can't talk. Bye."

And she left me to burn

I probably should have known it then. She told me she didn't want to talk about it because I might think she's antisemitic, as that's the pressing thing when the world just declared it's intent to hunt and kill me in horrible ways.

"I can't relate but I support you, but please don't talk about it with me."

How is that support?

And how could I talk about anything else?

And then she changes the subject to someone saying something minor to her at work which set her into a crying fit, because she makes it a priority to tell me she bursts into tears 4 times a day every day so I can't ever have too strong of a negative emotion or it will set her off.

And then she told me she loves me but she can't say she likes Jews because "I haven't met all the other Jews." As though she'd ever say that to a Black friend about their entire people. She is the Most Progressive, you see, she is Very Aware Of Her White Privilege and stuff. She works with immigrants and would sooner jump off a bridge than give off a whiff of bigotry towards them.

But I'm a Jew.

She finally tells me she doesn't support Israeli striking back because there's children being hit. She hasn't seen any evidence to justify Israel's response. I ask to show her some. She refuses. You see she gets to have her uninformed opinion, gets the luxury of staying that way, she can just change the subject, I'm The Jew, that's my Jewish business.

My pain has always been her concern but not when it's Jew-related. I'm to hide that lest she burst into tears.

I gradually stop talking to her. She sends me anxious messages saying "I'm not sure if I can even ask how you are or if that's any of my business"

This from the woman who purposely made it not her business, DEMANDED it not be her business, and now she sniffing around like a hungry dog after telling me to just ignore it, that it's just online, that I should **uwu** watch my cortisol **uwu**

You need cortisol, I say, when you're being hunted. Sometimes cortisol is called for. She starts crying. How could I say that. She can't talk about this. It's too much for her. My cortisol is just too much for her. So now I have to shut up, because she's crying.

No one hunting her but she's crying

It felt like she was just hoping to wait around, have her private antisemitism, like she could hide her eyes from me, like I couldn't read her judging silence and her quiet insistence that though she admittedly knew nothing she certainly knew better than ME what was right. And if we get close, boom. Tears.

I felt so talked down to and invalidated. When I brought this up she said "I validate you" like that's a magic spell, you can just say the magic words AND that will cure neglect.

I finally blew up at her and of course there was big manipulative tears because how DARE I think she might have bigotry and how DARE I draw away from her after she made it clear she had no interest in my pain, after she tried so so so hard to hide it and used all the gentle parenting language she learned in her DEI courses to placate me, the Hysterical Jew.

I will always hate myself for apologizing to her for being angry, for my big violent emotions she would have preferred to ignore until I get over my weird Jewish thing, so I can get back to being the person she can subtly look down on and be holier than, and so she can cry to me, and cry, and cry, and cry, because someone gave her a minor correction at work and not because she's being hunted for being a Jew.

We should be able to disagree about politics, she says. We can't disagree about my existence and basic safety, I say. You don't deserve to be bathed in hate, get offline, she says.

They vandalized my synagogue. They attacked my friend's daughter on campus. That's awful, she says. I don't support that. Anyway, at work today -

We don't talk anymore. Haven't for months. Don't know if we ever will again. I've been angry at her every day. I feel like I let her get away with it. She gets to go out into the world feeling like she's right and Israel is evil and she used to have a Jewish friend who turned out to be craaaazy, it's terrible what Zionism does to those people. I'm sure she'll get clout at her super leftist workplace where she can never be progressive enough. Where she helps put DEI policies in schools and libraries that treat antisemitism as though it's a non-problem.

I'm just another oppressor-class Jew to her. Couldn't center her over my Jew Issues

I'm so angry at her and so angry at myself for not handling it better, for holding back, for indulging her crocodile tears and handling her with kid gloves, for not calling her out for manipulating me into muting my truth and thinking I'm so dumb that she could just refuse to address it, like I wouldn't know, for expecting me to just "get over" my people being slaughtered, for needing her and then sticking around long after she left me to die

.

[randoimago]

could you write shinjiro, akihiko, mitsuru and maybe kotone with a fem s/o thats introverted, but loves listening to music with them?

have a good day / evening!

Fandom: Persona 3

Character(s): Akihiko Sanda, Kotone Shiomi, Mitsuru Kirijo, Shinjiro Aragaki

Note(s): Ngl, just chilling out and listening to music sounds like a fantastic date imo. You have a good day / evening too!!

Akihiko

Immediately by your side when he sees that you're uncomfortable. Akihiko is kind of a mix of being social and preferring to stick to those he's close to.

But he'll gladly step in and straight up let the other person know you're uncomfortable (he does say it politely, but he's also blunt).

Akihiko has had you in the same room as him while he's trained with his weights or punching bag. Music plays in the background as he works out and you hang out on his bed. It's honestly a very nice dynamic you both have.

Of course, he doesn't want you feeling neglected either so there are times when he'll lay with you on his bed (and he gets flustered every time) and share earbuds as you both listen to whatever music you choose.

Kotone

She's definitely more upbeat and bubbly (and chaotic) so she's happy to step in and take charge of any scary social situation you might have found yourself in.

Will subtly assert herself in the conversation and send you a small wink before she changes the subject to focus on her or the other person.

Kotone absolutely loves just hanging out in her dorm room and listening to music together. No headphones needed as she has her ipod playing as you both lay on her bed.

You two don't even need to talk as the music is playing. Of course, now and then she does decide to have a bit of fun and pull you up to dance chaotically with you. Who cares if you feel/look like an idiot? It's fun!

Mitsuru

Mitsuru is a natural leader and easily has the attention go to her so you don't have to deal with social situations. She's very polite as she makes an excuse and leads you both away from the situation.

She mostly listens to classical music so being able to hang out in your room (she insists of it being your room because hers is boring in her eyes) and listening to your music makes her happy.

Mitsuru has found that she enjoys music playing in the background while studying. The white noise is nice and not nearly as distracting as she initially thought it'd be.

So there are many study dates between you both where music is playing in the background.

Shinjiro

Scary dog privileged. You're in a situation that makes you uncomfortable? He's there to scare away whoever is causing that discomfort. Even if they're doing it unknowingly, he's not going to let you deal with it yourself.

Shinjiro is also not really a social person. He has a small group of people he likes. Really does rely on being intimidating so you both can have some space.

