#perhaps this is also because I remember myself and others being harassed by people who were self proclaimed ‘disk horse’ blogs

[deityofhearts]

i do not trust anyone who is a self proclaimed discourse blog especially if they write it like “disk horse” like you just know that’s going to be the most miserable person in the world

[grison-in-space]

Reading Men Who Hate Women (Laura Bates, 2020) at the moment. She's talking about the manosphere: the massive online communities of men who congregate to talk misogyny, ranging from PUAs to MRAs, incels and MGTOW. These aren't new topics to me—I've been following this off and on since watching Gamergate kick off—but Bates handles them well and I think this book could serve as an introduction if this is a movement with which you're not familar. By the way, it's been a decade since Gamergate this year. Isn't that a kicker?

(Incidentally, I first ran into the concept of incels way before I think many people did: when I was still on AVEN, c. 2006-2007ish, I remember a few occasions where users ran into incel communities and brought them to our forums to ask: is this like what we're doing? Is this like us? Consensus quickly solidified on the direction of "no," each time, not least because asexuality dialog at the time was extremely clear about divorcing desire from action, and it was very clear that the desires centered in that community were very different than the ones people in asexuality spaces were untangling.)

Bates handles the topic with grace, compassion, and a deep understanding that I really wish more writing on radicalization or terroristic networks used: people in real pain, who are struggling in pitiable circumstances to do their best and clearly need more support, can also in their pain be truly dangerous to others. Hurt people hurt people. Compassion for pain suffered is important—you can't understand recruitment without understanding that—but you also have to understand that pain, fermented in darkness, can create deadly poisons. Pain isn't essentially holy or cleansing or cauterizing. It doesn't accomplish anything good by existing. If we can relieve it, we should—but we should follow harm reduction principles as we do so, lest pain be allowed to multiply and fester.

What gets me is that in 2017, in the wake of the Google bro "manifesto," I spent a feverish week writing what wound up being a 20,000 word rebuttal studded with what eventually totaled 100+ peer reviewed citations. It got quite a bit of reach and covered ground ranging from effects of testosterone on behavior, the concept of effect size in sex differences, basic statistics, the ways that humans treat people differently based on their perception of gender, intersex trauma, and whether feminists care about men's problems (yeah, actually, and they should).

I released that piece, changed up my name and fannish presence—my long time pseud was tangled all over the piece's genesis—and hunkered down for the reprisals. I expected harassment and vitriol. It never really came: I ignored the comments on the post, after a bit, and I held boundaries on what I was willing to pay attention to. But by and large, I had no direct consequences from the Manosphere.

Perhaps the piece was too long (although I got many comments from people who read it and found it useful, and I included an index). Perhaps it was simply that I included a headshot of myself, with uncharacteristic red lipstick and characteristically buzzed hair, and cheerfully discussed throughout that I was butch and queer: sometimes I confuse people who are very focused on bioessentialist sex differences, because I don't fit their paradigms in the slightest.

About six months later, James Damore attempted to frame his incredibly poor decisions in light of his Asperger's, and I did get a couple dudes on social media presenting me with this information apparently in the hope that it would shock or embarrass me. I immediately pointed out, acerbically, that I'm equally autistic and that he was making us look bad, and they melted away again into the background. It wasn't really the well of terrifying anger and obliterative fury I was expecting.

I find myself reading these stories in Bates' book and thinking about the internet I grew up on: AVEN by 2005, WrongPlanet the same year, listening to people on the margins talk about their fears and hopes and dreams and theories about themselves. I find myself thinking about narratives and meaning, the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and why.

I'm certainly not the first person to worry about radicalization of young autistic people, especially autistic men. Not even close. Paradoxically, it's a group of people for whom an understanding of intersectionality is crucial: young disabled men often alienated deliberately from conceptualizing themselves as disabled, without the tools to understand why life is hard and painful and never seems to reflect their experiences, trying to construct understanding beyond one's singular, isolated defective wrongness—which is what's left, if you take community off the table.

(Have I mentioned how grateful I am that so many autistics are trans spectrum? Imagine if we weren't, and if I didn't have so many transfeminine sisters funneled along those same currents and drifting closely enough alongside to understand. My sisters, so many of whom are out there living and modeling better ways to understand and participate in gender as a social activity: by figuring out what is most comfortable for you, understanding that comfort for one might be agony for another, and taking steps to shape your own life into a fashion that wells forth the most peace and joy. It's a message we all need to hear, but that is a group of people I hear singing so loudly from my place in a different wing of the choir, and I love them for it.)

I don't have answers. As is, so often, the case these days, I have only grief and love, and the determination to build better structures where my own hands reach. I had intended to direct my career, once, to undermining the entire concept of "good genes" models of evolution and explaining how their convoluted connections to natural phenomena are better explained by other, more direct motives. Since 2020, I've been moving in a new direction—but what precisely it is, I'm not sure.

Sex differences is certainly a piece of it, though. Even if I find myself often enough writing that it's not enough to know a sex difference in one species to assume that another will reflect a similar relationship: we should study sex differences in animals, but we really shouldn't assume that humans will have the same ones or work the same way. I suspect this won't be the first time I tangle with that community. I suppose it depends how much authority I can accrue as protection first.

[cielwritings]

Hello there lovely person, I got a request for ya, it's a modern Ciel x reader who dresses in Jirai kei(by the way I'm the same person from the other Jirai kei request) but the difference is they go to school and people usually say stupid stuff to the reader, for example "Pikachu" "anime girl" "batman" or other stuff, even flirting with them even if they are uncomfortable and because of that reader wants to stop dressing in the fashion their love because of stupid remarks that annoy them, also just like before take you time and remember to think about you mental health before anything ♡⁠

! Ciel x Reader Who Wears Jirai Kei 2 !

He thought clearing your phone would work, but boy was he wrong. You still looked quite down. Perhaps you were upset with him doing such a thing? But you looked so happy as you cuddled him that night...

After brief thought, which lasted about two minutes, he already had the conclusion. The one place Ciel never followed you to is school. That has to be it. School.

"Sebastian," Ciel spoke as he drank his morning tea, Tanaka assisting you with your bath. His eyes locked with Sebastian's. "Enroll me in their school. I have concerns I'd like to see for myself."

Sebastian feels a sense of deja vu. Regardless, he has Ciel enroll. He was in by the next week.

That familiar chirpy attitude Ciel puts up in front of others was especially prominent here. Everyone knew who he was, so he had to be polite. Polite, but also humble. Due to this, for the first few days of his stay there he couldn't see anything the matter.

Though, he overheard a conversation with you and a friend. It was friendly enough, talking about what typical friends do. Your friend then started to raise their voice.

"Asshole, watch where your hand's going!" they spat at someone. He prayed it wasn't you. His nerves both relaxed and tensed when he heard a different voice- a mans voice.

"Whaat?" the man chuckled. "Look at 'em. Little anime girl should know her place. Dressing like that is screaming 'I sell myself' after all."

Ciel had to grit his teeth. He knew Sebastian would get onto him for that later.

He followed you whenever he could, keeping himself secluded away so no one noticed. He heard some.. not so favorable things. 'Pikachu girl' could be mistaken as something nice, but their tone implied otherwise. 'Batman' didn't make much sense to him. Who the hell is Batman? You're no bat. You didn't even look like one. Is Batman an anime?

..What's he talking about?!

The flirting is what really pissed him off. You're bound to be harassed one way or another in school, but this really pushed him to his limits. That same day, riding the carriage home, Ciel looked at you with quite a serious gaze.

You felt yourself shiver.

"So. I'll go straight to the point. You have two options. One, you're leaving that school the moment you graduate your grade and being home-schooled from now on... or two, you switch schools."

Immediately, you jumped to his first offer. As much as you hated the attention you got at school, you couldn't help but want to wear those clothes again. Free of judgement.

Ciel's manor was perfect for you. Ciel was perfect for you.

[reno2005]

To Whom it May Concern

Last night I thought to myself while playing “I wonder when the blog anniversary is?” And then I realized it was tomorrow lol(or today?)

Starting this blog, I had no intention to really interact with other fans, I wanted a place to just enjoy the character I really loved to myself. I wasn’t angry, but I guess I was tired. I was in a different fandom previously and I was not treated very well there, even by people who called me their friend. I hadn’t realized my experiences also left me kind of scared of being open with how I express my passion for things I like online. Hence the whole “keeping to myself” part.

However, I really like taking pictures, not just of Leon, but in general. It’s been a small hobby/passion of mine for years now. So I figured “wow this game I like has a picture mode and I started this blog for this character I really look up to I might as well”. And I’ve been really enjoying it.

I’m more glad that people happen to like these pictures I post(and yes probably clutter the tags with lol) first and foremost for myself. I never wanted to focus on trying to become popular or some kind of well known figure in the community.

A small part of me also hoped “maybe I can make some friends who like the same thing I do” but since I’ve started healing(I guess) in the past year, I remember that friends should never be forced. And I guess it just eggs on wanting to be popular in a sense. Which I still don’t care about. I’m just happy people like the pictures.

I know I’m an oddball of a a fan, that weird guy who dislikes 90% of the content his favourite character is in. But I hope I’ve been transparent enough about that and what I want to focus on this whole time. If so, that means I’m glad people have decided to follow me and look at what I post/reblog despite that.

Lately I was worried about the future. That news that’s been spreading in rumors and the eventual remake of one the things in that 90% of things I mentioned disliking. But what’s the point? Why not enjoy what I do like and what I do have. I’ve had a blast posting pictures from 2 & 4. And I’ve had some really nice memories and laughs from people’s reblogs/replies/etc. I’ve gotten much better than I have been in years because of these games(and admittedly this blog). I don’t want to take those things for granted, I’m really grateful for them. And I suppose I have the added benefit of not harassing others for enjoying what they enjoy.

I don’t care if others like the other content, I’m not running their lives, I am not the ruler of their happiness. I’m happy they’re happy.

Perhaps it isolates me in a way, but I’d rather not drive myself crazy trying to force myself to like something I don’t to not feel lonely.

That all being said, again: thanks for following my stuff if you do. I hope I can keep posting these pictures for a very long time and I’ve had a nice time interacting with the people I have. I feel like I really have found my personal paradise here.

[hello-mojo]

Phantom of The Ministry

skip to the dotted line if you just want the story. I'm gonna put some personal info here first.

meh... I had this idea ages ago before Penny died and I quit writing... there was a lot going on back then. The troll harassing me and a bunch of other people on archive.... Eh It all snowballed on me and especially without penny to encourage me, litterally no one else wanted to read my stupid stories. I had floated this idea by her and she'd loved it. She said she couldn't wait to read it. I will miss her forever. 😢 I never even met her IRL. But I talked to her everyday. I used to tell her all my problems and she would tell me hers while we were writing back and forth. I don't have any of those fics anymore because I was hacked and had to delete the Google account where everything was saved. 😖 oof.

Well this was saved in a different place so. It's literally all I have left to remember her by because I deleted my profile on archive of our own where everything we'd done together had been published. I orphaned the stories but I honestly can't bring myself to look them up from my alternate archive reading account.

I really didn't mean to put so much about her in this but... I guess it's cathartic or whatever. I was working on this all by myself so... be warned. I struggle with grammar, punctuation and spelling particularly as the dyslexia seems to not let me remember the rules no matter how many times I look them up. I also have pacing issues and my plots always felt weak to me so. At the height of everything, I just quit. It seemed like no one was interested anyway.

I wanted to perhaps finish this for Penny or in her memory but honestly... I just don't have it in me anymore. I'm not even that into Drarry anymore. I enjoy many ships but that's neither here nor there. So... here's what I did get written on

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

Phantom of the ministry.

--------‐---------------------------------

Ch.1 Draco’s Perspective

Draco realized, looking back, that he'd always been a somewhat vain child.  After all, what else would you call trying to crusio a boy just because he saw you crying?

Vain.  That's what Draco called it.  Perhaps prideful as well.  Neither personality trait had ever served him well.  In a way, he supposed that he had Potter to thank for opening his eyes to his own faults.  He might even be able to actually say the words to him, if he ever saw him.  Of course,  that would never happen because he didn't exist anymore.  He'd died in that bathroom, as far as most people were concerned.  

Most said that he'd deserved it.  A precious few had insisted that he hadn’t, that he wouldn't have attacked unless he had been provoked somehow.   Draco himself felt that he had started the ill fated duel and had basically deserved some sort of consequence.   However he also felt that Potter, using a spell that he didn't know, was the height of impulsive stupidity and that the 'Sectum-sempra' had been overkill.   He stared now at the ruin of his once handsome face.  The hideous twisted scars from the left edge of his nose to his left temple, the patchy bald spots where the hair had never grown back after being shaved off by the spell.  The cloudy, faded eyeball that had once been bright and vibrant, that had seen everything,  now saw almost nothing.  Draco had no idea why the spell had only struck the upper left corner of his face.  Potter's aim must have been off because they'd been chasing each other.  Otherwise he had no idea. 

With a heavy sigh he picked up the white China quarter-mask that hid the left side of his damaged face from anyone who might chance to look at him.  Not that many ever did.  In fact, there were only two people who knew of his existence.   Since Severus Snape had died in the war, that left only one person who knew he was here.  She came to his hidden potions lab and left him files full of research that needed done, potions that needed identification, other's that needed refined.  The list went on and on. 

He was a ghost, a figment of overworked employees imaginations.  Severus had brought him here after he'd been healed as much as he could be.  Draco had categorically refused to return to hogwarts or the life he had known before.  His father had always viewed him as a disappointment and after he'd been disfigured,  well he'd have been a disgrace as well, and likely would have been disowned.  

So this had been the only other option.   A friend of Severus's who worked in the department of mysteries as head unspeakable, who had owed the potions master a favor,  had arranged it. 

That had been eight years ago.  He'd never left the ministry since that day, the day Severus had brought him here and handed him over to Madeline Gery. 

