#take a look at your own actions and words and realize just how fucking fascist you sound

[tinyfantasminha]

Okay I really didn't want to bring attention to this but I am BEYOND enraged.

Yes we are all aware about Ugi's tracing and awful takes and tbh I couldn't care less about this pathetic tracer, but I just got sent an anon submission on her personal info and address and I'm like?!?! What the fuck?!

I cannot stress enough about how doxxing and other kinds of harassment absolutely enrage and disgust me. I just cannot believe that some people would resort to literal CRIMINAL ACTIONS just to have a ''gotcha'' moment and feel their ego stroken for ''giving a problematic person what they deserve''. I've already blocked people solely because their takes and opinions on another person are disturbingly violent, even if the person they're talking about is somebody I hate as well.

It baffles me that some people (most of the time teenagers/young adults, worringly.) really do believe they have the moral ground when they're the ones showing violent, harassing, disturbing and sometimes criminal behaviour towards the person they claim is the problematic one. The lack of emotional intelligence in young people to deal with things that upset them on the internet nowadays is horrifying.

It doesn't matter how much you think a person ''deserves'' it, your disgusting fascist behaviour is NEVER justified. Doxxing isn't justified, harassment isn't justified, sending death threats is NOT, EVER, JUSTIFIED.

If you in any way condone these actions or has participated in it, get your miserable ass OUT. OF. MY BLOG. I don't want you here.

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)

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summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh? content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross word count: 7.2k

Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do. 

I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat. 

I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one. 

Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.

Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me. 

Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi. 

Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her. 

The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become. 

This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this. 

It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time. 

What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.

And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto. 

Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.

He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out. 

But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him. 

He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.

“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated. 

Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action. 

Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.

“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!” 

—

“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway. 

“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that. 

He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him. 

So you do it again. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.

“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him. 

“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!” 

“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”

Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.” 

Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance. 

You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.

“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.” 

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest. 

“Stay out of my way, then.”  

“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.” 

“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”

—

Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had. 

See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.

Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft. 

In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.  

Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound. 

He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask– 

“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”

On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first. 

“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.” 

Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”

“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”

Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs. 

But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something. 

But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips. 

He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.

“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”

You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.   

“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”

“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”

“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.” 

A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”

“Okay���!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day. 

Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.

“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“

“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”

“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”

Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win. 

He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking. 

But he’s done it.  

Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second. 

Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell. 

“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”

Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.” 

And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

“Nicole Summers.”

“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”

“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”

“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”

“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”

You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick. 

“How was it?” you press. 

Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”

Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”

“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”  

Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass. 

Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”

“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.

“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping. 

“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.

“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again. 

“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face. 

Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights. 

“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?” 

“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.” 

Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you. 

“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”

That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh. 

“Combination lock, huh?”

“Allegedly.”

“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.” 

Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”

Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”

He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t. 

You’re drunk. 

If you can stay drunk, all bets are off. 

If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk. 

You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan. 

And it would mean nothing. 

And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.

But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat. 

“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”

So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home. 

“Oh, shit!” 

Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about. “Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.

Trembling.

“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”

Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus. 

He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.

Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–” 

But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other. 

Fuck. He can’t leave you like this. 

You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there. 

“Uh– Lacy?” 

The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door. 

A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you? 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful. 

Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–? 

“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.” 

“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon. 

“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”

But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position. 

“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands. 

What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed. 

“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.” 

It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face. 

“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed. 

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.” 

–

You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive. 

“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.

You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver. 

“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness. 

Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it. 

“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”

She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy. 

You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that. 

So somebody must have. 

Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile. 

Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet. 

Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.

Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada. 

Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax. 

“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.” 

Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts. 

“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”

“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.” 

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare. 

“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”

Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”

“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing. 

“Wayne–”

“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.” 

He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night. 

He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.

–

Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover. 

It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s. 

You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?

Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?

But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life. 

The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess. 

Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day. 

You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.

You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that. 

Regret stabs at you.

“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi. 

“What?”

“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?” 

Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”

“Ugh, thank god.”

“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.” 

You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van. 

“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you. 

“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”

“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”

“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”

Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.” 

He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.” 

You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”

“You’re never late for first period.” 

“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?” 

“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.” 

It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would. 

Until now. 

And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him. 