He's not the most verse in music so he lets you choose as he hangs out with you while music plays in the background.

Sharing earbuds would cause him to be too flustered, so he prefers the speakers to just play music in the background for you both.

Taglists: @reo-the-leo

[my-mt-heart]

Norman Reedus says that “when you become a leading man on a thing, there are certain leading man things you do."

Sure, but if a leading man actually wants to be respected as a leader, there are certain things a leading man should and should not do.

What a leading man should do...

Have his character’s best interest at heart

Respect the aspects of his character that his fans watch for

Handle different opinions and constructive criticism professionally

Be an ally for his female costars who aren’t “entitled” to the same privileges that white male stars are, especially for the female costar and EP who has been involved with the show/franchise as long as he has

Value that female costar’s opinions, listen to her, raise her up, treat her as his equal, and make sure the other men in power are doing the same.

Support change when something or someone is getting in the way of all of the above

What a leading man should not do…

Approve and/or insist on drastic changes to his character, his character's history, and his character's relationships to better fit a personal agenda

Shift blame to everybody else around him, including his female costar who had nothing to do with certain bad decisions, instead of taking responsibility for them himself

Mock his fans who only ever wanted a good story for their favorite characters and have been trying to voice their concerns in good faith for almost three years

Compete with his female costar using the Gimple method, sabotaging her storyline, sidelining her, letting her scenes get cut, stealing her signature weapon, etc.

Claim the title of the show and top billing for himself when he knows and maybe because his female costar and EP who has been involved with the franchise/show as long as he has is coming back

Co-conspire with the other men in power while keeping the only female EP in the dark on decisions they don't want her to weigh in on

Let the other men in power dismiss what the only woman in power has to say

Double, triple, and quadruple down on bad decisions, bad writing, and bad writers despite wave after wave of backlash

Repeatedly change the narrative in interviews as though he assumes the audience is stupid and can't tell when he's lying

Keep the damage control rolling out instead of pushing for positive change behind the scenes

Becoming a leading man is negotiated between an actor's team and the studio. Becoming a leader is a choice that the actor gets to make himself. Norman didn't make that choice, and a lot of people got hurt because of it. I'm done giving him the benefit of the doubt, but it's not too late for him to course correct. I hope he will because I don't see the show getting any better in the meantime.

[horizon-verizon]

"That and Jace came from TWO Valyrian lineages (officially) and if Harwin was is father, he has little-to-no Northern "blood"." Exactly! House Strong does have roots in the First Men, but they've mixed with several other houses over the generations, so at best, they’re distant cousins to the Starks. Still, people keep insisting about the Strongs being the "Wolves of the Riverlands," as if that somehow makes Jace and Cregan proper close kin. That likely comes from Jace reminding Cregan of his younger brother and people pushing the idea that Jon is the only other Targaryen ever mistaken for a Stark 🙄. I see some fans latch to Mushroom’s tale, where Jace supposedly falls for a “wolf girl” and leaves dragon eggs at Winterfell, insisting that adding Sara Snow to the show would have made Jace’s character less “boring.” I'm still confused about this take because she was only mentioned twice in the book. Feels more like trying to force an “Ice and Fire” parallel here. It’s a recent thing, probably because Jon Snow fans weren’t exactly thrilled with Daemon’s vision implying Jon might not be the prince that was promised. It’s like they’re clutching at any connection they can find—Jace is a “bastard,” Jon is a “bastard,” "Sara Snow is a bastard"—so suddenly, Jace and Sara Snow become the new Rhaegar and Lyanna. Valyrian and First Men, an oath sealed in blood. So...yeah

Anon's quoting what I said in this post.

They see Jacela and Jace himself as "boring" bc they are pretty close to a "perfect" couple and people as you can get in this world, and some feel they and what I said comes mainly from the class privilege that allows them to be so. Jace having an affair with some random Snow-Stark girl feels very age-appropriate, "real love" Rhaegar-Lyanna to some as you mentioned, too, as a fantasy-of-appeal, esp when Baela is part of the "mad" Targs and is thus "tainted". Finally, for most, as Baela's black in the show and Black girls can't have nice things, Jace should be with a white bastard everyday-next-door neighbor girl (for all our self inserting queens, esp bc apparently it's impossible for white people to self insert or relate and feel "kin" with black characters the way PoC and Black readers/watchers have always been able to with white characters).

Dragons don't like the cold and they don't go underground for shelter. As George said in his blogpost abt dragons, they like high places and not to travel very far from their territories, hence the volcanoes of Old Valyria and on Dragonstone. It seems unlikely to me that there are damn dragon eggs at Winterfell, no not even with the hot springs warmed by probable magma there.

[justrainandcoffee]

Against all odds (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) 2x04

Crossover Peaky Blinders - Hunger Games

• First part masterlist - Second Part masterlist → 2x01 2x02 2x03

Summary: Two months ago, Rose promised Alfie she was going to be with him in District 13, after sabotaging the Quarter Quell, but it wasn't possible. Maybe it took her longer than she expected but she's ready to fulfill her promise no matter how. || The day that Aveline Young, leader of the rebels in District 11, decided to save Rose's life, it was the moment that changed the course of many lives forever. || Cyril, whose journey started way before the rest, plays an important role.|| Allie is here.

Warnings: Descriptions of murder. Mentions of death, sexual abuse. || Fluff... Finally.

Words: 4k.

Two months earlier.

In her nightmares Rose sees the woman she killed. She never thought she would kill someone, but she was wrong. No, she didn't regret it, but that didn't mean her nightmares wouldn't haunt her for the rest of her life.

She knew now what Alfie felt the moment she stepped into the frozen forest. The cold through her shoes, the freezing fingertips, the pain of breathing... And she was only there for an hour, but it was enough to make her never want to be there again. The woman is kneeling in the snow and shivering. More from the cold than from fear because she insists that nothing she did was forcing Alfie. "He wanted to. He loved me." And Rose feels like she wants to vomit. The old woman doesn't know of the psychological damage she caused on him. Of the years she, Rose, and Alfie had to wait until he was ready to be with a woman again.

It was never consensual. It was never love. And just as Alfie had finally accepted that he was the victim of rape, Rose finally screams in the woman's face that she was nothing but a rapist.

The word is not funny to the lady. It is demeaning. She is not one of those because she is a well-educated woman who only sought the company of a few victors because it was a privilege. And she always gave them food and nice clothes. Some even received jewellery.