She was originally from France but her parents had moved to London in the midst of the first wizarding war.  She'd worked her way to the top of the department of mysteries, a department that was only a rumor and largely off books.  She had arranged for private tutoring,  and for Draco to be able to take his exams.   She'd had the mask and wigs made to Draco’s specifications and the sketches he'd provided her with.  Brown hair, something nondescript that blended in.  His own hair was too flashy, too distinctive.   If anyone caught sight of his oh so striking platinum hair, they'd know instantly who he was.  So, wigs had been the solution.  Though, thanks largely to the numerous secret passages and hidden rooms scattered around the ministry no one ever truly saw him. 

The passages had originally been intended as an emergency escape route out of the ministry.  Near as Draco could tell, they'd been forgotten about and hadn't been accessed or utilized in any way until he'd found them. 

He now had free roam of the entire ministry.   There was a small room and a two way mirror that looked into the ministers office, there was another such set up in the head aurror's office and a few other of the department heads.  He suspected that someone had been using the passages to sus out corrupt ministry officials but obviously the program had been ended without anyone being the wiser.  Draco had let himself into the records room and the aurror department after hours and looked for any information he could find on the passages but had found nothing.   

Over the years he'd added more passages,  tunnels and access points, carefully hidden from and warded against the wondering eyes of idiot employees who were too curious for their own good.   He could go anywhere he wanted or needed too inside the ministry now.  He left notes for Madeline occasionally about his findings, particularly when he observed ministry officials taking bribes or practicing dark magics.  He always got proof first.  The employees in question were usually sacked immediately.   At least, now that Potter had won the war anyhow.   

What a relief that had been.   The first few years he'd been here, he'd had to be incredibly careful.  He'd let himself into the ministers office after hours and nicked his file, and any other proof of his existence that he could find.  With Umbridge and Fudge being loyal to the darklord,  he dare not let them find out about his existence.   He had observed though.  He'd recorded plenty of evidence of their corruption and any plans that he had observed and passed them along to Madeline who he assumed passed them to an order member.   It was the best he could do. 

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

Ch. 2 Potter's Perspective

He'd killed someone.   Harry couldn't forgive himself for it.  Nor would he ever forget Draco Malfoy, or the valuable lesson that he'd learned from the horrible experience.   Never use a spell that you didn't know.   It was forever ingrained in his brain,  on his very soul.   He might have felt some sort of closure on the matter had he gotten into trouble for killing a student.   Something more than just detention with Snape for the rest of the year.  That had been bad, but hardly a fitting price for murder.  Even if accidentally.  

He was the only one who had felt that way about it.  Everyone else had said that Malfoy had gotten what he deserved.  After all he had started an unsanctioned duel, had been using dark spells, and had fired first.  Malfoy had started the chase, and continued to aggressively attack Harry.  He'd simply defended himself.  That was the official response.   Even if accurate,  it didn't feel right.  Not to Harry.  Nor, he could tell, to Narcissa Malfoy.   She looked at him with hatred now.  Hatred he deserved.   There was nothing he could do about it though.  Even after he'd found the reserection stone that Dumbledore had left him. There'd been no information anywhere on how to use it.  He'd tried to bring Draco back from the dead but it hadn't worked.  Harry had been flying blind.  He'd put away the Elder wand and the Reserection stone in a safe and heavily warded place known only to him.  He couldn't destroy them until he figured out how to right the wrong that he'd caused.  

He had no clue how he'd managed to win this stupid war.  It had seemed impossible. Without Hermione and Ron, he'd never have survived.   He knew it.  He might be a magical powerhouse but brilliant he wasn’t.  Nor was he any good at strategy.  Thankfully his friends had been very willing to help him out.   He didn’t feel worthy of such loyalty and support but he was grateful for it.  

After the bathroom incident, the minister had appointed Severus Snape as headmaster.  Zabini had somehow left the detheaters into the castle and Severus Snape had cast the killing curse on Dumbledore.  Harry had confronted him and managed to disarm him, purely by having the element of surprise and sheer dumb luck, as McGonagall would say.  Somehow they'd managed to follow through on the scavenger hunt for the horcruxs and the rest was history.    Winning hadn't made Harry feel any better though.  He and Ginny had broken up after only a couple months of a relationship post war.  It just wasn't working.  So he'd gone to work at the ministry as an aurror because what else could he do really?  He'd thought of going into quidich but the desire to fly knowing that Draco never would again,  just hadn't been there. 

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

Ok that's it. All I've got other than the doc where I listed all the things from the Musical that I thought I could work with to make the story work. I'd love to know your thoughts. If anyone reads this that is. The algorithms on any platform hide me from everyone. Lol I'll never be popular I guess. So what else is new? Lmao. Oh well.

[cheesy-poofs]

5, 19, 23 for the salty ask!

Thanks for the asks! 💕

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

Not that I can recall. I don't let fandom have power over me out of pure spite. I force myself take a step back or take a break if something works me up a lot. I've had times where I've irrationally resented ships because of their popularity and my overexposure to them, I'll admit (you can guess which ones). I don't feel that way about those ships anymore though; for me, frustration typically turns into apathy anyway. I've also come to realize pretty much all popular ships—yes, even my beloved Kyman—have shippers that might make all its shippers look bad. It's just apart of the fandom experience.

19. What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom?

Reminder that I haven't been in this fandom for a long time (only around a year now), so perhaps there's long-going issues I'm less aware of. For one, this fandom has some issues that definitely suck, but aren't exclusive to it. Like the beloathed (but now expected) shipping discourse and general harassment/hate.

I'm sure there's worse issues, but what I do loathe (and made a joke post about that got way more notes than I thought it would) is superiority complexes in this fandom. Not as in having your own preferences, but genuinely thinking you're better than others for them. I find it laughable. Yeah its fun to take this show a little seriously sometimes, I fucking love seeing people analyze its characters to death, but when you're constantly trying to argue about ships and characters? For South Park? The show that barely itself seriously and most people hate the fandom of anyway?

I try not to be hypocritical, I've had to remind myself more than once what show I'm watching. Its okay if any of you reading this struggle with it, I get it lol. Every once in a while something stupid irks me and I have to force myself to let it go. It's just how it is, I can't bring myself to spend much time worrying about what other people like. If something really does piss me off (and trust me I have things that do) I either go rant to my best friend, blacklist the fuck out of it, or both. I hope this has been coherent, I'm tired.

23. Unpopular character you love?

Ooh, good question! Honestly the first character that popped into mind is Kip Drordy...you know, the kid from "You Have 0 Friends" because I remember really liking him when I watched the episode (...and kind of relating to him because I was a huge loser kid in school who would honestly act the exact same way if Kyle befriended me on Facebook). I'm pretty sure there's barely any fan content of him despite that being one of the most popular episodes of the show, which is odd. I drew him with Karen a while back, inspired by a moment in "Pajama Day" during Cartman's dream where they were seen talking. Funnily enough, I thought about them being friends before I noticed that moment. I put the drawing under the cut because its from a while back and don't care for it now.

(Edit: It removes the keep reading so nevermind, everyone has to see my trashy drawing of these two)

[booklovertwilight]

☕️ thoughts on different fanfiction sites perhaps? (AO3 vs Wattpad vs ffnet vs whatever else there is lol)

Hi friend! Sorry for the late reply, one of my posts blew up and the notification avalanche scared me off the site for a few days.

So I've been writing fanfic for *checks watch* 13 years now. I've posted it on AO3, Wattpad, FanFiction.net, Reddit, DeviantArt, YouTube comments sections, and blogs I set up myself. I'mma cover the first three individually, and do the others as a sort of collective.

I started off writing on FFnet back in 2009, and even back then I was aggravated by how much work it takes to do something as simple as post a new chapter. The UI to search for and read fic is fine, I guess, but as a prolific writer (I posted over a dozen stories on that site), the fact that it takes like ten steps to post a chapter is just Bad™. Like you have to 1) open your author profile 2) go to the side column and expand the 'works' tab 3) go to 'manage works' 4) scroll through your entire list of fics to find the one you want to add a chapter to 5) click the chapters list 6) click the add chapter button .... etc etc AAAAAAA. I have not written anything on the site in years and I still remember this stupid process. Btw the menus still look & act like this. In fucking 2022.

Wattpad is much nicer in terms of user interface. In fact it's got an option to add cover art which will be displayed front and centre along with the title and summary in search results, which, as a writer/artist who draws his own covers for his fics anyway, I thought was great. Generally, the process of posting new works / new chapters to existing works is a lot more seamless here than, actually, any other site on this list. It's also got this neat feature where you can comment on a fic line-by-line, by highlighting the text, which is a lot more user-friendly than having to copy the text and paste it in quote marks into a comment. But the nice UI/UX can't make up for the fact that -- at least in 2014, which was when I briefly tried writing there -- Wattpad was a cesspool of the most annoying human beings to ever exist. I wanted to post my writing to a community that would give me interesting comments and useful feedback, not write incoherently-spelled rants about how I was taking the source material too seriously. I lasted on Wattpad about 5 months.

After I quit FFnet and Wattpad I went around posting fic to a bunch of random forums, none of which really worked well because they hadn't been designed for that purpose. Posting long-form stories (which is pretty much all I write) to either Reddit or DeviantArt is an absolute nightmare of comment-section-linking. And posting fic to my own blog requires I have some way to bring people to see it, which is remarkably difficult to pull off and requires a lot of work. And on top of all that, there's no community, really, so you get whatever bottom-of-the-barrel internet trolls think it would be funny to harass you.

AO3 is where I post my fic now (@booklovertwilight on there too, in case there's still anyone following me who doesn't know that), and for good reason. I've tried a lot of stuff (perhaps too much stuff) and it's all-around better than anything else available. Its UI isn't the best, but it's manageable. Its site design is pretty good. But crucially, the community on there is just wonderful. Part of this is the fact that the Death Note fandom in specific is just a lovely place to be (nowadays), but even when I've posted fic for larger or more militant fanbases (*cough cough* Sword Art Online), even the criticisms have been coherent and well-thought-out. I felt less like I was being ridiculed in a school cafeteria and more like I was being given a constructive critique by a fellow english major.

There's also the factor of legal recourse. I used to write long disclaimers at the top of my FFnet stories saying things like "I make no money off all this, all rights belong to [creator of canon], please don't sue me I'm broke". Everyone did. I absolutely love the dignity in being able to post fic without having to grovel to the copyright overlords, knowing some lawyer I pay for with my yearly donations is doing it for me. The community is what brought me to AO3, but the legal safety is what's gonna keep me here.

Hope that answered your question, friend! Thank you very much for the ask, this was a lot of fun to think and talk about <3

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Tw bad friends

So a few years ago in high school, I lost my friend group. They told me they didn’t like me anymore and that they don’t want to be friends because I’m “immature”.

Beforehand they had pulled a lot of other stuff that should have been signs that they didn’t want to be my friend, but I was too stupid to realize.

They did things like exclude me from events bc my step-sister (also in the friend group) said that her dad was uncomfortable around me. (Fair but they could have still made an effort to find things to include me in.)

They also refused to let me sit with them at lunch bc it made my step-sis’s other friends (whom I never actually met) uncomfortable.

They’d also hold interventions for me in front of other students about my behaviors that they didn’t like. Stuff like bullying (I told a kid to stop harassing me), using my intelligence against people (I got excited about a good exam grade), and being immature (I was the only person in the group in advanced classes who regularly got good grades and I’m currently the only one in college and a steady career path.)

Point is, they were terrible friends but at the time they were my only friends and I trusted them a lot. I have newer friends now and they actually trust and respect me but I still fear that they’ll get tired of me and I’ll do something to make them want to get rid of me.

How do I lose that fear of being unwanted, and am I justified in hating my old group?

—👑👿

Hi 👑👿,

I'm so sorry about what you've been through. You do not deserve to be treated that way. It's understandable why experiences like these can give you anxiety about future friendships, and perhaps creating some fear of abandonment as well.

As someone with BPD, I find communication helpful and reassuring. Occasionally doing check-ins with your friends to evaluate how you're doing, how they're feeling, if there's anything they want to talk about or anything you could be doing differently, can not only give you some peace of mind but also opens the floor for your friends to give their honest thoughts. Plus, if they have no complaints, that's something to take personally.

You may find helpful this article about REBT's theory of irrational beliefs, as the comebacks can be very useful. While I don't necessarily like the use of the word "irrational" because it is justified by very real and valid experiences, it does speak to a cycle of thinking that can potentially do some damage. The answers to the first irrational idea in particular may resonate with you.

Ultimately, it's hard to fully accept (even myself) but, all relationships are temporary because we are, and it is as within your right to stop being friends with someone as it is for them to stop being friends with you. It may also help to remember that if a friend of yours decides to no longer be friends, they were never meant to stay.