Until now. 

“So?” he says, all expectant. 

And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure. 

The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded. 

But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson? 

Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust. 

You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot. 

As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.  

You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk. 

“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”

You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”

Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum. 

Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand. 

Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body. 

She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park. 

“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…” 

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”

“Huh?”

“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”

You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.” 

Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now. 

Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight. 

“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little. 

Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be. 

“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

–

Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine. 

But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap. 

Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die. 

Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.

You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor. 

Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night. 

“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker. 

She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her. 

Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape. 

“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says. 

This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at. 

“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table. 

There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart. 

You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you. 

Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.

“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”

author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes: - you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob - eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease - speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later - admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people! - did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~ - jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory - RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig - at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track - thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[itsagrimm]

Imperial!Tech 2

Is it even romantic without murder?

Imperial!Tech is a delight and I am worried why I have fun writing a murderous lost nerdy boi. will likely do a part 3.

about 2.000 words

part 1

Part 3

CN insults, violence, murder, discriminatory behaviour, very toxic behaviour, soldier life in a fascist state, tiny bit of fluff or Manipulation depends on your perspective, blood, pain, talk of injury. imperial!Tech is a bit of a tease but he will come around

Imperial!tech X they*them Y/N reader

“This will not suffice. Repeat.”, Commander Tech ordered.

His command was calm and detached, a contrast to the exhausted and heavily panting Elite Squad soldiers.

They looked at each other. None of them having the strength to continue their practice. But also none of them having the will to argue with their commander.

Y/N looked up to the observatory deck. Commander Tech was up there, his black armour contrasting with the white walls.

“Is there a problem, ONCE?”, the voice of the commander echoed in Y/N helmet, using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“No sir. Can we get a short break before a new try?”

The commander glanced down before looking at the holopad in his hands again.

“The elite squad endurance and recovery time is miserable as expected. I calculated your performance to be at least on par with regular clone troopers. I see now that it was a mistake, and I will have to lower my expectation further & readjust my strategies to your … lacking skill level.”

“I am sorry, sir.”

“It is not your mistake to be born inferior.”, the commander stated flattly, “Your next round will be in 5 minutes standard.”

The Elite Squad looked at each other. Their commander was in a mood. Since his injury on Bracca the Squad had not been in action and commander Tech worked them into the ground with his bone breaking practice runs.

“It is impossible.”, ES-02 said using a private chat without the commander, “Who is he comparing us to? The commanders’ expectations are inhuman. Only some kind of super squad could execute his mind-boggling plans in the time he gives us.”

They nodded in agreement.

“He expects us to be at least as good as the regular clone troopers.”, ES-04 stated.

ES-03 laughed: “Yeah we are better than thosemeat droids. And what does he mean with regular clones? Is there even fancier cannon fodder out there?”

“Commander Tech is noticeably different from other clones. Maybe there are more like him out there?”, Y/N pointed out.

“Oh maker, imagine more copies of that pretentious smart mouth up there.” ES-03 rolled his eyes.

“Get in position and execute plan 8C.3 .”, the commanders voice cut through their chatter. ONCE felt as if they got caught bad mouthing Tech.

“Yes sir.”, they replied and got into position.

A ping from a private channel ringed. It was ES-03.

“You are quiet protective of our commander Tech, my dear ONCE. Is there something I need to know?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, … it is always ‘yes sir’ and ‘of course sir’ and sometimes you are both gone in the night. And our dear commander got a lovely visit in the med bay when he was wounded. You even bring him caf somet-“

“ES-03, mind your business.”

“No need to get so aggressive. I am sure it is nothing. And I am sure it is just a coincidence that he leaves you out of punishments or giving you the safest positions in his strategies…”

ONCE said nothing.

Since that time in the hangar the commander had some allure and to admit that meant a defeat ONCE could not afford.

“Well my dearest ONCE, got nothing to say about that? I-“

Static cut through their transmission.

“ES-03, I must inform you that I am very disappointed by your unprofessional behaviour within the Elite Squad which I will not tolerate anymore.”

“Commander? Is that you?”

“Yes of course, who else did you expect?”

ES-03 turned around and looked up to the observatory deck.

Commander Tech’s expression was unreadable, his eyes hidden by the reflecting glasses.