"He was 17!" Rose yells at her. The whole of Panem is watching, but Rose isn't aware of that. "You were over 50! You bitch! You raped him!"

"You also paid money to be with him!"

"After asking him if he wanted to, because we needed, we deserved more time together! Don't you dare compare me to you when I saw better than anyone the damage you caused him. Don't you dare!"

There is no cornucopia in any of the three Arenas because Rose and the Golds weren't going to allow any of the pedophiles to have anything to get out of there alive, so Rose has no weapon to finish the woman off. But if there's one thing the terrain has, it's sharp rocks polished by snow and ice. And a rock is what Rose grabs. It's amazing how much adrenaline and hatred can do to a person. The victim is over 80 years old but there is no compassion in the younger woman when for the first time the rock hits the old woman's skull. Why should she have compassion for someone who for decades made dozens of young boys and men suffer? But it is especially for Alfie. Rose is crying as the rock hits the woman's head again and again and blood begins to splatter everywhere, even on Rose herself. And she can't stop crying because in her mind is Alfie's look of hatred the first time he looked at Rose, that utter contempt for the empty people of the Capitol who enjoyed watching children kill each other. She cries because she remembers the moment when Alfie confessed to her that he too had been a victim of the upper class, that closed circle that only a handful of people had access to. She cries because of the disgust she felt when she met the woman who now lies limp in a river of blood.

When her mind comes to, she sees the result of her rage. The crushed skull, blood and brains scattered everywhere covering the white snow. Rose doesn't know when she dropped the rock. But she does notice the unmistakable sound of the hovercraft. It's time to go to District 13 and finally meet Alfie.

It's her own scream that wakes her up. That's neither the hovercraft nor District 13. The reality-based nightmare disappears and the fear of the unknown makes her come to her senses and look around. It is what appears to be a humble house with stone walls. There is a yellow curtain that moves in the wind and Rose smells soup. The bed she is lying on has a blanket printed with butterflies. There is a little girl beside her, probably about 10 or 12 years old. She has black skin and curly hair, but Rose doesn't know her. Or worse, Rose has no idea where she is.

"Don't be scared, ma'am," the girl says. "This is a safe place."

"Where am I? Who are you?"

"Welcome to district 11, ma'am! I'm Rue. Aveline, she let me stay. She's out, taking care of other people. We have too many sick people and not enough medicine. We are experimenting with herbs and some men have gone to neighbouring districts on foot to exchange things for medicine. I know it sounds awful because you've just woken up, but on the good news side the sun has finally come out after days of rain and you've finally woken up."

Rue's childish but mischievous smile makes Rose smile.

"District 11. How did I get here? I don't remember anything."

"No wonder," Rue says. "The ship you were on landed in flames. The people who live on the edge of District 11, they saw the whole thing. How the Capitol's hovercraft shot at yours and how it went down like a meteor. Aveline was nearby talking to the rebels living on the borders and it was purely by chance. They didn't expect to see anyone alive, yet when they got there they saw that you were alive. She pulled you out of the flames. Barely alive, but still alive."

"No one else survived?"

"No, sorry."

Rose can't help but think it's her fault Tina and the pilot are dead. The last thing she remembers is getting into the hovercraft that had come back for her and she remembers running away. There are no images in her mind of the crash, let alone the gunshots Rue talks about.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Rose says to the girl with a soft smile. Rue announces that she will go to the kitchen to get food because the woman hasn't eaten for days. And it is exactly the word ‘days’ that catches her attention. Rose thinks she's been there for a couple of hours. Maybe a night, but not days. The answer Rue gives her when she asks how long it's been brings her completely back to reality.

"A week."

_

Aveline arrived at the house where Rose is in the district at dusk. Smelling of fire and looking tired, Aveline yjhhfgcc,found the younger woman sitting on the bed with her back against the wall and Rue at her feet, talking animatedly. That girl was a treasure in the midst of the chaos that was life after the Quarter Quell.

"Finally awake," she said setting the backpack she carried aside and her sword as well.

"Rose has already eaten," Rue announced with a smile.

"You're a good nurse, Rue. Thank you so much for helping me, you can go to sleep now."

"Alright, good night."

And as if she hadn't been awake since dawn, the girl ran out to her house where her mother and younger siblings were waiting for her.

"How are you?" Aveline asked as she closed the bedroom curtains.

"My head hurts, but thanks to the food Rue made me, I feel better."

"That your head only hurts after the accident is a fucking miracle. Do you know how lucky you are?" Aveline sat down in the chair next to the bed. "I'm going to die without understanding how you survived."

"I don't have an answer for that. I don't remember anything about the accident. Rue told me about fire, gunshots, the hovercraft falling... but I don't remember."

"The trauma possibly caused amnesia. Or it's your own brain protecting you from the memory of the accident."

"Well, it doesn't do a very good job of protecting me from nightmares."

Aveline looked at her and snorted with resignation. "You're going to have to learn to live with that. They never go away."

"I know. Not for me, but for him. Aveline, Alfie...him? The games... Alfie survived?"

The black woman nodded. It wasn't worth telling her yet about how an arrow shot by Tommy Shelby ended up sticking in his eye. Aveline watched the sequence on television. From her friend fighting Gloss to the moment Alfie fell to his knees, bleeding.

The sound of the cannon.

But Aveline refused to believe he was dead. The hovercraft had arrived faster than they usually did to rescue the bodies of the fallen. Something told her that this was a rebel ship.

"Really?" asked Rose looking up at her with teary eyes, "Alfie is okay?"

For a lot of years, from the time Rose started working as a stylist to the time Nina won her games when Aveline believed Rose was just having fun with Alfie. Perhaps humiliating him behind his back with Lawrence Evert. No matter that Alfie defended Rose even to the point of jeopardising his friendship with other champions, for Aveline the love Alfie professed for this girl could not be real. Until she saw with her own eyes how she looked at him. There was no way she was faking that. Then she saw them interact two years ago when Rose took her home to the Capitol and they first talked about the rebellion. The two loved each other and Aveline knew she had been wrong all that time and had already apologized for it.

And if there was any doubt left for Aveline Young, that had vanished when it came to the 76th Hunger Games, organised by Rose. The woman had even killed for him, in the most literal sense of the word.