I hope I could help. If anyone has any comments or suggestions, feel free to add on. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[summonhouse]

im going to ramble abt art websites for a bit and its maybe going to be disjointed and potentially mean bc 1. i speak for myself im not here to convince anyone of anything so i dont care about sounding nice? and 2. im feeling a little offkilter lately BUT

these are no more good art websites and its a pain to see a new art website crop up every week and everyones like, thisll be the one guys! bc i dont think in this day and age its possible.

first; websites should not be profittable. ive been thinking abt this w like, twitter and tumblr and deviantart too where the problem is that people want to make more profit- they dont want to break even, theyre not trying to cover the cost of hosting and paying employees, they need an excess. it shouldnt be like this bc thats how we get the lower in quality, thats how we get this trying to appeal to third party money providers and not users and its always bad and more than that its just unnecessary. every art website that people love are the ones that remain stagnant because its reliable, people do not want continual updates to the ui of something they depend upon for posting and money. new experimental features esp on art websites are just.. useless unless theyre asked for and the garbage fed to us isnt what we asked for.

what makes a good art website? something you can post images, gifs, perhaps low quality videos on, have larger text posts for pinning and smaller text posts for status updates. id say an important feature is a gallery and featured page- profile customization is also important, at the very least have icons, text around a username, descriptions, and headers.

can you tell im thinking of deviantart? i think deviantart is the premium art website and i am so sad everyone left at eclipse- honestly not even that sad at eclipse. it was bad, it was broken, deviantart now has a fuck ton of little holes in it where pages just dont load right, ill get on the fucking new notification page and user profile later, but the way that, in the old days, it had huge spanning galleries, and it had “post type” search too! and it was annoying at the time, we hated this, trying to pick what kind of art your posts were, but it helped make searching for specific posts so much easier (now trying to find gifs on my old accs without it is impossible..). thumbs were good easy ways for ppl to spread content meant to be spread while immediately linking to the actual post- it stopped people from reposting art or using html linking the image itself without a hyperlink to take back to the post and credit, because the thumb was immediately easy to use and way easier than working around it. there was so much... community. like ok from 14-16 i was harassed hard fucking core by adults on deviantart because i was an annoying whiny kid that used dA as my support platform, because from 11-14 it really was! everyone was nice to me- my art was hot dog shit, but i dont think i EVER got a comment calling it bad. i got a LOT of comments telling me that it was good, and i really did believe that! being a preteen drawing dogs online and getting genuine support, often from other artists of my ilk but not uncommonly by artists who were immediately visually BETTER than me really really helped me get to where i am now- i never doubted myself because i was surrounded by people who were so happy to draw just like me, and people loved to see everyone elses work and characters- the joy for characters and stories is really what propelled popularity even when my art wasnt good enough to uphold this. i remember seeing a post a long time ago mentioning that like... sites like dA remained bc they werent just for visual artists which is a great point too- it hosted lurkers really well, artists were really friendly to people who commented on their stuff even if they didnt post anything, im p sure it did fairly well for people who wrote a lot of content, i know some people got popular just because they commissioned people a lot, not bc they drew anything but bc their characters and name got popular.

i miss the old dA notification page, it was SO GOOODDD the folders for where you could store old notifications, the way it was so perfectly set up to maintain a bunch of different notifications all categorized by type, the way that they took note to stop posts that were submitted in multiple groups from appearing again and again in your notifs, the birthday warnings, it was just.. so sweet! page customization too- it was just so fun finding cute little things to put on your page, and so versatile and useful too because you could get like, boundary or commission status or language stamps on there! and like, when i was 14 i had recoded my page a few times over myself, it got me interested in html coding! and now its all gone- for what? because the sleek look is modern, and modern things get more money from investors, and the platforms dont appeal to users anymore, they appeal to investors, because they want more money- they need more money. its a hole they dug for themselves, kind of- i feel like people down the line hosting THEM want more money and so it dominos.

i loved points too, ik people thought they were useless and the worth was hard for ppl to get but $1=100 points was SO GOOD like i know buying points w usd incures a fee and so ur not getting 2000 points if you spend $20 but trading between people for a lesser fee was SO FUN i got banned for doing this a few times LMAO but it really brings a community together. it encourages younger ppl without paypal to try and do commission artwork without breaking the law, and it wasnt as if points were WORTHLESS, because i know i traded usd for them!

and like, everyones like.. twitter is better. twitter is chock full of algorithm nonesense, theres ads between every post, video audio doesnt really work right (if you click on a video on mobile it just decides you will hear every video you pass now. which will be in between every normal post in the form of a fucking ad), images get compressed to hell and ive never heard any information as to how to avoid this, gifs turn into bad videos, you still cant post multiple gifs (i think youre supposed to but well it doesnt fucking work!), just fucking try and host pixel art on here, theres on way to say long form things to people easily- “use threads” real talk, as a user, if i see a thread i do not click it, its too much work if not offered to me. i am 1 person and i represent hundreds who see your tweets. if you scroll down onto any featured popular post you will see nsfw or violent bigotry. i used to report every bit of bigotry i saw and got fast reception, near immediate banning- since owner turn over, a post disparagingly saying faggot has not been responded to in the past 48 hours. the community is fucking insane and i cant blame them, its how twitter is built- there is no separation between official posts and casual posts, like on deviantart wher ethere was differences between journals and statuses- everything youd post as a status that would have gone under the radar is a big proper real post, every comment you make is a big real post as well, it forces a lot of passing commentary to the forefront of peoples attention which of course incurs drama. and ofc its an ALGORITHM BASED PLATFORM which means it REWARDS RECEPTION, inlcuding NEGATIVE- any of your posts that you intended to have as private and only for your 5 followers if it gets enough traction gets blown out of proportion and every single other user will see it only as the post itself, as a big number post which means its open for ridicule. i feel like it was host to more psyops than dA ever was? dA had a bunch of trolls but never any govt psyops like that drug minor one

anyways new art platforms dont work out bc they dont have enough people or draw- if you just are allowing people to post images and text posts, even if you have better page customization id just use twitter because despite its cons it has the major pro of, you know, having people using it- if you make a new art platform every week, theres no real point to pursue any of them, id just wait and see which one flourished- and because i dont participate, they dont get clicks, they dont continue to grow, and they ALL die. anyways moderation is impossible in the way people like- i know everyone wants to believe their niche discourse is clean cut and actually go to show deeper oppression but moderators on websites do not care- discourse is ever evolving and so heated that they cannot afford to throw out a guess and likely no one ever explains themselves, just say This ideology is something or other. and we all want it to be so simple that everyone has the Right opinion on pro/antiship, or fetishes, or terfisms, or mogai, but i promise no matter how easy it seems to you there are thousands who violently refuse and will make up their own buzzwords about how their side is right and the other is something or other. like aside from banning slurs or cruelty they really cannot do much and likely would not ban people who have a special word in their description that you and you alone recognize as a dogwhistle for x ideology. this is the problem i know a few art websites had where they had to say clearly what they would and wouldnt allow and NO ONE was happy. also to revisit that point on hosting a lot of people, an art website that is JUST an art website is like.. its not going to get community or that response i mention from other ppl. if i get on a website just to post art, why would i comment on anyone elses?

and like, dA i know it has like front page or new algorithm which spotlights a LOT of fetish content, but honestly like. you just have to accept that theres going to be fetish content, its an art website, if you want new unseen artists spotlighted you have to acccept that in the fallout of that theres going to be fetish content.

so uhmmm theres nowhere to go and nothing to do. get your asses back on dA eclipse was glitchy and sucked and showed dA didnt respect user opinion but it has not been that bad. its functional at the very least and its only ever dysfunctional because YOU all left. i cant get reception not bc dA is broken but because theres no one left to see it

[imagining-in-the-margins]

The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 3)

Summary: Reader earns her nickname, and Spencer sinks to a new level of sin. A/N: Here, take your first dose of smut 💊 ✨ Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Drinking, alcohol, masturbation (male) Word Count: 5.3k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

——————————————————

If I had to pick my favorite thing about working for Spencer Reid, it would probably be something that most people wouldn’t expect. Sure, it was nice to be able to work with a human encyclopedia, and he was definitely very nice to look at, but neither of those things contributed to my love for my job.

It was the sense of belonging. An overwhelming feeling of serenity that existed, flowing freely beneath the surface like a network of roots twined together. I never felt out of place when I was with Spencer — which couldn’t be said for basically any other time. Especially not now.

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays because it’s just absurd. You harass your neighbors while dressed in a costume and they reward you with something sweet (or, in some cases, change). As I’ve grown older, not much has changed aside from the creativity and length of the costumes.

... and the sweet treats being replaced by the bitter sting of alcohol.

“You do realize that guy was hitting on you in there, right?” my friend shouted from less than a foot to my right.

“He was just being nice.”

“Yeah... in a bar,” another girl chimed in, “On Halloween.”

I tried to remember the face of the man they were talking about, but my memory of his eyes blended into the flashing lights of the club. Even if I wasn’t drunk, I knew it would have been hard to remember him. Because the truth was that he wasn’t the person I wanted to see when I closed my eyes.  

“Leave her alone. She’s trying to stay pure for her professor,” my friend snickered.

Despite the treachery, I still caught her before she almost pushed us both straight off the curb in her drunken state. But it wasn’t her opinion I was worried about, because at that point, I was certain she would remember none of it by the time class rolled around come Monday. It was our other acquaintance that I responded to, with a very squeaky and unreliable, “I am not doing that!”

“Yeah, what she wants isn’t pure at all,” the mess on my shoulder droned. That was enough of a reason for me to drop her, although it really resulted in both of us barely staying on our feet on the somewhat crowded sidewalk.

“Stop! It’s not like that!”

“Sure it’s not.”

Then, something else caught her attention. Knowing her, I figured that it was either a man in a scandalous costume, or it was a two for one drink deal plastered in front of a bar. I assumed it was the latter, because as soon as she finished talking, she grabbed hold of our hands and yanked us against the brick wall of the next bar.

“So you wouldn’t mind if, theoretically, Professor Reid saw you in your costume?” she asked.

I like to think that I am a relatively smart girl. After all, I had made my way to graduate school, and Spencer seemed to think that I wasn’t a complete hopeless idiot. But in that moment, I couldn’t understand why on earth she would ever think to ask me that.

Running my hands over the fuzzy pink bodysuit I was wearing, I tried to picture his reaction. As soon as I tried to look down, however, the two floppy bunny ears affixed to the hood dropped over my eyes.

“I-I mean, I guess not…?” I mumbled, my face growing hot from something other than the alcohol, “I’m wearing it in public, so...”

But then she said it — the most terrifying two words I’d ever heard in my life.

“Okay ­– good.”

My eyes shot up immediately, trying to follow her eyes through the crowd of drunk, costumed people. By the time that I spotted him, somewhat thankfully dressed in normal clothes, I was powerless to stop it.

“Dr. Reid!” My friend’s voice rang out into the night, “Dr. Reid, come over here!”

The moment our eyes met, I knew I was fucked. Totally, completely, and utterly fucked. A clever little grin filled his cheeks as he quickly spotted me trying to hide under my hood.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I shrieked, but he was already on his way over.

“You said you didn’t mind!”

In a panicked whisper, I bit back, “I didn’t say call him over here!”

When he grew closer, though, I corrected myself. Because it was not just Spencer who was walking over. There was someone else with him. Another man, just as tall and just as beautiful as Spencer, but with a dark complexion and an even more wicked smile.

As for my company, they had already scattered into the bar behind me, leaving me with a wordless, dumbstruck look on my face that was very poorly hidden behind bunny ears.

“H-hey Prof— Dr. Reid,” I managed to get out.  

“Hey,” he answered in a tone I’d never heard before. A slightly guarded, very entertained but mostly awkward stretch of the vowel.

The man beside him, however, was quick to question.

“Who’s this?”

As I said before, I like to consider myself a relatively bright person. But the alcohol that night had been both free and strong. So, when I was asked by a handsome man who I was on the Devil’s night, I answered honestly.

“I’m a bunny!” I cried, bringing my hands together over my chest and turning to present the small pink pompom affixed to my lower back.

“I can see that,” the stranger replied through a genuine chuckle. But while the action was amusing to at least two of us in the conversation, Spencer looked mortified. It wasn’t necessarily negative, though.

I couldn’t be sure, of course, considering that I had already consumed more liquor that night than I had in the past month, but something told me that Spencer was less humiliated by me, and more worried about how blatant his response to my answer was. Because when he spoke, he did so through a smile.

“She’s uh... my teaching assistant.”

“Teaching assistant, huh?” his friend repeated, clearly amused.

There was almost a challenge to the title. Something about the way he said it setting my heart into overdrive. Unable to control my own treacherous tongue, I continued to dig myself a wonderfully sized hole to jump in to.

“I’m also very good at hopping,” I said.  

Once again, the better company of the two laughed. Spencer, however, covered his smile with a hand that brought attention to just how red his face had grown over the course of a few seconds. I was so distracted by it, lost in the way I could still see upturned lips just from his eye shape alone, that I failed to acknowledge the other man for a suspicious length of time.

“Well hey, don’t let me get in the way of you two catching up. Reid, I’ll go tell the hostess we’re here, so the others know where to go.”

With a firm pat on the shoulder, the man almost turned to walk away. But before he could, I drew him back again.

“Ooh, is there a party?”

Spencer, finally able to speak again, rushed his reply.

“No, it’s nothing.”

It was obviously not nothing, though. Judging by the toothy grin that his friend flashed, it was a very big not-nothing.

“Did he not tell you?” he asked with an incredulous, mischievous tone, “It’s his birthday.”

And it was, by far, the most insulting, scandalous news I’d heard that night. Enough to elicit a sharp gasp and hand reaching out to grab his wrist in a way I knew I shouldn’t have.

“You didn’t tell me it’s your birthday!”

My mind was racing, kicking myself for having not figured it out sooner. I was trying to recall the monthly staff newsletter, but then quickly remembered that I usually relied on Spencer to summarize them for me.

“It’s not my birthday,” he explained with a sigh, “It was a few days ago.”

His friend seemed pleased by my response, although he clearly saw it dwindling. My heels had already dropped back down with my hands that fell away, signaling a very different emotion than the excitement from seconds prior.

“We’re meeting up with some people for drinks and dinner. You want to come?” he asked, trying to convince me before it was too late.

But the moment had passed, replaced by loud, insecure ranting that insisted that Spencer wouldn’t have avoided telling me his birthday unless he didn’t want me to know. That meant he either didn’t enjoy making a fuss out of his birthday, or he didn’t want me to, specifically.

“Uhh...”

“Don’t answer that,” Spencer cut in, swiftly raising a hand to dismiss the other man whose name I finally learned. “Thanks Derek, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Suit yourself,” he mumbled back. But Derek, in all of his disappointment, didn’t fail to draw out one more flustered laugh from the two of us who remained as he gave a tiny half-wave and sang, “Goodbye, Bunny.”

Spencer’s neck craned back, never once leaving his friend until he had safely entered the restaurant. Once he was sure that he was safe from ridicule, or at least observation, his entire demeanor changed.

“I’m sorry about that,” he offered, but I couldn’t accept. If anyone had been a bother here, it was me (and my friends).

“No, I’m sorry I bothered you!” I rushed.