For a moment none of them moved. Then ES-03 took of his helmet and started shouting.

“Are you spying on us? Are you listening to all our private conversations???”, he screamed with a red head.

The commanders lips moved but up there and without his helmet ES-03 could not hear the commanders answer.

“Calm down”, ES-04 tried to defuse her squad member’s anger.

“I am NOT calming down! The sick dirty clone listens to our private channels!”

“Mate, it is not worth it to start a fight like this now.”, ES-02 added, “put your weapon down and think about it.”

“Are you serious??? Do you think I am a threat with this crappy old DC-17? A danger to any of you?! No, it’s this meat bag of a clone who should be afraid of me!”

ONCE flinched at ES-03’s words and readied their weapon.

He was out.

An angry man was a dangerous man.

ONCE former life as a bounty hunter had taught them this lesson well.

Static cut through their helmet again before ONCE heard commander Techs voice.

“Tell ES-03 that the Empire has issued an order to all commanding officers to listen into all communication of their soldiers. It is also very much encouraged to record it.”

“Are you sure that will calm him down, sir?”

“I don’t care about that. He either learns how to live with imperial command or he does not.”

“You are testing him.”

Tech paused.

“Follow your orders, soldier.”

He cut the transmission.

ES-03 was still shouting. His spit landed on ONCE helmet when he turned toward them.

“What did that clone say, my dearONCE??? You two just talked, didn’t you?!”

He sounded furious. His eyes burning like laser blasts into ONCE body.

“He said, checking all communication between soldiers is the new imperial standard to which the commander simply has complied.”

“Fuck that!”

ES-03 stepped closer, his DC-17 blaster still in his hands.

“Fuck that! Fuck that clone! Fuck the Empire! Fuck YOU, you little imperial whore!”

He raised his blaster, aiming for ONCE.

ONCE got cold. Trained instincts kicking in. They rolled sideways behind one of the training blocks to avoid the shot.

A blue blast slightly grazed their helmet, but the adrenaline made it impossible to tell whether or not ONCE got hit.

“ES-03! Stand down!”, Tech’s voice commandeered from somewhere close. He must have left the observatory deck.

“HA! What are you going to do, little nerdy boi? Do you want to protect your little pet over there?! Don’t even try! You are not even a real man!”

Another blue blast shot through the air.

ONCE could hear the Tech and other Squad members taking cover.

“He really did go full rage.”

“Not everyone is cut out for the soldier life.”

“Not everyone is cut out for the Empire!”

“What do we do?”

“Cut the chatter, soldiers”, Tech commandeered, “Take ES-03 out. Shot to kill.”

“Sir?!”

“We can stun him!”

Instead of an answer Tech jumped over the training block he was couching behind and kicked ES-03. ONCE heard the blaster slide over the floor and the sound of fists colliding with skin.

Over and over again.

The sound got wetter.

ES-03’s screams turned into pleas before going silent.

XXXXXXX

Another rotation on Kamino. Another dark night in the bunk room of the Imperial Elite Squad. Another nightmare.

Y/N woke up and looked around. Everything was calm except for the rain knocking at the window and the slow breaths from their fellow soldiers. Commander Tech was missing as always.

Weeks since the Commander had been hurt on Bracca. Days since ES-03 s death. Hours since he – since Tech – had looked at y/n. Why was that such a painful thought? He was a horrible man, a murderer!

He is just a good soldier, he follows orders. Just like you.

Y/N closed their eyes. Pictures of Tech beating ES-03 to death flashed before their eyes and with them the realization that whatever crimes and murders Tech committed, Y/N committed them alongside him. Two monstrous beings in service of a monstrous Empire.

The door to the bunkroom opened silently, only a light draft giving away the silhouette in the door frame. Y/N glanced to the door. It was the commander. He looked at the sleeping elite squad members and through the room as if he was searching for something.

Y/N got up on their elbows and looked at the commander.

Their eyes met.

“ONCE”, he whispered, “Come with me.”

Y/N got into their boots and followed the commander. The long white halls of Tipoca, the kaminoan capital, were empty and quiet. Tech lead the way but surprisingly they passed the hangar and soon arrived at his little office.

He turned around.