"Of course, it's all right. Alfie's the toughest guy I know. You need to rest, Rose, and get your strength back. Then we'll see what to do and how we get to district 13. But it won't be today."

In other circumstances and with someone else in front of her, maybe she would have argued. But not with Aveline Young in charge of the district where she was stranded. Without any obligation on her part, Young had managed to rescue her from a burning ship and had managed to keep her alive against all expectations. So Rose just nodded and settled back into bed again.

It would be two and a half more weeks before Rose's body would be ready to leave for wherever she wanted to go. There was no way anyone would know she was in that district because Aveline forced everyone to keep it a secret. There was no way the Capitol should know because not only were they harbouring one of the heads of the rebellion, but if they knew, they were going to wipe it all out like what was said to have happened in district 12.

District 11 really put her at ease. She hadn't remembered that friendliness since she was young and lived in the 8th. The people were warm and friendly. Rue and her family were among the first to help her out of bed and get her strength back. By day Rose helped them with the sick and even, in darker moments, she also helped burn the dead that hunger and deadly diseases took from this world. At night, if possible, some villagers would build a fire and gather to eat by the warmth of the fire. Sometimes they would even sing and allow themselves to laugh, forgetting for an hour or two the sorrows that war brought with it.

But Aveline and Rose, now friends and allies, knew it was only a matter of time before it was over.

After a month in the 11th district, Rose could wait no longer and told the other woman she wanted to leave. She still had no memory of the accident, and the nightmares were already a part of her. The image of the old lady's blood haunted her, but she had to move on and there was no way to do it from there.

It was a Thursday at dawn when Aveline Young and Rose Coldwell set out on foot for the 13th. In the 11th district, Aveline's friend and one of her most loyal men, and of course, Rue, were left in charge. They promised to guard that place as well as she did, and Aveline knew it was true.

It was a long journey and they knew it was not easy, but there was no way to cross from one district to another except on foot. Reaching the border between 11 and 12 was the easiest because everyone in the land of agriculture was willing to help their leader. From the point where Aveline lived to the beginning of the next district took less than a week. They received help from the villagers because everyone seemed willing to help Young.

But once they crossed over into 12, both women were alone.

The silence all around was overwhelming. The mockingjays, usually repeating human sounds like a song or words, were either silent or imitating the sounds of animals.

It was still summer, the middle of August, but inevitably the days were getting shorter and that was noticeable as the sun was beginning to set shortly after 6pm. Even further into the forest.

District 12 was enemy land. More than once the two saw Capitol hovercrafts flying overhead, guarding the forest. But in that area, everything was so thick that the trees protected them.

Rose knew the journey was going to be hard, but hard was too mild a word to describe it. Aveline might be about 12 years older than she was, but she was in better physical condition than Rose would ever be. Once they lost two days' progress because Rose simply couldn't go on. They slept against some trees and didn't move from there until she felt better.

They carried food in tins in their packs, but that was getting scarce too, so Aveline was the one who did the hunting. The truth was that if it hadn't been for her, Rose wouldn't have got far.

It would have been so easy and quick to give herself up to death there. It was a simple and painless solution, but if she didn't do it, it was for Alfie. Only for him. In July she promised to see him the following week. It was now six weeks since they had last seen each other.

.

The two women had been walking for 25 days now. Two days earlier they had heard a new hovercraft and the next morning they saw the body of a very young woman lying by a stream. She had clearly been shot while running away.

They had no tools with which to bury her, so the most humane thing they could do was to cover her with leaves and earth. It wasn't a grave, but at least it looked like one. Setting a fire and burning it was out of the question because if the Capitol still had ships there, they would see the smoke and it would be game over for them too.

Past noon on the morning they buried the woman, Aveline was hunting and Rose was tending to their packs when something caught her attention. The mockingjays were repeating the sound of barking. Loud and clear, too clear to come from far away.

If the rumours about the district 12 no longer existing were true, then it was only natural that there would be dogs running loose in the woods looking for food. And that would have been the most logical answer, except that shortly after hearing the mockingjays, Rose saw with her own eyes a large dog barking in her direction, but not in a threatening way. But as if calling for help.

Oh, if only Cyril could talk. He had been walking a lot longer than the women. But he was where he needed to be. At last. Now he just needed her, Rose, to listen to him.

Every bark was a "follow me, please."

The dog's body language was clear and Rose knew that animals somehow always made themselves understood. And this one was urgently calling for someone to follow him.

If Aveline came back before her and saw she was gone, and if, moreover, she knew it had gone after a dog, Rose was going to have to put up with her friend's reprimand. But it was only to see what happened to the dog, that was all.

The distance was short, no less than ten minutes from where she and Aveline had stopped to rest for food and sleep, there was a cave. Rose saw the dog enter and it was then that she saw her for the first time. Wrapped in a blanket and hugging herself, a little girl slept. Rose saw the dog lie down next to her and keep her warm.

"Sweetheart," Rose put a hand on the girl's body and noticed that she wasn't as cold as she thought she would be from sleeping on the stone. "Sweet girl, wake up."

In the middle of a forest muddy from the recent rains, with temperatures dropping faster than they imagined, enemies flying overhead and Cyril as the only witness; Rose and Allie met eyes for the first time.

Convincing the other woman to follow him was not as easy to do as it was with Rose. But Cyril managed to do it, even if he had waited there for more than an hour.

When Aveline returned to the place where Rose was supposed to be, she wasn't there. Neither was her backpack, but there was that brown dog staring at her and begging to go after him. No matter how many times she told him no, he wouldn't leave. Finally she agreed. Perhaps, Aveline thought, Rose had gone after the dog too.

Sure enough, there she was in the shelter of a cave with a little girl sleeping against his body. As Aveline's brain processed the image, she ran to crouch beside her.

"Her name is Allie. She's three years old and she's looking for her mother," Rose said as Aveline put a hand on the girl's head to see if she was real.

"Do you think...?" There was no need to continue the sentence. They both knew that the corpse of the woman they had seen the day before was Allie's mother. "Poor little thing."

Cyril had laid down in front of the two women and not long after, he finally fell asleep as well. His mission was over.

"He kept her warm. But I don't know how much time passed, Avie. The girl ate two of my tin cans before she fell asleep. You should see her when she's awake, she's beautiful. She's really adorable."