The silence stretched between us, an unsettling reminder that we rarely interacted outside of work. That he’d never known me to party, and I’d never thought of him doing something as routine and normal as celebrating a birthday. It shouldn’t have been strange, but it was.

Perhaps that feeling was what drove me to continue, proudly stating, “I promise that I will have all your work ready first thing in the morning.”

It wasn’t until Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth opened in a strange, lopsided grin that I’d realized I made a mistake.

“Um...” he spoke through laughter, “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“I’m very motivated?”

Thankfully, he saw the humiliation and was happy to offer me a graceful escape from my humiliation. “How about I give you until Tuesday, instead?”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best, huh?”

I gladly took it, staring down at my heels as I tried to find anything else to focus on. Anything that wasn’t his eyes that seemed even more powerful after dark. But true to the magnetism I always experienced in his vicinity, I was drawn back into golden irises full of an emotion that made my heart beat twice as hard.

“Where did your friends go?” he asked. I didn’t trust myself to answer, so I just threw my thumb over my shoulder and towards the bar behind me. I didn’t turn away from him then, too scared to acknowledge that I would be leaving him soon. That we would go our separate ways again and I would have to wait until Tuesday to drown in the honey of his eyes again.  

Sure enough, Spencer gave a solemn nod and cleared his throat before mumbling, “Right. You should probably go find them, so they don’t get worried.”

But I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with him, the rest of the world be damned. I wanted to feel his eyes on me longer, especially when they started to wander my figure that I’d secretly hoped he would see.

I could pretend to hate my friend for calling him over all I wanted, but when I slipped into the costume hours earlier, I’d wondered what he would do if he saw me like this. And now that the answer was in front of me, torn between the exposed skin of my thighs and chest, I wanted to experience it for as long as possible.

With my fingers on the zipper to try and calm my heart, the inebriation manifested in soft giggles as I replied, “I think I’m pretty safe with you, Professor.”  

Spencer didn’t need to vocalize his disagreement. I saw his contention in the form of wayward eyes falling to my hands that fiddled with the tiny piece of plastic keeping me covered. When they trailed back up the zipper teeth to meet my eyes again, they were filled with a hunger that took my breath away.

Unfortunately for us, though, our smitten haze wasn’t shared by anyone else in the vicinity. Especially not the drunk pack of men who passed, completely unaware of the amount of space they took up on the sidewalk. I don’t even remember one of them running into me, but I definitely remembered what followed in extreme, vivid detail.

Spencer caught me, quickly and more gracefully than I thought him capable of moving. His arms were locked around me, not only preventing me from face planting on the concrete but causing me to press my face directly against him.

Before he had a chance to say or do much of anything else, I placed my hands on his chest and tore myself away from the warmth of his embrace. Because I was already drunk enough on the alcohol — I didn’t need to be any more inebriated from him.

“S-See? You caught me!” I squeaked.

I didn’t miss the fact his hands stayed on my waist even with the added distance, his fingers subtly digging into and stroking the plush fabric. I didn’t try to stop them, either.

“Are you going to be okay? Should I take you home?”

I knew it wasn’t how he’d meant it, but my inner voice still pleaded, Yes, God, please, yes! My outer voice, however, clung to reason and respectability.

“No! Don’t miss your birthday dinner!” I insisted, but he didn’t look convinced. “I’m fine, seriously. I just suck at walking in heels.”

Any part of me that would have normally been offended by his insistence that I couldn’t handle myself while drinking was quelled by my desire to keep his hands on me as long as possible. Although there was enough space for my arms between our chests, I swore I felt his fluttering heartbeat against my fingers. I thought of hummingbirds.

Resigned to my stubbornness, Spencer took a moment longer to stroke patterns through the pink fabric wrapped around my waist before he sighed, “If you say so.”

“I do!” I giggled, leaning closer like I might convince him not to leave at all, “So you better listen up, mister Professor man.”

The look he gave me was sweet, honeyed bliss. But even that seemed minuscule in comparison to the way his hands slid over my sides, making their way over my shoulders and gently brushing the errant bunny ears back out of my face. He left them there, too, with a barely-there caress of my face.

“You look cute,” he said, like it wouldn’t break my heart.  

Shier than he’d ever seen me before, I somehow managed to still look him in the eye as I answered, “So do you.”

It was a good thing I’d been paying attention, too. If I hadn’t been staring into his eyes, I would have missed the flash of chaotic playfulness that appeared just as he glanced down at the space between our chests.

I wouldn’t have been prepared at all when he dropped one of his hands from my face to the zipper of my costume. Not to say that anything could have prepared me for the way it felt to have his knuckle brush against the skin just below the lace bralette that had been meant to protect my modesty.

Before I could even comprehend the delicious friction of our skin, it was gone. Spencer pulled the zipper up to my chin, releasing the plastic in favor of grabbing hold of my chin once more.

“Be careful with that zipper,” he instructed, “I don’t need you getting hypothermia this early in the semester.”

Unsure of how else to respond, my body responded on instinct as it stammered, “I-I promise.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, and my autopilot continued.

“Double promise. Promise squared.”

“Okay. You have my number so... call me if you need anything.”

I absently nodded, but Spencer accurately concluded that I hadn’t actually processed what he’d said. When he let go of me, he took the time to smooth out the bunched up fabric over my shoulders. I tried to convince myself that he was just interested in the soft fluff, but it was hard to ignore the hunger that’d only grown stronger. The darkness that rivaled the moonless hallow’s eve.

“I don’t mind giving you a ride home if it means you get back safe,” he said with a deathly seriousness strongly contrasted by the flippancy that followed. “Otherwise I’ll have more work for Tuesday.”

I was grateful for the shift, because it made the loss of his hands hurt less. My chest filled with laughter that quickly burst from me with frantic, messy words.

“Of course! The work. For Tuesday. Okay! Thank you!”

“For what?” he also said through laughter.

“I— don’t know.”

Spencer turned away from me, looking behind him at the obligations that would tear us apart. I wondered if he, too, was busy contemplating how well it suited just how different we were. How two establishments side by side could house such different things. How we were frequenting opposite ends of the spectrum.

Whatever he was thinking about, however, it didn’t break his spirits too badly. Because before he sent me on my merry way, he flashed me the goofiest little bouncing peace sign before he sang, “Hop along, little bunny.”

So I did, turning back to my life and letting him return to his. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes following me until the darkness of the bar swallowed the space between us.

Still, I didn’t need him to be there to remember how it felt for his hands to roam my body like familiar territory. I saw that look in his eyes every time that I closed my own and remembered how it made my legs shake like weak stems bending to the wind.

I decided then that it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that he’d seen me in my costume. In fact, I think he quite liked it.

 ——————————————————

 There are few things more relentless than Derek Morgan. Death and taxes, perhaps. When it came to mocking me, there wasn’t a single missed opportunity. Even at the darkest hour, I trusted him to be consistent and predictable.

That was precisely why it made no sense that I had made it through an entire dinner and drinks outing with the team without him mentioning what had happened. Not even once. I almost let myself be relieved. Perhaps time spent with a child that can talk back did him some good, I thought. But when the time finally came for us to take our leave, I realized my mistake. He wasn’t holding back out of the kindness of his heart.

No, Derek wanted to wait until there was no escape route. He wanted to have me trapped in a car hurtling down a highway before he spoke the words that he’d been waiting to say all night.

“So... Bunny.”

“Her name is (y/n),” I quickly corrected. Unfortunately, Derek wasn’t in a merciful mood. Although there was a notable smirk on his face, his next words were uttered with a hefty dose of skepticism. A warning that it was a subject that ought to be approached with a critical sincerity.

“Her name is Trouble. That’s what her name is,” he said, shaking his head.  

“She’s just my teaching assistant,” I said like I might actually convince myself, though we both knew that I wasn’t going to convince him. “It’s fine.”

“Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

But that time, it was me who issued the warning.

“Stop,” I ordered, meeting his eyes to find him hiding his genuine concern under jokes that weren’t really jokes at all. “I respect her. She’s very bright and she earned her position.”

“I never said she didn’t. I know she’s probably smart, but I also saw the way you looked at her.”

The words felt like a blow to the stomach — yet another reminder that my affections for her were so thinly veiled they might as well be scrawled across my skin. He didn’t need to be a profiler to notice that I was fond of the girl, but it certainly made it worse.

Because he knew that I was lying when I muttered, “You don’t need to worry about it.”

He knew that I was lying, but he still asked, “Why’s that?”

“She’s...” I started, pausing while the word tried to form on my tongue. The word that had haunted me ever since those damned girls mentioned it. That short, simple little noun that had taken a cursory affection and turned it into full blown lust.

“She’s a virgin.”

Derek’s brows jumped up his face, his jaw dropping the same way mine had when I first heard the news. Then, just as I had, he put the pieces together and realized that it should have been a foregone conclusion.

“Trouble with a capital everything,” he half laughed.

But this wasn’t a joking matter, and I really wished that I could make him believe that. That definitely wouldn’t happen, though. Not when he looked up to see me hiding behind my hands, sinking into my seat like it would get me out of the conversation.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s obviously waiting.”

It was the wrong thing to say. I should have seen his response coming from a mile away. But I didn’t, and so I was forced to listen to his childish giggles that were followed with an even more lighthearted crooning.

“Yeah, waiting for the right professor to come teach her the lesson on the birds and the bees.”

“Cut it out.”

Without even looking, he astutely observed, “Kid, you’re blushing.”  

“Yeah, because you’re talking about me fuc–”

The word never made it out, getting caught between my teeth as I bit down on my tongue damn near hard enough to make it bleed. I wished it would. I wanted the iron to drown me and rid me of the sinful things it sought to do, instead. Opting for a more… distinguished explanation, I eventually stammered the rest of the thought.

“You’re talking about me... deflowering my significantly younger employee!”

“You can say fuck, Reid,” he deadpanned, “I think you’re old enough now.”

“I don’t want to. It sounds too... crude.”

I didn’t expect him to understand. How could he? He’d only seen her when she was at her most provocative… by far. Part of me envied him, to be able to sequester her innocence and view her as just another girl.

But she wasn’t like anyone else. She was an untouched bloom, a magnolia of unearthly shades. A beautiful blossom that had broken through the concrete walls I’d maintained for so many years. A tantalizing taste of the life outside that I refused to let in.

A fucking tease.

“Too crude for little miss innocent bunny?” Derek cooed, and it was so uncomfortably close to my thoughts that I couldn’t help the way I snapped back.

“Are you done?”

As we pulled into my parking lot, Derek just waved off my hostility, recognizing it as nothing but misfired shame and anguish at the thing I wanted being out of my reach.

“Yeah, I’m done. I hope you had fun, even with the teasing.”

I chose not to dignify the second half of the statement, climbing out of the car like I couldn’t step away from the conversation fast enough. But of course, I knew that only made my guilt more apparent. My culpability was clear and conclusive. There was no argument to be made.

“You know I’m right!” he shouted just before the door shut. A final reminder, one last cautionary call for the beast inside of me to keep itself hidden lest I allow myself to sink my teeth into something pure.

“Goodnight!”

Few things changed when I reached the confines of my apartment walls. Fantasies had only devolved into a vividness that was borderline frightening. How easily I could get lost in visions of her, only promising my return in exchange for my imagination agreeing to become a reality that I would get a chance to experience.

But that wasn’t fair to her. She was just a girl doing her job with an astounding amount of patience and understanding for her hopeless romantic of a boss. For a moment, the guilt became so overwhelming that I let it win. I managed to swallow my newly acquired memories well enough to navigate my nightly routine without wishing she was there every step of the way.

Wishing that she would call me. That she would grant me the excuse to return to her, to touch her as freely as I had earlier. I imagined a world where, upon arriving to her destination, she invited me in.

As I collapsed on my bed, I wondered if she would have preferred the privacy of my home. A place far enough away from other students and academics to finally see me as something more than a superior. Something attainable in a way she never seemed to be.

Just as I closed my eyes to give in to the dreams, my phone buzzed. The sound set off every nerve in my body, all of them very poorly coordinating to allow me to grab the device and turn it on to reveal her name.

“Hey Professor! I just wanted to let you know that I got home…”

I’d never opened a notification so quickly, but I should have waited. I should have paused and taken the time to notice that what I was opening wasn’t just a collection of letters and symbols.

It was a set of pictures.

Pictures of her.

“Safe and sound and zippered up. No hypothermia for this bunny tonight,” she tagged onto the end, “Sweet dreams!”

How could I ever dream of anything but her? How was I meant to turn off my phone now, knowing that she was there; her drunken, lustful stare on display? I only tore my eyes away from her face long enough to notice her surroundings. I took extensive, painstaking notes on the color of the sheets on her bed and the way the zipper I’d tugged at to control myself from taking her had fallen away again.

I could feel the softness of her skin against my knuckle again. I heard the way her breath nearly broke at the force with which she sucked in air at the feeling of me touching her. How hard she pressed herself against me, how her back arched when I held her and how she never even tried to stop my hands from finding new places to rest.

They worked diligently now, too, trying to keep her awake and with me for as long as I could, but also wanting to free myself of obligations so that she wouldn’t notice how long I’d stared at the pictures she’d sent.

“Goodnight, little bunny,” I sent before adding, “I’ll be counting rabbits instead of sheep tonight.”

As if to reward my efforts, another picture flooded my screen. Her face was scrunched up in an adorable innocence, half covered with her hand but still effortlessly beautiful.

I stopped myself from responding again. I forced myself to stop, to prevent treacherous hands from calling her and begging her to let me come to her. It wasn’t fair — it was manipulative, downright evil, even — to take advantage of her inebriated state to hoard any insight she might provide.

But she’d already sent these… So, would it be so wrong to indulge in her? By touching my own body to the thought of her, would I taint her? Did I care even if it did? Maybe it was for the best to plant the seed of impurity now, to strip her of her power over me.

But deep down, I knew that I would still want her. I would still wish that the hand that sneaked beneath the sheets belonged to her. I could almost feel it as my hand traversed familiar territory. It would be new for her, and it would be new for me to feel the delicate, unmarred skin of her palm slowly sliding down my stomach. Her fingers bashfully brushing through soft curls at the base of me, still too nervous to hold me the way I needed her to.