“I require your assistance, ONCE.”, he explained in a calm voice, using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“Now?”, ONCE answered.

“Yes, now.”

They looked at each other. Tech looked horrible. He had dark circles under his eyes so prominent, that even his glasses couldn’t hide them. His head wound from Bracca had left severe, still bloody scars and his hair was unkept and in patches from the burn he survived.

“What is it, commander?”

Instead of an answer he opened the door to his office. It was a little room, full of unfinished projects and gadgets, a wall scribbled with complex formulars ONCE was not in the mood to fathom and a littered table with various unfinished reports.

The workspace of the commander surprised ONCE. It was a stark contrast to the thoroughly planning and executing commander they knew.

“Can you cut my hair?”

“Sorry, sir?”

ONCE turned away from the room and faced the commander. His face was reserved but his voice had a telling neediness in it. The commander, Tech, he needed help.

“Well, I cut my own hair. I can try cutting yours. But I am no professional.”

He nodded.

“I noticed.”, he paused and smiled apologetically for his ambiguous phrasing, “That you cut your own hair, I mean.”

ONCE was speechless. He had smiled.

“I have my personal reservations towards the imperial service corps and their droid hairdressers. And the other option is to ask another trooper since I do not have the skill to cut my hair. But quite frankly the thought of trained regular soldiers having blades near my throat and more importantly my still healing wounds being opened up by some well meaning yet bad practising self-learned barber, is distressing which is why I require you to cut my hair.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I was not aware of the need for sunlight in order to cut hair. Can you elaborate?”

ONCE suppressed a smile.

“I am sorry, sir. The circumstances are just a bit unusual. But I can try cutting your hair. And I do not plan on cutting your throat.”

“Good to know.”

He nodded casually, satisfied with ONCE’s answer, and produced a hair clipper from somewhere before seating himself on a chair with his back towards them. It was a captivating moment. ONCE looked at the hair clipper in their hand with its tiny blades and the commanders turned back to them. He had defined yet narrow shoulders for a soldier and a muscular back, visible through the thigh blacks. His bare neck was visible, and his occipital moved under his skin when he turned and looked at ONCE.

“It is alright. Feel free to give me whatever hair cut you choose to be fitting. As long as it is functional, I am content.”

ONCE breathed in. That was the commander. And they were about to cut his hair like they were good ol’pals or family. Like they were more. It was a sign of trust so unusual on Kamino, yet he had asked for it.

“You will need to take your glasses of.”

He complied and waited.

ONCE touched his hair to feel its texture before cutting. It was soft. Like a child’s.

They started cutting both sides to even out the burned parts and help with the sensitive skin around his scars before shortening the rest. Burned curls after curls fell on his shoulders and he brushed them away with his hands.

His hands. His murderous hands. They were large and had long fingers with little cuts from tinkering around. How did it feel being touched by them?

ONCE finished cutting, walked around Tech to look at the commander and squatted to see him from an even perspective. He looked good.

“This will work, sir.”

Instead of an answer he stretched his arm out and grabbed ONCE’s jaw.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

He got up and turned away.

Part 3

[the-ghost-king]

Schizophrenic Nico, here's why I think it's possible:

I want to start off by saying these are just my thoughts, there is no one way to be schizophrenic or to have schizophrenia. It's also important to note that many of the schizophrenic symptoms overlap with other mental illnesses/nuerodivergences like ADHD, Autism, Depression, and OCD which I know many people who head canon Nico as having. I'm not arguing schizophrenic Nico is more correct, more canon, or more right, but to explain some thoughts on why I think it's possible/very likely he does so I can use this for future reference in various thing.

I am using the term schizophrenia as a catchall for all "types" of schizophrenia, but not for schizoaffective disorder which I would say Nico probably doesn't have.

Children born in the winter/those who were "sickly" as babies are more likely to develop schizophrenia. It may also be possible if your mother was sick while pregnant with you, or having a father who was significantly older when he had you.

A stressful life, especially trauma, are more likely to develop schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder. It likely has something to do with excessive dopamine production, but it may also have something to do with the same genes that control the sleep-wake cycle. Schizophrenia is more common with other mental illnesses or with other nuerodivergences or developmental delays.