"Poor little girl, but so is the mother. They were obviously heading towards 13. They were really close to getting there, Rose. We can't be more than a week away. Five days, maybe."

Only five days and Dorothy Brown would have made it.

.

Allie awoke hours later to the warmth of the fire Aveline had lit. Beside her she saw the woman who had found her and said her name was Rose and another one she didn't know. Both were asleep, but Rose was holding Allie in her arms.

The girl touched Rose's hair and face with her small hands and watched her sleep. She was full of fear when she was left alone. Her mother was gone and she was hungry. She didn't know this place and she didn't know where they were going. She missed her home and her friends. But especially her mother. Then she heard someone calling her. Her mother had warned her not to trust anyone because this world was full of bad people, but something about the woman in front of her told her she could trust her forever. And that's what she did.

Allie snuggled against Rose and when she felt her arms around her body, she fell asleep again.

Rose wasn't her mum, but she felt like one.

.

How could you tell a three-year-old that her mother was never coming back?

Rose knew they had to keep travelling and now it wasn't just the two of them, but Allie and Cyril as well. And to move on, they had to leave the cave and the girl's mother in the past.

Rose chose the best words she could find to speak to the girl as Aveline put everything into the backpacks again.

"She's not coming back?" the teary eyes of Allie broke Rose's heart. She wiped the tears away with her thumb.

"Your mommy is taking care of the forest now. The animals that live here, the plants... She took care of you until Cyril guided me to you and she's going to take care of you for the rest of your life, Allie. But we can't stay here. It's dangerous, even if she takes care of us."

"Why can't she come?"

"Because she has to stay here. It's her job now. Allie, I'm not her, but I promise to take care of you. I swear."

"Like my mommy?"

"Yes, love. Just like her."

Allie was still crying as she clung to Rose's body and they both hugged "I'm going to take care of you and love you like you're my daughter," she whispered.

Aveline, looking at the scene couldn't help but smile. Ever since the hovercraft accident, Aveline wondered how Rose had survived. Why. And now seeing the little girl cuddled up to her, she understood why. Her mission in this life had just begun.

The four travellers set off again. It would take them another week to reach district 13.

September was in full bloom. That week was Alfie's 38th birthday.

The last stand of trees was behind them and the rubble and destroyed buildings greeted them. 62 days after the games began, they had finally arrived.

Rose couldn't help but cry.

Alfie heard knocking on his door and grunted. The clock showed that it was well past midnight. If Tommy, Nina, or any of the others, insisted on disturbing him at that hour they were going to find a very angry Alfie Solomons. He understood wanting him to come out of his shell, but there was no reason to bother at that hour.

"Open up, Solomons!"

Alfie pulled his pillow over his head. He knew that voice. It was Campbell.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Open the door!"

"You fucking cunt." Cursing silently, Alfie climbed out of bed and headed for the door. Reaching it, he swore he heard a sob.

"There's a surprise for you," Campbell said as soon as he opened it. And Campbell finally stepped aside.

The sob Alfie had heard came from the person he thought he would never see again.

"Al..."

"Rosie?" he asked still not believing his eyes.

"Alfie!"

Campbell moved just in time for Alfie to pull him completely aside to take his wife in his arms who leapt towards him. Seeing fit to leave, the president of district 13 walked away down a corridor, leaving the two lovers alone.

Rose sobbed against his shoulder as Alfie held her in his arms, his face in her neck. The warmth of each other's bodies, the feeling of holding each other again, the fear finally leaving their minds... It was real. Yes, it was real.

Rose couldn't stop crying. She had a million questions to ask him, but not there. Those endless answers she hoped to have, would be in the future.

62 days later than they had promised each other, Alfie and Rose finally kissed.

"I love you. I love you."

"I love you, too," he replied, caressing her face. "You're alive, love. You're alive."

"Yes, of course I am. And so you are."

Alfie took her more firmly in his arms and kissed her again as he stepped into his compartment and closed the door with his foot.

"Yes, I'm fucking alive," he replied as he leaned her back against the mattress.

And to celebrate that they were alive, that not even Snow, the games, a bunch of rapists and miles and miles of country could separate them; Alfie and Rose finally made love. In that small bed, surrounded by nothing but white sterile walls, they loved each other the way they deserved.

Tomorrow, Alfie will know Allie and Rose will know that her brother is alive. But that night, the hours belonged to them.

Dozens of I love you, were repeated until the sun rose again.

NEXT

[warping-realities]

A Better Familly I

Melissa was furious but she couldn't show her feelings, not there in her workplace, although it was precisely because of her work that she felt that way. She was a daughter of Mexican immigrants and had encountered her share of asshole rich men in her life. But she wasn't expecting to find an arrogant boy lying completely naked waiting for her in the dorm she would have to clean. It was a tremendous shock, as the place should have been empty and suddenly she was facing a… a… she preferred to forget. At that moment she wanted to finish off the boy with her broom. But she needed that job to support herself while she attended nursing school at night. Her father could have helped her of course, his auto repair shop was doing well, but she refused on principle to bother him about it. And there was that other reason too… Henry, though in there he was Professor Roberts. Here's a rich and influential man who broke the mold, she thought as her eye was caught by a glow in the corner of the hall.

"What do we have here?" She murmured to herself, holding a small metallic disc in her hand.

As she admired the Reality Warper someone snuck up behind her and hugged her around the waist. "Hijo de la …" She started to curse thinking that the cheeky boy had decided on a new type of advance, but she controlled herself when she saw who was actually grabbing her. "Henry… I mean, Professor Roberts, don't do that here."

"Ah, Mel, where then? We never have time for ourselves." "I know, but this is my job and yours too, it could get us into trouble." "It won't if the relationship is official." "Henry, don't play with this." "No kidding, I know your classes don't start until next week. How about I drop by your house tonight so we can make things official with your dad? You told me he's the traditional type, so I want to start from a right way." "Oh Henry!" She responded with a smile on her face, followed by a quick kiss. As she tucked the small metallic disk into her uniform, not paying much attention. And there it stayed until Melissa got home and inadvertently knocked it to the living room floor as she pulled the uniform out of her bag. ….