Her face would be buried in my shoulder, with dew from her breath wetting my neck and raising the hairs on my arms. I would take her hand in mine and guide her to wrap her trembling hand around my cock.

Just like I was doing to myself now, with my other hand still holding the phone displaying the image of innocence. My hand wasn’t as soft or inexperienced as hers would be, but as long as my eyes stayed on her half-lidded gaze staring back at me, I could pretend.

I could hear her panting my name— my real name, Spencer— in my ear, praising the feel of silky skin beneath her fingertips. She would whisper about how she wanted to feel it elsewhere, too. She would beg for me to replace a hand for her most precious place.

That damned angelic girl showing her hand on the zipper would beg me to steal away her innocence. She would unveil herself slowly, knowing that I needed the time to memorize every inch of her skin as it was seen by another for the first time. Seen by me, and only me. The vision would be for my consumption and indulgence.

I wanted it. I wanted her.

My stomach tensed as I pictured the girl staring back at me straddling my hips. I stroked myself harder, faster, letting my thumb trace down her body on my screen.

If I stole it from her, would it be mine?

Would she be trapped as I was, only able to feel anything when I was with her? Would she dream of me? Would she cherish each and every memory of my touch and play it back in her mind? When she felt the urge to break and burn, would she picture my hands lighting the match?

If I ruined her, would she be mine?

I pictured the girl on the screen with tears in her eyes, her mouth stuck open in a silent scream and her hands clutching desperately to mine. I imagined how tightly her body would grip me as I fucked her. How hard it would fight the intrusion of my sinful touch. How I would hold her down despite the resistance until she gave in to me. Until I broke her, thoroughly and irreparably.

She would be mine.

That was the thought that took me over the edge, all energy that was not delegated to my hand feverishly stroking my cock remained with my other hand to hold her picture in front of me. It never even wavered, never once shaking and risking losing any clarity. Even my eyes refused to close all the way.

She would be mine.

The warm, sticky mess of my desire coated my hand and stomach, but all I could think was how it would feel to mark her as mine. To feel the excess drip back down my cock as she collapsed against my body. To know that she would never be the same, never be wholly herself again. That she’d let me inside of her soul and that when I left, I hadn’t left empty handed.

She was already mine.

 ——————————————————

| Part Four |

[goratrix-betrayed]

The Art of Regret, and Why I Can't Do It

This is an essay I originally posted on the Fictionkind Dreamwidth on November 19, 2021. I kept it there to avoid harassment from anyone who might not like what I have to say, but due to the response that my panel got at Othercon, and the fact that I referenced this essay multiple times, I have decided to crosspost it to Tumblr as well.

This is an essay largely aimed at others with "problematic" fiction-based identities. For those who tuned into my panel, you can see some of the same ideas I took to the panel in their infancy, here--I was only three months "old" in terms of being in the system, and had not yet refined many of my ideas.

I hope that it helps someone. You are welcome to reblog this, add discussion if desired, ask questions. Please--interact if you wish to. However, if your intent is to interact with the goal of harassment, remember that I am quick on the block button and also do not care. Respectful debate is fine, cruelty is not.

Content warning for discussions of murder back in-source.

The word regret carries many connotations in addition to its definition. If you regret something, you wish you hadn’t done it; you would like to take it back, do something in its place or abstain from action altogether, or perhaps act when you did not before. However, I have found that this word, regret, often carries a moral or ethical connotation to it when used in relation to actions taken against other people. While “I regret not taking that course in college” or “I regret taking that trip” carry no moral connotation or obligation, “I regret saying that to her” or “I regret pushing him over” do. If you regret what you did to someone, it implies that you feel bad about it, not just that you’d rather that you hadn’t done it.

This is why I cannot regret what I have done.

Back in my “source,” I did bad things, and I do not hide this, but nor do I apologize. I did what I felt was right in the moment; I did what seemed justified. Some of those actions, in hindsight, were foolhardy, absurd, unnecessary, inefficient, or just wasteful. As a result, I wish I had not done them—to do so had negative consequences I did not foresee or desire. However, I cannot say that I regret them, because to do so would imply that I feel bad about what I did.

I do not feel bad about trying to get Myca Vykos killed. (As stated in a previous writing of mine, Sascha does not care if people refer to their “past self” Myca with his name and pronouns, for clarity.) I do not have a moral issue with the actions I took, nor do I consider it deeply out of line or something that I have to, God forbid, atone for. That is not who I am, and that is not my lot in life. Instead, I wish I had never done that to him because, in hindsight, it was stupid. It accomplished nothing, wasted a perfectly good student, and ultimately caused more suffering than I had intended. Had I known that the Tzimisce would Embrace the poor boy, not kill him, I would have pitched him off the tower myself. I certainly never intended for him to go through the torture and horrors that would characterize the next several centuries of his life.

Do I “regret” trying to get him killed? By definition, I suppose, yes, but ultimately I have to say no. I do not feel bad about it. I feel stupid over it, certainly, but not like I did anything wrong, despite knowing that the action was wrong. Doing “bad” things like that rarely bothered me, especially that long after the consecration of Ceoris and, therefore, the loss of most of my few remaining morals. (The rest went after my Embrace and subsequent centuries as a vampire.)

Do I “regret” treating Tremere like I did, towards the end? Perhaps, but again, I feel like I was justified. When the man you love abandons you over a botched ritual, an accidentally killed friend, and a shouting match with your rival, sides against you, and then treats you icily for decades or centuries… What else was I supposed to do? Part of me wishes I had not treated him that way, but the rest of me reminds, he deserved it. He treated me poorly first, he abandoned me first, and he said hurtful things to me first. I will not lie down and take such treatment, and he got what he gave, even as it tore me up inside to not simply accept it, just to try to win him back and let him love me again.

(I tried a few times. It didn’t work either.)

But despite me wishing that I hadn’t had to treat him that way, again, I felt as if I had to, and I still feel justified in that feeling and decision. I have always done what I felt was right: right for myself, for Tremere, for my friends, and for House Tremere as a whole. I did what I could for Clan Tremere until they turned their backs on me, and then I fled.

The closest thing I have to an action that I regret is the slaying of Calderon. After I fled the Clan, Tremere sent him after me. Calderon, the closest thing I had to a brother at that time... He ordered me to return with him to Tremere for punishment, or he would kill me. I would die if I went with him; I told him as much. He attacked me. I had two choices: kill or be killed. For me, there was no moment of hesitation, no decision to be made. As much as I cared for Calderon, I would not die by his hand, for I had not come this far just to get this far. I wish it had not come to that. I miss him many nights, and his death plays over and over in my mind when I think of him. It was a terrible waste, and just another ultimately unnecessary murder on my hands that I was forced into committing.

How can I feel bad about something I had to do? I had no reasonable other choice in most of these situations, and even when I did, at the time, I felt fully justified. I have reached no atonement, no redemption: I am not the tragic hero hiding in the mantle of a villain. I am not recovered nor good; I have not been absolved of my sins and I do not seek such. To say that I am sorry would be a lie, and while I am typically not above such things, I will not lie to you. I am, for all intents and purposes, a bad man, Lawful Evil as D&D would have it, an advocate and disciple of the Path of Power in my own world, having shed Humanity and its virtue of Conscience centuries ago.

Such an idea is anathema to most. Should I not, then, be punished for my transgressions? But I am a fictive; all of my crimes are in my source. I have wronged no one you would consider real. Am I deserving of scorn, of punishment, of harassment and cruelty? Or am I someone to be spoken to in the hopes of helping me find redemption, turning me into someone that I am not? Entire communities could fight, viciously, for years over this binary that does not have to be.

I have seen most “villainous” fictionkin regret the things that they did in their source. That is largely to be expected; in most cases, fictionkin are their own people first, their kintype second. There is a degree of separation in this identity, as far as I can tell. (See my headmate, Research’s, essay "Fiction in the System and Being the "Odd One Out.") I also see this, frequently, in fictives, but not as often. Many fictives “grow” and change to become something beyond their source; they began as a specific character, but grew to find a degree of separation between themselves and that identity, and therefore grow to regret much of what they did. Others simply grow and change as people, and as people do, may come to regret previous actions taken in haste, anger, or other unpleasant circumstances.

What, then, to do when I don’t want that? I don’t want to become one of those people. I’m perfectly happy being who I am. I have been Goratrix for over one thousand years, and while I have, of course, changed over that time—no one is static—old vampires are rarely as dynamic in personality as younger vampires and mortals. If you leave a mortal human alone for five years and return, they will be quite different; if you leave an elder vampire alone for even thrice that and return, they will be much the same. As a result, the idea of rapid change in order to be respected is as anathema to me as the idea of not changing is to the “purity culture” present in most online spaces. I refuse to change myself for others, and I refuse to force myself to be respectable. I am DONE making myself palatable to other people: I did so for decades, nay, centuries amongst House Tremere, forcing myself into molds that I do not fit, re-shaping myself to take on the traits of those around me that made them likable. I will do it no longer, and I will not bend that rule of mine for something as petty as regretting my crimes with the correct moral connotation.

That does not, however, mean that I intend to keep doing harm. I do not see it necessary to do so. I am extracted from the environment of political manipulation and murder, where a single mistake can cost you hundreds of years of work and your unlife. Instead of contemplating killing and manipulating my enemies, now, I mostly play video games and listen to music. Am I changed, reformed? No. I am the same man I have always been, with no environmental factors forcing me to do what must be done. I am only a threat to those that prompt me to be one; in a space such as this, I am, in essence, harmless.

We come, at last, to my questions. Those who made mistakes or did “bad” things in your sources: do you regret it? Why? Talk to me, and do not hold back; you are safe from scorn. I am curious to see if I am the only one who feels this way, and how others approach this topic regarding their own sources. I wonder if the pattern I have noticed in fictionkin vs fictives will continue, or if it has, so far, been coincidence.

Say whatever you’d like. Answer my questions, or don’t. Ask something, if you have something to ask. I am trying to make sense of this, and wonder if anyone else is, too.

Thank you for your time.

[dalishious]

Some thoughts and tips I guess on writing elf/human characters

TL;DR: Don’t make another Michel de Chevin.

I’ve noticed that’s become more and more popular for DA fans to create characters who they imagine to be half one fantasy race and half another; particularly elf/human. And I think that’s really cool, because it’s an extremely under-explored thing by the developers. But I’ve also seen some good things and some bad things that really rub me the wrong way to come out of it. Anyway, this is a few of my thoughts, I guess. A lot of which does come from personal experience, being a biracial person who whitepasses most of the time. (Definitely enough that I just plain call myself whitepassing.) And whether or not you are someone who chooses to go along with BioWare’s inept/moronic/insulting canon concept that a half elf child will always 100% physically take after their non-elf parent, I’ve got some things to perhaps ponder about.

If your character passes as completely human, they will spend their entire lives listening to people saying derogatory things about elves, thinking that it’s okay since they don’t see any elves in the vicinity. There are a lot of racist humans who will work very hard to appear nice and friendly on the outside, but show their true colours when they think no one will argue with them. But unless it is a danger to do so, it is your character’s moral obligation to tell them to shut the fuck up. To use their passing privilege to speak for their fellow people who do not have it. If your character is with a group of elves getting harassed, racist assholes will often be far more inclined to listen to your character than an elf who is very elfy looking. Even if you ignore BioWare’s BS canon and choose to imagine your character with physical traits from both parents, the less elfy they look, the better in the eyes of tormentors. 

Speaking of tormentors... The most depressing thing, is that your character could very well experience a lot of torment from their own family. And it hurts more than any stranger’s torment. To hear your relative call you slurs, exclude you from family events, to know there is nothing you can do to change how they feel about you... And this very well could come from both sides of the family. (Although it’s important to remember that as hurtful as it is from either side, there is not equal ground to stand on, and so I don’t think it’s fair to judge both sides equally. But yes, both sides are wrong to treat you bad because of your parents. But it’s not easy to see it that way, especially if you grow up hearing it a lot.)

I can’t tell you how tired I am of seeing elven characters ashamed of their elven heritage. If you really desire doing this, at least let there be a light at the end of the tunnel; an exploration your character may go on in finding a sense of peace and pride and connection in being elven. I’ve spoken with quite a number of people--for a real world example--who only come to find out about their Indigenous family later in life. (It is unfortunately more common than you may think, often because they or their parents were taken from their families.) It’s not just a matter of “oh I guess I’m Native now,” it’s a journey. And the big word that always comes up, is how they feel like they’ve finally found a connection they’ve always been lacking. (This is, of course, excluding the assholes who like to say that they’re Native since their great great great grandmother was an ‘indian princess’ because they think it sounds cool/they think its a get out of racism free card. You guys are making things difficult for everyone who actually cares about themselves and are spreading damaging myths and need to fuck right off.)

Anyway, other people can feel free to add.

[panharmonium]

the other thing that i keep thinking about, especially now that i’ve been knee-deep in conversation about kakashi’s father for the last couple days, is the amount of politically/socially-charged context kakashi must be constantly navigating as a leaf shinobi, even though we don’t get to see much of it.  

the transformation of the hidden leaf village is obviously still a work in progress, and society never changes overnight.  we’ve heard at various points in shippuden about the still-present divide between hardliners like danzo and the (somewhat) more moderate senju line, and it’s clear that there are still plenty of reactionary/conservative forces at work in the shinobi world, which means there are absolutely still segments of the population who would view the kind of challenge that kakashi and his students pose to traditional shinobi values as a threat.  and back when kakashi first chose to reaffirm his father’s principles, i’m sure it was much worse - the way minato tells it, the entire village and the land of fire turned on sakumo, and it’s not like all those people just disappeared when kakashi finally allowed himself to recognize that all of them were doing something wrong.  they were still there.  they were his neighbors.  they were his colleagues.  he had to live with them.  he had to work with them - he had to work FOR them, even.  to this day, he still does.

like.  i am FASCINATED by the complexities of this situation, even though we barely see any of it.  just...thinking about thirteen year-old kakashi being a member of the Jonin Assembly alongside all of these grown adults who persecuted his father until the “great man who everyone looked up to” couldn’t survive it any longer.  thinking about teenage kakashi lost and “waiting to die” in the anbu black ops, but still breaking every rule to rescue little tenzo from a hardline conservative who tried to have kakashi assassinated.  thinking about adult kakashi, still a member of that same Jonin Assembly, still working alongside people he can clearly remember harassing and attacking his father for saving their lives, being asked to serve as a clandestine hokage under danzo’s nose, because foreign nations trust kakashi where they don’t trust the actual nominee, and then being nominated for real when danzo turns up dead (and having his nomination approved, i might add, by the land of fire, whose government officially blamed kakashi’s father for the damage that resulted from that abandoned mission years before).

we only get hints about the lingering controversy surrounding kakashi and his family via danzo and, occasionally, the village elders, but like.  kakashi occupies such a complex place in the hidden leaf village, because he’s become incredibly respected and renowned by many (if not most) of its residents, but he also spends every day of his life moving within a community where many (if not most) of the older people around him participated in a campaign of vicious harassment against his father, one that ultimately led to his death.  some of them may have had changes of heart after sakumo’s suicide - that seems like the kind of thing that might have shocked some people into reevaluating their positions, particularly given how respected sakumo was prior to that time - and some of them probably died later in the war, but we know there’s still a conservative faction active in the hidden leaf village, and some of those people are always going to be who they are.  and even the people who aren’t - even the ones who regret how they acted - it’s still so complicated!  how do you continue to live and work in that environment?  how do you navigate a history of being harmed in that way, when you still have to collaborate with and/or serve the same people who did the harming, some of whom likely view you with the exact same disdain they had for your father?

kakashi manages it, somehow, though i’ll bet he has complicated feelings about it, even if he keeps them to himself.  and that’s yet another reason why (if i can just take these thoughts on a slight detour to the present) i think kakashi’s relationship with sasuke is so vitally important, especially moving forward.  sasuke’s family was wronged by the village too, in horrific, unforgivable ways - the shinobi system swallowed itachi whole and sacrificed the entire uchiha clan on the altar of a mission, in exactly the kind of evil, inhuman decision-making process that sakumo and obito and kakashi said could never be justified.  the uchiha were victims of the same shinobi system that drove kakashi’s father to his death - the one that said “everything is acceptable as long as the task at hand is accomplished.  people are disposable in service to a mission.”  both sasuke and kakashi’s families fell to a cultural context that refused to acknowledge that it is never okay to sacrifice your comrades for a mission, a cultural context that embraced this belief to the point where even literal genocide became excusable.

if sasuke is ever going to really and truly Come Home, he’s going to need to learn how to navigate this situation.  not to excuse the wrong that was done, and certainly not to give up on getting justice for himself and his clan, but also to figure out, in conjunction with these important tasks, how to continue existing in an environment where so much officially-sanctioned harm was done to his person, and where so many people around him have at least a little bit of history of being suspicious of or uncharitable towards the uchiha clan, even though they obviously didn’t know about the impending coup or danzo’s extermination order.  

it’s an incredibly complicated situation, and even if kakashi doesn’t have all the answers, he can at least understand what it feels like to be in that kind of position.  he’s been navigating something like this for many, many years.  he’s the precedent, someone who can help sasuke wrestle with the perhaps unanswerable questions of how am i supposed to dedicate myself to a place that wronged me like this?  why should i protect people who hurt me so badly?  is there even a way for me to move forward here, if i can’t forgive the ones who took my family away from me?  can this actually be my home again, when i know what it did to my people?

kakashi has obviously managed to come up with answers to these questions that enable him to stay integrated in his community and keep building a future he believes in, though I doubt any of his answers are simple, and i’m sure there are some things that he’s just had to accept will never be fully settled in his heart.  it’s like what he says to obito in an episode i watched recently: “i don’t know anything for sure, either...i’ve thought that this world is hell, too...but...”  it’s the but that matters.  even in the face of confusion and complexity, kakashi has found a way to keep moving.  he’s learned to co-exist with the uncertainty and discomfort surrounding him, and to make his own meaning out of this life, regardless of how complicated his internal relationship with the village might be.  he’s found a way to keep his eyes trained on the light, whatever that light might look like for him, and even if said light is only, as gaara says, “the faintest glimmer.”  he has so much to teach someone like sasuke, who up until recently was responding to that same plea of gaara’s with a fatalistic “i shut my eyes a long time ago.  the things i seek now lie only in the darkness.” 

anyway.  i am just having Many Thoughts currently about the intricacies of the political and social context that kakashi is always navigating, even though he never says a word about it.  and i’m curious whether this family history will ever come up again in the last fifth of this show.  if i were going on instinct alone, i’d suspect that we weren’t quite done with sakumo yet - i feel like we barely even started with him, to be honest (and also - whatever happened to kakashi’s mother???) - but i should know better at this point than to try and predict what this show is going to do, so i’ll just wait and see.

[nugnthopkns]

i wish i could disappear

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, feelings of anxiety due to social media harassment, invasion of privacy that border on stalking

recommended listening: brutal | olivia rodrigo

series masterpost: here

a/n: and we're off to the races!! i love this album and olivia so much. there's a shoutout to goon by tobias jesso jr. in here bc it's my favourite album to cry to lmao (highly recommend giving it a listen!). i'm on the fence about this one but am posting it anyways because i don't think i can make it any better

How the fuck do people find your social media?

All of your accounts are private and Kevin makes sure to never tag you on the rare occasion he posts a picture of the two of you together. The wives and girlfriends who have public accounts make sure to never post about you, and you’re careful not to comment on posts often. You’re a private person and though you understand that due to the nature of your relationship with Kevin you intrigue some fans, you don’t want to give them more than you have to.

Despite making no attempt to open up to the public or media, every day you wake up with hundreds of follow requests from complete strangers. At first it was a little exciting knowing that people were curious about your life but after years of the same routine it’s become draining. It takes you nearly twenty minutes each day to weed through them and accept only the people you know personally. Kevin doesn’t actually know how many people want to catch a glimpse of your daily life because you do your best to keep it from him. Knowing would only bring him stress, and you want him to be able to focus on winning games and loving you with his entire heart.

☼☼☼☼

The phone on your desk rings loudly, pulling your attention away from the computer screen that has way too many numbers on it for your liking. The finance department needed someone to proof their audit before sending it away and since you’re the only one in human relations that has a business degree the job landed on your shoulders. Eager to take a break, you pick it up and press the receiver against your ear.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other side laughs gently, but you immediately know it’s Kevin. “Hi sweetheart,” he says warmly, “How’s work?”

“Fine I guess. It’s work, Kev. Nothing terribly exciting happens here,” you explain but continue to fill him in on all the coffee pot gossip you got this morning. Kevin listens as you complain about forgetting your lunch on the counter and chuckles at how upset the situation makes you.

“What if I told you I’m outside your window with a burrito bowl?”

Excited at the possibility of seeing your boyfriend before dinnertime, you whip towards the window and spot Kevin on the sidewalk, waving like an idiot despite knowing your office is on the fifth floor. You hang up quickly after telling him you’ll be down in two minutes and let the receptionist know you’re stepping out for lunch. There’s a line for the elevator so you head to the stairwell, taking them two at a time in your haste. You’re crossing the street to the small park where Kevin has set up a picnic before your co-workers are even out the door.

You plop down on the blanket beside Kevin and lean into him. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before passing you the food he brought. You take a bite, sighing at the taste. Kevin knows you better than you know yourself and knew exactly what to get that would satisfy your mounting hunger.

“Thanks babe,” you smile, holding up your fork and offering him a bite. He takes it graciously but makes a face. “What’s the matter?” you laugh as you take the utensil back.

“I fucking hate avocado.”

The two of you eat in relative silence, speaking only when you remember a detail from your morning. Kevin tells you about the drills he’s going to lead at practice in the afternoon and what he plans on cooking for dinner since he’ll be home before you. You insist you can whip something up when you get home but Kevin shakes his head. He reminds you that relationships are give and take, and that you’ve made dinner the past three nights because he had a string of games. You manage to reach a compromise that has you doing the dishes before you have to return to work.

Kevin insists on walking you back to your office even though you protest vehemently. Your relationship is far from secret, and has been the topic of workplace gossip more times than you can count, but after five years you’ve learned to ignore most of it. However, you don’t want your co-workers to think you flaunt your NHL player boyfriend to prove you’re better than them. They all love Kevin, and a couple of them congratulate him on last night’s goal as he follows you down the hall. A few of the newer hires stare in awe and shake his hand, completely blown away that one of Philadelphia’s biggest stars is asking how they like their jobs.

“Pretty soon they’re going to approach you to do PR for us,” you chuckle as you flip the light on and close the door of your office.

His laughter echoes off the walls as a pair of strong arms find a home around your waist. “It would be kind of fun to hear myself crush those radio commercials.”

“Since when do you listen to the radio?”

“Checkmate,” Kevin sighs, pulling you closer. He kisses you quickly, not wanting to give a show to anyone who could be walking past, but it still sends you reeling. You don’t want him to pull away and kiss him again.

You get your way for a few more moments and then Kevin’s leaving with a promise to not burn the house down and wishes for a good rest of the day. Focussed on giving the audit its final once-over you don’t bother pulling your phone from the drawer you had placed it in when you got to work that morning. You turn up the small radio at the corner of your desk and get to work scanning the document for errors. There’s a mistake halfway through that skews the rest of the data and fixing it takes a bit of time, but it isn’t a huge deal. You have nothing else to do except answer a few emails and organize meetings for after the weekend.

An hour or so later you’ve completed all your tasks and debate what to do. It’s too early to leave for the day, so you decide to kill time by checking your phone. You’re expecting a few notifications, perhaps two or three memes in the group chat you share with your friends, but not the hundreds that greet you.

The majority of them are instagram notifications, and assuming they’re just more fans requesting a follow you ignore them, instead heading to your text messages. There’s a picture from Kevin of a dog he found walking home and another from your mom asking why you haven’t called home in a few weeks. However the one from Claude’s wife is the one that piques your curiosity.

Just a heads up that someone posted a pic of you and Kev to one of those stupid wag pages. I filed a request for Instagram to take it down but it’s gotten a lot of traction. Sorry :((

Your heartbeat increases rapidly and a million thoughts fly through your head at a rapid speed. Fingers shaking, you respond with a thanks and open up the dreaded app. You don’t see it immediately, your feed being full of photos belonging to friends and family, but it’s in your messages almost two hundred times. Many of them have text attached and you know there will be a comment about your relationship regardless of which one you open.

Tapping on the most recent message you brace yourself for the worst. The new window opens a photo someone took of you and Kevin while eating lunch in the park across from your office not even three hours prior. It’s grainy and the camera angle is strange, but you’re eating and Kevin is looking somewhere out of frame. The accompanying caption reads Kev and his girlfriend out for lunch today! Follow @philllywagupdates for more :).

You let out a sigh of relief – it could have been a lot worse. Personal pictures of yourself have made it onto pages like that before and most of them they’re paired with mean-spirited captions about your appearance or other trivial matters. Assuming you’re in the clear, you head back to the page of the original message to thank the person for bringing the post to your attention. However, the message accompanying the post is anything but positive.

He can’t even fucking look at you. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you

The blood in your veins runs cold. You know it’s not true – Kevin’s made it clear you’re the one and truthfully you’re just waiting for a ring – but it doesn’t stop the sting you feel. What could possess someone to say such horrible things? You decide not to respond despite, possibly opening another can of worms with the seen function, and close the app. Leaning back in your office chair you focus on anything but your phone, looking out the window at passersby while regaining your breath. It works for a while, but eventually not knowing what others said eats away at you. You go through every single message to see hundreds of similar comments to the first, with only a few saying they’re glad you’re happy or how posting the picture is a violation of your privacy.

By the time you’re finished your spirit has been crushed. However, it’s also an acceptable time to start the weekend – at least no one in the office will have to see you cry. Things are hastily packed into your bag and you wave a few quick goodbyes before once again taking the stairs. You curse yourself for deciding to walk to work that morning and set off in the direction of home wiping away tears. The last thing you need right now is for someone to recognize you, but you have to get home. Tobias Jesso Jr plays at much too loud a volume through your headphones and Kevin will most certainly remind you it’s bad for your hearing, but the melancholy piano riffs of Goon overpower the thoughts swirling around your head.

Do people really feel that way about me?

Are my friends just too nice to stop inviting me places?

Does Kevin really feel trapped?

Hundreds of similar sentiments and situations cross your mind as you stumble through the streets of downtown Philadelphia, but you force them as far back as possible before opening the door to the apartment you share with Kevin. Hoping to slip inside undetected, you take your shoes off slowly and throw your jacket on the end table instead of hanging it in the closet. Your plan fails somehow and Kevin hears you, greeting you in a goofy apron covered in flour.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, but it drops once your eyes meet and he sees the hurt on your face. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, trying to step around him in pursuit of the bathroom.

Kevin doesn’t buy it and sees right through your feeble words. “It’s not nothing if you’re this upset. If you don’t want to talk now that’s fine, but I think you should get it off your chest.”

You know he’s right, but you also know you can’t tell him the true cause of your despair. “Just some work stuff,” you sigh. “The audit got all fucked up and I had to fix it even though it’s not my job.”

It’s not technically a lie, which makes you feel better, and Kevin buys it. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips in sympathy. “Go take a shower and the gnocchi should be ready by the time you’re done. We can spend the night cuddling on the couch.”

“And watching Selling Sunset?”

“We can watch whatever you want sweetheart,” he chuckles. You part from him with a final kiss and head to the bathroom. Hopefully the steam from the water will carry away the negativity brought on by that damn post.