Henry put on his best suit and put on his biggest smile for the difficult battle he knew would lie ahead. Diego Huerta, Melissa's father, would be a difficult opponent, he had crossed the border illegally carrying Melissa as a child in his arms, shortly after the death of his wife in Mexico, the trigger for the small family to come to the USA. He faced all kinds of humiliating work and over time managed to establish his own business, a car workshop that became a reference in the entire Latino community in the region, just like Diego himself. Soon he found himself surrounded by options of women who would love to be his new wife, but from what his daughter commented, he never took any of them into the house he shared with his daughter. Melissa was his top priority, all of his focus and dedication on her. He had authorized his daughter to work outside the home only after much insistence. Henry suspected it would take a lot more insistence to get the man to accept that his little girl was dating someone like him, that in her father's eyes he represented the white privilege the man so detested.

Despite all this Henry was confident that he would manage to win the man's trust, the feelings he had for Melissa were true and once her father realized that things should become easier. At least that was what he longed for. With a last breath he rang the doorbell of the Huerta house, willing to do anything to show Diego that he would be the perfect son-in-law given the opportunity.

As soon as the front door opened and Henry found himself in front of Melissa beaming with beauty, he was absolutely sure that any argument, dispute or injury would be worth it to keep her forever. She was stunning wearing a simple floral dress that enhanced all her beauty, from the cheerful face with the luminous smile that would warm the coldest hearts to the long and shiny black hair.

"You're perfect." He said looking dumbfounded at her.

"I think that was the best good night I've ever heard in my life."

"I'm sorry, but I got totally lost when I saw you!"

"So it's time to find your way back, my father is on his way and we need to talk before he arrives." She said opening the way for him to enter the house.

He tried to kiss her as he walked through the door, but she dodged and directed him straight to the couch.

"Please sit down, mi amor. I'm afraid my father will have a harder time accepting our relationship than I thought. He's furious."

"But why?" Henry asked sitting on the couch and staring back at her with a questioning look.

"He expected me to meet someone from our community. Don't get me wrong, my dad loves America and his greatest pride is that we got our citizenship. But we've been through a lot before that, and when it comes to me he's like even more... defensive."

"Then let me prove to him that my intentions are good. I come from a good family, I have a steady job in a prestigious place, not to sound arrogant, but I'm a great catch, he can't possibly refute someone like me."

"Not only is it possible, it's why he was against our relationship. My father is convinced you're going to take advantage of me and dump me like a used object."

"Melissa, never say that again! I would never do that to you… I… I… I love you!"

"Henry!"

"It's true, I've wanted to tell you this for weeks, but I was afraid of scaring you. But now I see that I can't hide it anymore, I love you and I'll do anything for you!"

"Oh Henry!" Melissa said with tears in her eyes as she threw herself on him and kissed him passionately.

And it was precisely in this position that the two were found by her father.

"Hija, ¿qué está pasando aquí?"

"Papá, puedo explicar..."

"No hay nada que explicar, ¡tenía claro que no quería a este tipo cerca de ti!"

"Papá, no es como piensas, Henry me ama y yo lo amo".

"¡Déjate de tonterías! Y tú, maldito sea, sal de aquí antes de que lo mate".

Not fully understanding the altercation, Henry tried to intervene.

"Mister Huerta, please let me explain..."

"Don't speak to me, otherwise I'll kill you." Said the older man being prevented from advancing by his daughter.

"Papá, no, por favor, cálmate, vamos a otra habitación. Henry, please go away, I... I'll try to calm him down."

"Exactly boy, get the hell out of here and don't you dare come back." She added Diego letting himself be carried away by his daughter. Leaving behind a stunned Henry, who, without realizing it during the discussion, placed his hand on a small metallic disk that completely altered his future when he uttered the following words:

"Damn it, I just wanted to be the son-in-law he expected."

When he finished speaking those words, he got the biggest scare of his life. The small disk expanded, enveloping him in a metallic cocoon, without him even having time to think about running away or calling for help. If anyone else had been in that room, they would have seen the front part of the structure liquefy and solidify again, demonstrating on its surface the image of a young man very similar to Henry, to then liquefy and solidify again, demonstrating the image of a completely different man.

Finally, the metallic cocoon retracted back into the small disk that originated it, leaving a man who was certainly not Henry Roberts sitting on the sofa in the Huertas' living room.

This new man was a fine example of what the Latino community and the male gender itself has the best to offer, a handsome square face, with a well-trimmed dark beard accentuating an already marked jawline, almond-shaped brown eyes and stylish hair, all this accompanied by an enviable physique, wide pecs and big arms, wrapped in a blue button-up shirt that didn't do much to hide all that musculature. That man's picture could be placed next to the word sexy in any dictionary.

Unfortunately for those (many) who showed some interest in him, disappointment would be the only answer. That big fish had already been hooked and it was the voice of his fisherwoman that woke him up:

"Rico, can you help me with the table while Papá gets ready for dinner?"

"Of course. I'll be there in a second." Answered the man leaving the small metallic disc on top of the table in the living room. As Henry himself inadvertently wished to be changed without knowing what he was doing, reality readjusted itself around him in a way that his wish was possible. Henry Roberts was now Enrique - Rico - Ramirez, Melissa Huerta's longtime boyfriend, whom he intended to propose to her father that night.

Rico worked as a Physical Education teacher at Saint James Prep School. An active member of the local Latino community and the neighborhood's golden boy, he played baseball in high school and won a college scholarship, though he never made it to the professional level. But he didn't care about that, being back where he belonged and next to the love he had cultivated since adolescence was more than enough for him.

Rico’s relationship with Diego couldn't be better, he was the son that Sr. Huerta never had. So much Diego supported Melissa's boyfriend throughout his life. He hoped for a few years that Rico would take over his business, but when it became clear that the boy had talent, he buried those dreams and supported young Ramirez in his new job, allowing Melissa to work in St. James just knowing that he would be around. The girl had applied for a job as a cleaner there, but with the help of her boyfriend, she ended up with the position of secretary in the sports department. For which her father was extremely grateful, he doubted any spoiled brat would dare with the coach's girlfriend.

Which made that marriage proposal just a formality. But Rico knew how important such formalities were to his future father-in-law. Therefore, before dinner is served, with everyone already seated at the table, he begins his speech.

"Mr. Huerta, you have been like a second father to me my whole life, some of my earliest memories are running through the equipment in your car workshop when I was so little that you could lift me up with only one arm. Because I've known you and Melissa my whole life and because you know me so well and know that I'm the only person who will love your daughter with as much love and care as you do, I humbly ask you to her hand in marriage." Concludes the young man, his voice trembling with anxiety and expectation as he faces the serious face of the father of the woman he loved. Only to see that face break into a bright smile.