☼☼☼☼

Time passes but the hateful comments on social media don’t stop. In fact, you’re pretty sure they get worse. It’s so bad that you’ve deleted every app except facebook because you need it for work. Kevin doesn’t notice your abstinence from social media, but he picks up on how you spend more time criticizing yourself or staring off into space. When he pushes you either brush him off or feed some bullshit excuse about how work is getting you down. You know he doesn’t believe you but trusts you enough to come to him when you’re ready to talk.

You aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to tell Kevin what’s been going on. There’s been scrutiny from social media before, when you first started dating, but it quieted down after the initial media frenzy. He helped you through that but it’s different this time around. Never before have you had strangers tell you your life is worthless or that your boyfriend should end your relationship. Some of the other wags notice your absence on instagram but chalk it up to you just taking a break. They reach out via the group chat and send wishes to see you at the next home game. It’s nice to know they care, but the voice in your head that has grown much larger in recent weeks tells you they don’t truly mean it. This leads you to decline the invite as politely as possible, citing extended work hours for your absence. In reality you’re too anxious to be anywhere that isn’t home or work, petrified someone is going to post something that will add fuel to the flames of those who interrogate you.

It’s another Friday afternoon, and you’re leaving the office early once again. There’s a small craft exhibition taking place around the corner from work and today is the last day it’s open. You had been meaning to go all week, hoping to find something small to add to Kevin’s birthday gift. As you step out of the building there’s a small group of young women, who don’t look old enough to have graduated college, standing off to the side. It fills you with dread, worried that somehow someone found out where you work and the insults are going to start occurring verbally, but you force yourself to be rational. You work fairly close to one of the artsier districts in the city and it’s more than likely they just want to find a cute mural to take pictures in front of.

You pass by and swear you hear them snicker, but you remind yourself you’ve just been jumpy lately. When they peel from their place on the wall and follow behind at a distance you think the coincidences are running out. It seems a little too strange how their movements line up with yours, and you go down a few winding side streets in an attempt to lose them. Part of you feels ridiculous because what group of barely legal girls would track a full-blown adult around a city of nearly two million people, but your life is currently strange enough you can’t be sure. They don’t follow you, and by the time you reach the market your heart rate has returned to normal.

The first few stalls have little to catch your eye, but a few rows in you find a leatherworker who makes adorable wallets. Kevin’s is ridiculously old and falling apart at the seams – his mom bought it for him before the two of you got together. You think a new one will make a perfect addition to the concert tickets you already bought and browse the table for something simple and elegant. A deep brown one with tan braiding around the edges catches your eye and you know it’s the one for Kevin. Checking the price to make sure you have enough cash in your wallet, you approach the shop owner to purchase. The older man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes as he thanks you for purchasing from him.

“No, thank you for making something so beautiful!” you gush. “My boyfriend is going to love it.”

It’s then you hear it – snickering accompanied by the click of a camera. You look over your shoulder to see the same group of girls from before laughing as they huddle over a cell phone, no doubt already starting to broadcast the photo across the internet. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Those girls don’t deserve to see their mission accomplished, but the longer they laugh at you the harder it is to swallow your feelings.

Head held high, you thank the owner one more time before holding your head high and walking past the group. The only way out is past them so you hold your breath and pray they don’t notice you. Unfortunately you aren’t that lucky, and one of them looks up just as you come into earshot.

“If Kevin doesn’t leave you after that sorry excuse for a gift I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she sneers.

Another one chimes in, “You’re honestly so pathetic.” They all cackle in amusement, and you speed up. The tears flow freely now, and you call an uber even though it will be a ridiculous amount of money. You just want to get home.

The uber driver doesn’t say anything when you get in, though you know it’s strange to be bawling your eyes out at four in the afternoon. You can’t help it – weeks of keeping all the hate to yourself finally got to you and being followed with the sole intent of ridicule is the final straw. At one red light he silently passes you a box of tissues, which you accept gratefully.

Luckily the lobby of your apartment complex is empty and you manage to get to your floor without encountering a familiar face. There’s a few hours until Kevin gets home from his final roadtrip of the season, and if you play your cards right you can get all the tears out and be as normal as possible before he comes through the door. You don’t even bother to put anything away, just head straight to the bathroom to slump against the tub. Sobs rack your body and you lose all sense of time. All you can feel is the hurt you’ve been holding in releasing itself and soaking the material of your blouse.

Kevin finds you laying in the position hours later. He tripped over your shoes coming in the door and immediately knew something was wrong – you always place them neatly on the rack in the closet upon arriving home. Peering through the quiet house for a hint at where you are, he sees the bathroom light on and makes a beeline for the room. It breaks his heart to see you like this, and even more so because he doesn’t know what spurred it on.

“Sweetheart, hey,” he coos, maneuvering his body to sit beside you and pull you into his lap. “What’s the matter?”

You bury your head in his shoulder and clutch the material of his dress shirt as you cry harder at the sound of his voice. Kevin takes your reaction in stride, rubbing circles on your back and working on evening out your breath. He doesn’t pressure you to speak and provides the stability you desperately crave as the world around you spins. An unknown amount of time passes before your tears run out, but spend it all on the bathroom floor curled into Kevin.

“I guess I should have told you sooner,” you mumble, “But I didn’t want to bother you.”

Concern laces Kevin’s features and his eyebrows knit together. “Tell me what?”

“I, uh, have been the subject of some internet hate for the past little bit,” you say sheepishly. It feels stupid to not have told him now, but you can’t change that. “But you were really busy with the season and I wanted to make sure your head was completely focused on the game so I just dealt with it myself. I deleted the apps and tried my best to go about my life. And then today after work I was followed by some people and they said some really hurtful stuff and shit became a little too real.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

It’s your turn to be confused. “Why are you sorry Kev? You're Not the one sending me death threats.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair back into your ponytail. “Maybe not, but I still made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about what was going on. What kind of partner am I?”

“The best one,” you say confidently. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I just want to forget about it right now. Can we just disappear for a little bit?”

Kevin wraps his arms around you tighter, as if he can engulf you to protect from the cruel outside world. “We can do whatever you want. If you want to get out of the city for a bit if you want, or just spend the next few days here away from prying eyes.”

“I love you.”

You say it because you mean it, and if you could scream it from the rooftops you would. Kevin is incredibly easy to love, even when you make it difficult for him to love you back. You know another much longer conversation is coming about everything that has happened recently because communication is the only way to solve problems and Kevin deserves that, but you’re thankful he’s willing to put it to rest for a few more moments.

He cracks a smile for the first time since he’s been home and kisses the crown of your head. “I love you too sweetheart,” he whispers, “Always and forever.”

Things are far from over and though you still never want to show your face in public ever again, you know that Kevin is going to do whatever he can to make things better and that’s enough for you.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @ricohenrique @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice @2manytabsopen if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Lily Evans and Severus Snape: Headcanons

So, I was asked in the ask about Sirius and Regulus what I thought about Snape and Lily. At this point people are probably going, “Oh that Carnivorous Muffin is just clearly a Snape stan who thinks he could never do anything wrong and anyone who was slightly mean to him is evil.” Shockingly, I’m actually not, I just happen to think sexual harassment and attempted murder are bad and probably worse than JKR intended (I do think she was trying to go the “boys will be boys” route versus “oh my god, they just dumped pigs blood on Carrie at the prom and then threw her at a starving vampire”)

So let’s start on Snape.

First, Snape did live an incredibly shitty life, with circumstances beyond his control, that did lead to many of his poorer choices. In no way am I saying that it was alright for Snape to have grown up in an impoverished, abusive, household and endured years of humiliation and torment at school. 

That said, I believe that we all, in some respects, are responsible for our actions and our decisions. Yes, even when we come from non-privileged backgrounds. Life is hard, some people will have it much easier than you, that doesn’t excuse you becoming a domestic terrorist or tormenting and terrifying your students, young children, so much so that an entire generation comes out with a loathing and incompetence in your subject.

I guess let’s start back on his friendship with Lily Evans. We get... a really weird perspective from Snape on that friendship. Time and her tragic death have warped it into this strange worship where I’m not sure the Lily Evans that exists in his mind and memory is the one that really was there. She’s this shining Madonna idol who he failed, actively betrayed, is very very hung up about it years later.

I suspect they weren’t as good of friends as either of them thought they were and it comes down to Snape’s resentment of his own upbringing and muggles. I believe Snape was very racist towards muggles, specifically, due to his father. It was his way of grappling with his home life and only fueled by being in Slytherin. Lily was probably, in his mind, always a golden exception to the rule (Lily is the token, gold standard, muggleborn where she’s pretty, brilliant, charming, etc.) That Severus himself was a halfblood clearly caused him some angst. What I’m getting at is that I believe throughout their entire friendship, especially when they got to Hogwarts, there was an unacknowledged undercurrent of intense racism that eventually boiled up with that one incident in Snape’s fifth year.

Calling her that, while he views it as a slip of the tongue that damned him for all time, I see it more as a Freudian Slip. That sort of thing doesn’t just slip out from nowhere, not at that age when they both knew exactly what that word meant, it simmers beneath the surface, and was ultimately what he thought of her. Later, she became the Madonna figure that he views her as today (ironically perhaps even less of a person than he viewed her as at the time).

That said I think a number of factors played into the young Snape becoming a Death Eater. One, becoming friends with Lucius/that crowd who were all being sucked into Tom’s influence. Two, having his terrible home life and all the implications of Snape resenting his own blood status as well as muggles and muggle borns at large. Three, the loss of friendship with Lily (now there’s nothing to hold him back anymore, he has no reason to preserve muggleborn life). Fourth, Dumbledore’s letting Sirius, James, and Remus entirely off the hook in the werewolf incident.

That last one, especially, I imagine cemented Snape’s utter hatred of ‘the light’ (don’t get me started on the stupidity of light/dark in Harry Potter but I guess I’ll use the term) and those that cater to muggleborns. They’re hypocrites of the highest order, Dumbledore claiming to defend the poor and non-nobility, when he goes and does the exact opposite (James is the next lord Potter, Sirius is still pureblooded even if disowned, Severus Snape is a dirt poor halfblood). 

So what I’m saying is I understand why Snape did become a Death Eater, I do not condone this action. Especially as, unlike Regulus, Snape never gets cold feet. He loves being a Death Eater at first, he’s living the dream, getting all the revenge he ever wanted and burning the stupid wizarding world to the ground as he scrambles for ways to climb in Tom Riddle’s graces. We don’t see any hint that he was wavering, thinking of the fact that beloved Lily might die in battle, perhaps at his hand, until the prophecy. 

Now, I’m a little kinder than some about the prophecy. We know Snape overhears the first portion of the prophecy in early 1980. He eagerly rushes to the dark lord, regales him with the prophecy in both a) aid to the cause and b) in the hopes of climbing in the ranks and gaining the dark lord’s notice. At this point, Lily Evans is pregnant, perhaps knows the gender, but has not given birth. Months later, when both Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter are born at the end of July, Snape realizes he has signed Lily Evans’ death warrant (because despite Dumbledore talking, I imagine Tom always planned to kill off both children, Pettigrew just happened to make things convenient for Tom to go to the Potters first).

With Lily’s death now so inevitable, and her blood on his own hands, Snape has his existential crisis, goes to Dumbledore who puts the Potters in hiding and becomes a double agent. Snape also pleads for Lily’s life with Tom and he puts in a minimal amount of effort to spare the woman. 

Then Lily dies anyway and now Snape lives in the bitter cynicism most commonly seen in characters from Game of Thrones. He’s Dumbledore’s agent and sort of a Dirty Harry character, getting to see all the nasty things that many of the other order members never have to deal with. He’s one of the more intelligent characters in the series, able to see the truth of the world he lives in, but he also doesn’t care enough to actually do anything about it. He’s a bitter, resentful, and angry protector of Harry Potter, choosing to hate a naive child for all the reminders of his own terrible life (both in Lily, for failing and betraying her, and in James his most hated rival and tormentor). He gleefully enables the favoritism of Slytherin (my god how he panders to Draco Malfoy) while tormenting poor Neville into terror (that Neville’s greatest 13 year old fear is Snape is very telling).

Basically by the time we get to him in canon Snape not only isn’t happy but I think he doesn’t want to be happy. He’s accustomed to his bitterness, his cynicism, his quiet rage and moves forward out of both resignation, guilt, and a sense of obligation to a woman’s ghost. The actions he takes in canon aren’t so much for Harry as they are for the memory of Lily Evans.

Even if Snape could be happy at that point, change his life or his purpose, I do not think he would. He’s a man who has given up on life.

Now, onto Lily Evans.

You probably think I’m going to rail on her to for the sheer hypocrisy and nerve of marrying James Potter. I’m actually not. Lily Evans is one of my favorite characters in the Harry Potter series and probably the one I’d label as the most moral (though that’s a very low bar in Harry Potter, the characters are almost all assholes, but even so Lily would still be very high on the list).

You know what, I’m just going to damn myself and sound like a crazy person. Lily Evans always reads to me as a more moral young female Tom Riddle.

What the hell? You undoubtedly ask but I’ll explain.

Lily, while having a far more stable homelife than Tom Riddle, also comes from a muggleborn background. She’s exceptionally brilliant, very good looking, and very charming with a lot of people who would call her friends but no one close. Lily, aside from Snape (and that’s debatable), has no friends.

If Lily had not been a Gryffindor, and were Dumbledore not a raging misogynist, his Tom Riddle bells likely would have been ringing with her.

“But wait, that can’t be right!”

Oh, yes it can. First, as I went into above with Snape and Lily, there was something deeply wrong with that friendship. I believe they both considered themselves best friends, didn’t see many of the warning flags, but ultimately we see the giant fissure when Snape lets loose the m-word. Given all of that, I would not label them having been true friends in the first place. Just the appearance of friends.

Otherwise, while it’s very easily to canonically point out James’ friends it’s incredibly difficult to do so with Lily. First, people hardly remember Lily. We get Dumbledore talking about her like she’s the Virgin Mary, saving her son with the power of her love. We get Snape’s weird Virgin Mary impressions of her. Otherwise, it’s pretty much just Slughorn. Everyone else remembers that she married James and that was great because JAMES WAS SO COOL and that she had very striking eyes and was “nice”. Lily is less than a ghost in Harry Potter canon (sadly Harry never really realizing it).

Also, unlike James who has Sirius, Remus, and Peter to point towards (that are very important characters in canon). Lily has no one. The godmother was Alice Longbottom, a woman many years older than Lily and James who probably liked Lily well enough but I can’t imagine was a close friend. In canon there’s an offhand mention of two girls named Mary and Marlene but we don’t see much of them/Severus was always cited as Lily’s closest friend. As for Lily’s sister, well we know they’re estranged. I think it’s very telling that Lily writes a letter to Sirius, James’ best friend and certainly not hers, telling him that James is pouting over his invisibilty cloak. It’s because there was no one else to write.

So Lily Evans is a brilliant girl, who everyone likes and is very charming, but has no friends and led a very lonely and short life.

Here’s where my slack towards Lily comes in.

When she dumps Snape I completely understand why she did so. Snape dropping that word wasn’t simply a mistake, a moment of infinite regret, but something that revealed what he truly thought of her and where she came from. Lily was absolutely right in walking away.

However, without Snape, her closest friend is suddenly gone and the world is cold. As graduation approaches I imagine Lily’s career options become clearer and clearer. While very talented and smart, Lily is a muggleborn, what job she does manage to get (thanks to the sheer nepotism of the wizarding world/lack of jobs) will likely be through Slughorn if she manages to get a job at all. The world is cold and it is cruel and no one seems to even notice.

Cue James Potter. I do believe, probably until seventh year, Lily loathed James, not simply because of the horrifying things he did to Severus (and I’m sure she knew very little of it, Snape hiding most of it from her out of pride and shame), but because he’s just a giant dick. He’d make flirting with her a kind of game and joke to be shared with Sirius, something to hold over Snape’s head, like she’s a prize to be one.

However, by seventh year the werewolf incident has happened, Snape’s retreated further and further into Death Eater recruit land and she’s cut him off, and for all my “James is a dick” I do imagine he calmed down a little. Now that Snape is no longer friends with Lily/after the whole almost murder incident I imagine they didn’t bully him nearly as much as they used to. Though yes, they probably still bullied him, but Lily probably doesn’t know that now that she’s lost contact with Snape. 

James is charming and very good looking. He seems a bit more mature than he used to be. Lily is desperately lonely, living in a world that rejects everything she is, and James seems like one of the few who does support her (that James is more of a ‘pretty fly for a white guy’ kind of support for muggleborns doesn’t hit until later). So Lily is charmed and makes the largest mistake of her life, she and James start dating.

Now, given their extreme youth as well as Lily’s pedigree (say what you like, I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Potter were thrilled that their son was dating a muggleborn) I imagine the wedding was a shot gun wedding and Lily got unintentionally pregnant. Yes, go ahead and throw fruit at me or call foul, I just can’t imagine they’d want a child that young while in the middle of a war while they’re part of an active resistance movement and only just out of Hogwarts.

Then things start snowballing downhill. Lily and James have just joined the resistance movement, Lily’s son is prophesied to defeat Voldemort, they strongly suspect one of James’ close friends is a spy, and they’re forced into hiding.

In hiding is where I imagine stress runs high and their marriage begins to fall apart. We know from Lily’s letter that James was routinely leaving hiding, using the cloak, so he could meet up with Sirius and Peter (I imagine Lupin’s on the out as they suspected he was the spy). While James might not realize what a big deal that was, I imagine Lily always did, and she begins to realize just what she’s gotten herself into but there’s no way out while in hiding.

Now we go really off the rails into headcanon territory in: what the hell is up with Harry Potter?

In my stories, I often choose the unwitting god route. Harry can’t die because he is a god, he becomes the master of death and always was the master of death. This is an answer, but it’s one that makes canon Harry a god and... I would not want canon Harry as a god. JKR and Dumbledore push the “Lily loved her child so much that it deflected death... multiple times” but this always felt... unsatisfying. Many parents love their children (fathers too, JKR, let’s not make this weird Virgin Mary thing) and yet Harry Potter alone in the history of mankind survives multiple times. 

Most likely, Lily pulled off some insane bullshit with absolutely no resources and minimal education AND EVERYONE IGNORES IT. We do know that Lily crafted the blood wards, wards stronger than anything Dumbledore himself can come up with/than Voldemort can break. Ones that protect Harry not only at home but away from it as it melts Voldemort for simply touching his skin. Lily pulled off the impossible in only a few months and did it right under everyone’s nose.

This makes her easily one of the most intelligent characters in Harry Potter. Probably beating out Dumbledore and maybe tying with Tom Riddle. And Dumbledore tells us, “Your Virgin Mary mother loved you so much, Harry, that it courses through your veins and lights those that would want to harm you on fire.”

So, that’s Lily for you.

Now, that said, I’m probably a bit biased and clearly very lenient with her marrying James. To be honest it took me years to figure out why the hell Lily would ever marry James after what happened with Severus and was always one of those weird canon things I never quite understood. He’s that good looking and charming, I guess, was my response.

The answer I now land on with some confidence was that the world is that cruel and bleak and Lily was utterly alone for two years.

By the way, a side note/plug, of all my stories while head canons do pop up here and there I think “October” is one where they tend to crop up more. It’s a vast AU of canon, but it gives an idea of what I think x character would do in y situation. 

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Why Cullen?

Today I bring you a post I’ve been in the process of mentally drafting for a while, a post that essentially analyzes the age old question in the Dragon Age fandom: Why is there always something with Cullen?

To do this, I am going to go through different “phases” of Cullen discourse. My thesis and answering the titular question: It’s complicated, and I don’t think I can answer “Why Cullen,” but “there’s sometimes recycled discourses made about his character through the years, maybe there’s a pattern.” When it comes to Cullen’s detractors, I understand the fact that it might be frustrating to see much content for someone so “boring” when there’s more “interesting” and “well done” characters (though interest is of course relevant) so it leads to a lot of vitriol from both new and old fans who think the man had too much screen time already. Furthermore, he is highly complicated man dressed as a Disney prince, and the “Disney-esque” feel of his romance creates a dissonance between coming to terms with his problematic past and reveling in the romanticism. We can have a happy medium everyone,  but because of what I can only describe as “tik tok thought” it’s become looked down upon to have problematic favorites, which leads to guilt in liking something problematic, or outright revisionism.

But liking things with problematic elements doesn’t make you a bad person.

Alright, let’s begin: 

The first phase truly began of course with DAO with Cullen’s crush on the female Circle Mage Warden. Some were endeared, others not so much. I cannot speak to this phase too much as I was around 15-16 and pretty preoccupied with my high school drama instead of fandom, though I played both DAO and DA2 upon it’s release and followed updates for DA2 before it came out. Despite not being an active fandom member I was what they would call, a lurker. I knew some people liked Cullen and thought he was cute, wishing for more screen time after the game and hoping he’d be in DAI through IMDB message boards (remember those?) and YoutTube comments. When news broke he’d be an advisor in DAI and a romance option, I remember seeing a lot of people in those same spaces rejoice. I’m sure there were also people who weren’t so pleased, but from what I saw, people were happy. When Inquisition did release, I actually did quite a bit more lurking on tumblr despite the fact I didn’t have a blog, because I played the romance route, really gravitated toward it, and wanted to see fanart and such. People liked the romance, liked his arc and how Bioware handled his struggles with lyrium; and found it realistic. Even in my lurking days I did see some blowback on Cullen from detractors, those who didn’t think he should have been the military advisor (which canonically it makes total sense to me why he’s where he’s at, but I won’t get into it here however.) But likely because I wasn’t fully “in fandom,” my surface level understanding of how tumblr felt about Cullen was relatively positive and there was only standard fare discourse.

Phase 2: I can speak about this phase better because I established this blog in 2017. Two years after DAI was released, you still had a lot of fans who loved his romance and character, but you also saw a lot of those fans really dive into his flaws, insisting even that just focusing on the Disney Prince aspects of him reduced his character. There were also more internal debates. Would realistically Cullen be a good father was one. One thing however was for sure, there was a strange them and us line between detractors and fans, and to many fans, myself included, oftentimes the Cullen blowback would extend beyond the valid, “hey I don’t think his characterization was handled well” or “his redemption arc isn’t that great” to outright vitriolic hate that blatantly ignored his PTSD and lyrium addiction, and even sometimes “you just like Cullen because he’s white.” As a POC fan it was a fantastic thing to be accused of. I used to be more involved with discord during this period and I remember a few discussions about this as well. Even those indifferent to Cullen didn’t get it.

Overall, I have to say the air was one where people in Cullen fandom enjoyed all aspects of him, from delving into this troubled past to indulging in the Disney prince aspects of him. It was a happy medium I think, even if occasionally I would see a Cullen fan feel bad for liking him, and feel like they needed to justify it. Heck I even did and still do feel that way sometimes, like I need to justify what I like. But we all come into fandom for different reasons. I come into fandom some days for different things. Sometimes I want smut with my favorite character, other times I want more intense thought pieces and challenging fics. Great thing about fandom is that it’s a bakery that has cherry tarts, cinnamon rolls, or all kinds of pie depending on your mood. Craving a different sweet treat, you can make your own. Or you can commission an artist or writer for something you fancy.

*(sexual assault mentions here late in the paragraph****)And now I’ve been warped back into Cullen/DA fandom through what I am calling phase three, where the general air on Cullen reads as….very different. After having one foot outside DA fandom for a while coming back and reading the air has been different. There was the bizarre nuggetgate and other things with Cullen. Now, instead of accepting his flaws and exploring him there seems to be a lot of revisionism going on, as if his past never happened or we’re supposed to ignore he was a templar. A sexually active Cullen is looked down upon but in a different way from before. Instead of smut works with him “reducing his complicated character.” it’s distasteful to write smut with him where he’s sexually dominant or even just a lot of smut because he was sexually assaulted. (***Now, it is implied that he was, if you are a female Circle mage in DAO, with “sifting through my thoughts, tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have” but this is an implication. I will be honest, it is what I have implied. However, it’s not there if you’re not a female Mage. He was however canonically sexually harassed in the Winter Palace, something I will always argue, even if canon treats it like a joke, even if Leliana tells him to “just look pretty.” Just because he is a man doesn’t make it funny that someone grabbed his bottom, and if you take Cole he flat out says “Cullen is afraid.”***)

So here I am, wondering what changed and what’s going on. Here’s what I believe: Cullen is a complicated character and his flaws and his past make him interesting to me, and they are interesting to explore. However there is nothing wrong with wanting to just explore a romantic, sexual Cullen. He’s a character with many facets. He’s romantic, determined, nostalgic, stubborn, unrelenting, loyal, driven, all things that made him seem so real. Here we get to my theory: in today’s media “criticisms” I see people—particularly younger people—beat themselves up for liking something problematic. It’s like every time you engage with media that’s potentially problematic you have to write essays to yourself why it is so and hold yourself accountable. I see this on tik-tok a lot and why I refer to it as “tik tok thought.” Look at the way some young Hamilton fans talk about the musical, or heck even here, and you may see what I mean. It’s like if you don’t acknowledge the problematic aspects of the historical figures behind their fictional portrayals in the show you’re a bad person. Same thing with nostalgic Disney fans my age in younger, if you don’t clown on Ariel for “choosing a man over anything” (SHE LIKED THE SURFACE WORLD BEFORE SHE MET ERIC) you don’t get your brownie points.

I want to make it clear: being critical of media is good. I am glad I see young people and people my age think about the messages we are given in media, but somehow this is turned into ANALYZE EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME. Ya’ll I’m a grad student. I’m critical most of the time, when I come to my tumblr blog’s lawn I’m here mostly to have some fun, and hey sometimes my fun is being critical. But sometimes it isn’t. You do not have to always be critical. You do not have to beat yourself up for liking something that’s problematic or write an essay about why it is as if that’s your due diligence in stanning a fictional character. I’m going to be honest I used to kind of think I had to justify my likes once, especially because of the Cullen vitriol on tumblr. I worked overtime in my early fanfic efforts to try to prove to the world I knew Cullen was problematic for fear I’d be perceived as just an idiot horny fangirl. Well, let me tell you: I largely don’t think that way anymore. If I want to just enjoy writing some smut or reading some smut with him, I am. But I think there is a second part of this in Cullen fandom currently, a revisionism of his problematic elements. Now, if you have to do mental gymnastics with a character in an effort to ignore problematic elements, perhaps you don’t like the character that much. That’s totally okay. DA has many awesome characters to write about and stan.

So, why Cullen? For so many reasons a bit of a shit show has always followed this character. There’s a divide between fans and his detractors and sometimes there’s a divide within the Cullen fandom. What I can extrapolate for now is the need to keep him squeaky clean and safe and away from anything “problematic” because his of past, his templar roots, or the fact that he’s white when there are POC characters with less content. It reads as a guilt associated with liking him. But please, do not be guilty. He’s not real. Templars aren’t real, mages aren’t real, Cullen isn’t real. Here’s my advice, something I learned while in my directing class in college. What my teacher always said was direct what turns you on, direct a story that gets you thinking, gets you excited. What gets you thinking and excited in a fictional world may be tons of conflict and dramatics, or it may be peace and love. Sometimes it can be both or more. Don’t shame others for coming to a bakery and wanting blueberry when you want cherry, and the baker has both, especially if the baker labels each pie, especially if the recipe for the pie has some salt in it and people like the salt. We can have it all and enjoy it all. What we want in our fiction doesn’t always align with something we may want real life. Lots of people write Modern girl in Thedas stories. Ya’ll if that actually happened to one of us it would probably suck. I’d probably get killed and not even get to meet Cullen and pose around the desk to get things going, so I’d rather it not happen. However, it is fun to read about.

Again, don’t be guilty for liking Cullen, please. But if you have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to like Cullen, maybe you don’t like him at all. To that I say, there are many other amazing characters, or perhaps you could write your own.