"It's about time, boy! I thought you two would never give me grandchildren. You know I always wanted a big family! Of course you have my acceptance and my blessing. And, I ask this even though I know the answer in advance Is this what you want, Mel?" Diego concludes with a voice as shaky as his future son-in-law's, looking adoringly at his daughter. Which in turn opened a smile as bright as his father's.

"Si, papá. It's all I want in the world!"

"So let's toast to the beginning of a new family" Said a proud Diego raising a glass and being followed by his daughter and son-in-law.

.....

The following morning, Diego Huerta watched through the window with a smile on his face at his daughter and son-in-law, whom he loved as if he was his son, thinking that finally his family would grow the way he always wanted.

Possessing an enviable physique and a handsome face, maybe he could finally get back on the market, he thought, with the image of a specific woman coming to mind. As he absently held a small metallic disk in his hand.

....

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, in the same St. James as the Reality Warper's new journey began, another young man glared at his car, unaware that very soon his history would also be permanently altered...

...

[merakiui]

I feel like the Noble Bell Compound is very religious and cult like. It's gotta be rough to be a woman there, like handmaid's tale vibes

Terribly rough. T_T and you are so right. It's extremely cult-like. It's the situation in which the leader (Rollo) comes in to help when all hope seems lost and everyone thinks he's an absolute saint when he builds the compound up with sensibility and sturdier foundations and walls, as well as fostering such crooked ideals. A lot of people within the compound look up to him, treat him like he's some savior or a prophet, and Rollo always seems to know best. His two righthand men are so blindly faithful to him, and Rollo appears so kind and fair with everyone, including those within his close-knit circle. He's just so forgiving, so sweet. How could anyone distrust him? How could he lead anyone astray?

The entire compound feels like a utopia amidst so much dystopia, but the people who reside within don't see what lies beneath the compound in underground dungeons, where misbehaving nuisances are kept and silenced. Anyone who tries to question things, who tries to speak out against the little paradise Rollo has manufactured so dearly, so carefully, so graciously, conveniently vanishes to who-knows-where. No one questions anything because Rollo always has a perfect lie at the ready to keep the masses calm and collected.

Being a woman in the compound is not fun. At all. :( you're treated warmly (at first) just so you'll be tricked into a false sense of security, so you'll be more likely to accept the conditions in which you will be kept (and used). But the longer you spend amidst so many other brides, the clearer it becomes that you are not in equal standing with the others in this compound and Rollo certainly doesn't seem to think you are anything more than livestock meant for reproduction. However terrible his views are, Rollo still ensures the women are given adequate protection and care. After all, he isn't a monster (so he claims). You'll live comfortably (not as comfortably as those who are more privileged, but it's better than nothing), and you're given healthy meals each morning, afternoon, and night. You live like anyone else would, but there are a few rules that permit only to you.

For one, every woman within the compound must remain a virgin. If you don't bleed or feel any pain/discomfort the first time your husband takes you, you're seen as impure, a liar, a filthy slut. And when you're labeled as such, you're treated as such. Rollo conducts pussy inspections to make sure everyone is healthy and oh-so-pure (how he gleans that from running his gloved fingers along your folds or even forcing two inside your tight warmth just to see you squirm, you have no idea. He always spends extra time examining you; the brides gossip over this, eagerly insisting with hushed whispers that the compound leader fancies you. You shudder to think someone like Rollo would ever have his eye on you.)

Additionally, every bride must always wear white. It's a soft color, the symbolism of purity. You're meant to be demure and obedient things, subservient to the men who will choose from the lot of you as if you're nothing more than candy in a jar, eaten as easily as you are discarded. Every morning, it is mandatory that the brides stand before the compound leader and, in unison, list their vows, all of which have been stamped into your memory like a bad tattoo. Every morning, you promise you are pure, insist that your only hopes and dreams are to provide for the compound, to be good mothers, to be good brides, to remain untouched by sin, to remember these vows and hold them close to your heart. Essentially, by participating in this daily routine, you strip away parts of yourself and replace them with the parts the compound wants you to have, and by verbalizing them so often you'll begin to believe them, especially when everyone around you shares the same opinions and feelings on the matter. It is the finest form of brainwashing. And to make matters worse, to cement these ideals that have been practically engraved into you, Rollo always applauds the lot of you, smiles with so much satisfaction, praises everyone for such pleasant mindsets.

Every month his voice seems less like the harshest, grating static and more like a heavenly choir because, for all you've endured and will continue to endure, he is still the only beacon of light in this dark, dismal world.

[radiant-reid]

Do you remember the season 4 ep where spencer is convinced his dad murdered the little boy. Well I’ve had so many people convince me that his dad did SA cause there’s so much evidence in that episode. So maybe spencer finally telling the reader about it or the reader protecting him against his dad and when Rossi and Morgan try and convince him it’s all in his head. Obviously if you are uncomfortable writing this I completely understand 💗💗

TW: descriptive childhood SA, please do not read if this might trigger you <333

You first found out six months ago. You were late getting into bed, having been finishing some paperwork in the office, and you walked into the darkened room, put your pajamas on, and did your skincare routine in the bathroom before walking back into the bedroom.

Checking if Spencer was awake, you squeezed his leg. Quickly he freaked out, sitting upright and moving as far away from you as he possibly could.

You flicked the light on, in shock about what was happening as his breathing quickened and he tried to calm himself down from having a major panic attack.

He looks terrified, ghost white, more scared than you've ever seen him.

Your voice got him through it. "Spencer, hey, it's me. It's okay." You comforted him.

You didn't make a move to touch him until he held out his hand, asking for it. You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back even tighter.

"It's just me." You assured him again. "No one can hurt you."

Then he started crying, bursting into tears. It was equally shocking, and you wrapped your arms around him to hold him. He cried into your neck for what felt like an hour.

You cupped his cheek when he finally pulled back. "You're safe, Spencer. I promise you."

"I'm so sorry." He quickly apologized.

You shook your head, holding your index finger to your lips. "Spencer, you have nothing to be sorry about. Do you want to talk about it?"

"You should sleep, or you'll be tired tomorrow." He answered, moving to get out of bed.

"No, baby." You told him. "I'm not leaving you awake and this upset."

He hesitantly nodded. "Tea?"

You agreed, insisting on making it while he sat on the couch, all the lights in the living room turned on.

You handed him his mug when it was ready, not resting your hand on his thigh like you usually would. "What happened, baby?"

"Are you sure?" He asked hesitantly. What he needed to say was the type of thing he couldn't ever unsay.

"Whatever is bothering you is my privilege to help you deal with." You reminded him.

He sighed deeply. "When I was little, like right after my mom's diagnosis, my parents started fighting a lot." He started. "My dad... he, uh, he'd come in my room late at night."

Your heart sunk in your chest in an instant, stomach churned. You knew where this was going, you saw it in your line of work, but you never thought Spencer had gone through something like that. Your first assumption- that it had to do with Tobias Hankel -is horribly wrong.

You wished it was right as he continued. "He used to put his hand on my leg. And it was so dark, Y/n." Spencer's voice cracked as tears started to trail down his cheek. You cried with him, unable to help it at your boyfriend's pain and the heartbreaking story. "He touched me, and he made me touch him." He sobbed more at the memory. "I hated it, and it was so dark. I couldn't see anything, Y/n."

"Spencer." You cooed, still crying your own tears and not sure what to say. "You are so brave." You reminded him. "You never deserved any of that. What he did to you, to his child, is disgusting, and he's an awful person because of it." He nods, hearing the words he's told himself coming out of your mouth. "You never told anyone?"

He shook his head. "Not until just now. I didn't- my mom was sick so it wasn't im-"

You cut him off, shaking your head. "It was important, Spencer. You're important." It's heartbreaking to think of Spencer as a little kid, weighing his own needs below everyone else's.

"Thank you." He said softly.

"You don't have to thank me. I'll always be here for you." You assured him. "Can I ask you something?"

He nodded, meekly. "Sure."

"Is there anything else that triggers you?" You asked. "Besides the dark."

He couldn't believe anyone could care so much, but you did. "Orange juice." He answered. "He'd let me have some afterward in bed."

You nodded. "Do you want a hug?" He melted forward into your arms, letting you hold him tightly. "I'm with you, Spencer. Always."

[the-mountain-flower]

Human rights are always intersectional.

Misogyny and rigid gender roles harm everyone. If an anti-trans bigot uses the "biological sex" excuse, it only takes as few as one question to expose their intersexism. It harms women differently than it harms non-binary ppl differently than it harms men. It harms brown ppl in a different way than it harms white ppl in a different way than it harms asian ppl and so on to every ethnicity on the planet. It harms disabled ppl in a different way than it harms queer ppl. You can't fight the patriarchy without fighting bigotry as a whole.

Ableism is directly tied to things like toxic capitalism, pretty privilege, infantilization and ageism, etc. Disabled rights especially intersect with intersex rights, trans rights, feminism, classism, and others in the way of fighting against medical abuse and for universal healthcare. You can't fight ableism without fighting bigotry as a whole.

Religious freedom protects all, not just Christians. You can't insist on religious freedom for any religion without insisting it for Islam, Judaism, all forms of Paganism, Atheism, and all of it. The right to practice religion is directly tied to feminism (ex: not conforming to traditional gender roles, or the choice of what to wear, reproductive rights), ableism (ex: the idea of holy "perfection"), and so on.

Abuse is often excused with bigotry. The things parents are allowed to do with perceived girls would never fly with perceived boys. Literal torture is treated as fine when it's a disabled or queer kid. You can't fight abuse without fighting bigotry as a whole.

Dehumanization has bigotry as its foundation. How many times have you seen POC compared to animals to justify racism? How many times have you heard someone talk about murdering a disabled person as a "mercy" bc they insist that a disabled life isn't worth living? How many times has colonialism been excused as cultural "cleansing" or as "necessary casualties of war"? I've even heard genocide referred to as "pest control" (fucking YIKES). You can't fight dehumanization without fighting bigotry as a whole.

History erasure and book banning/burning are attempts to limit learning. Classism prevents nearly everyone from having any rights whatsoever, and directly feeds into destruction of our environment. Corrupt prison systems are fed by things like racism, classism, misogyny, and governmental corruption. Don't even get me started on artistic suppression!

You can't insist on rights for anyone without insisting on rights for all. That's been said alongside impactful activism for as long as it's existed, and it's just as true now as it is always.

[boreal-sea]

um, I kinda need help/a second opinion here

About "Not All Men" and the discourse/backlash...

back then I just accepted that it's very much a dirty word, especially to derail conversations about... You know.

But looking at this now through the eyes of someone who realized that there was subtle yet still rampant transphobia in the feminist spaces I've previously been in, as well as the mainstream, and with your help call intersectional feminism my new home now... I don't exactly know what exactly to think, or how to phrase it. What are your thoughts?

I admit, I didn't like it when it first started being used, and that was before I was even out to myself as trans! I was like "but, genuinely, not all men!" At some point I understood most feminists were using it to mean "all men benefit from misogyny and sexism", but I never got on board with "all men are intentionally sexist and misogynistic, all men actively participate in oppressing women, and none of them want to change the system".

Because again. I knew men who didn't.

So like. That phrase never really took hold in my psyche as a "truth". I tolerated it being used in the most charitable definition of the phrase, but to be honest, I saw it being used more and more to simply silence any man who tried to speak up about experiences they had which differed from the stereotypical male's/man's experience.

And there are genuine situations where it is actually not only appropriate to say "not all men!" but is in fact imperative to say it.

If a guy online says "ALL men think women are stupid and belong in the kitchen", it is in fact a good thing for other men to step up and say "Actually bro, not all men think that. I don't feel that way".

And I think it's also necessary when discussing issues of intersectionality. Not all men benefit from White Christian American Cishet Abled Patriarchy in the same way, and to insist they do is harmful. It flattens discussions of oppression into "male vs female" where the females are the ones actually being oppressed, and the males don't have any oppressions that really count because apparently male privilege overrides and almost completely erases any other marginalization they may have. Men aren't allowed to be marginalized to these people.

Like I swear some radfems would agree with the following statement:

"Yeah sure, he's black. But he's also a cishet man, so he is on the same level as white men when it comes to benefiting from the patriarchy and his ability to oppress all women".