Common symptoms include:

Hallucinations

Delusions

Disorganized thinking

lack of motivation

slow movement

change in sleep patterns

poor grooming or hygiene

changes in body language and emotions

less interest in social activities

Now what does this mean for Nico, and why do I think it's likely he has Schizophrenia?

Let's start with Nico's childhood, "children born in the winter/those who were "sickly" as babies are more likely to develop schizophrenia". Although Rick proposed two birthdays for Nico, the fandom generally accepted the January date more fully. We also know that Nico is described as small when he was younger, smallness is common in children who grow up sickly, but it is also common in children who's mother was ill while pregnant with them. We obviously don't know if Nico was sick as a kid, or if Maria was sick while pregnant with him, but again being born in the winter makes these things more likely, as well as consideration for the time period Nico grew up in and the larger variety of illnesses going around at the time. (He is vaccinated against some things though).

Trauma and Nico... do I really have to go into super detail on this one? He spent his childhood growing up in a fascist country that was extremely racist/anti-Semitic/homophobic/etc, his mom died when he was a child- in front of him, his father intentionally gave him amnesia, his sister died when he was a child, he then proceeded to become homeless living/spending lots of time with Minos who verbally (and possibly physically) abused him, becoming aware of his past memories, becoming aware of the fact that many people hated him because of his father and because they thought he was joining the other side (therefore, he was "bad"), he fought in many battles as a child, fought monsters alone, was often faced with life or death situations, went to Tartarus alone (where the goddess of misery told him he was "perfect"), was trapped in a hostage situation with little/no air for a long time while people debated whether or not to save him, was outed against his will, was freed only to travel again fighting monsters and then win a battle, was eventually made to quest with Apollo despite still having lots of healing to do in ToN. So stressful life? Fuck yeah, that doesn't being to cover it.

Genetic factors, obviously nothing here is confirmed so I'm speculating a little bit again, but the common idea in regards to Hades children through the series is that they are "bad". Mental illnesses have been stigmatized for hundreds, if not thousands of years, and often mentally ill people were made out to be weird/bad/etc. It's more than possible there is some sort of genetic factor taking place, also "having a father who was significantly older when he had you". Although I doubt godly genes work the same as mortal ones (trust me I have lots of thoughts on how god genetics/DNA work, but that's not the point right now), I think Hades being the oldest out of all his brothers and having a reputation for having "questionable" children says something... We have no information on Maria's family history at all.

As for schizophrenia often occurring with other mental illnesses and/or neurodivergences: Nico canonically is implied to have either ADHD and/or Autism, and is canonically stated to have PTSD. I think most people would agree that saying Nico has or has had depression isn't a stretch in the slightest.

So canonically we can all agree Nico has severe trauma and coinciding mental health issues/neurodivergences, so out of 4 possible issues I’ve first presented we guaranteeably have two. If I wanted to stretch this a little I would give myself a half point for him being born in the winter and a half point for the aspect of Hades genetics but I won’t do that.

On top of that schizophrenia usually appears during teenage and young adult years in people who receive diagnosis; most people live with mental illness for a few months or a few years in some cases before they're able to receive a diagnosis. Nico being 15 (16 by the end of ToN/shortly following the end of ToN) is about the age that schizophrenia would start to make an appearance. It's also more likely to be found in men, with men also noticing the appearance of schizophrenia appearing early in their lives, and experiencing more negative symptoms in comparison to the higher commonality of affective symptoms in women. That's a really complicated explanation to basically say there's 3 more things that would make Nico having schizophrenia make more sense.

Alright, let’s go back to the list of symptoms I provided:

Hallucinations

Delusions

Disorganized thinking

lack of motivation

slow movement

change in sleep patterns

poor grooming or hygiene

changes in body language and emotions/behavior

less interest in social activities

Once again, some of these are not solely related to schizophrenia and can be the result of other mental health issues, I’m just going to go down the list and add in some moments from the books in which Nico shows some of these traits/behaviors.

Delusions/Hallucinations (more later)

Our best chances for understanding Nico's thought process is in Blood of Olympus where he has a P.O.V... Sometimes Nico's thoughts do derail, or sometimes they get a little confusing, but not always, and when talking to others he is consistent and aware of what he's saying, as well as blunt. Anything "off" about his thought patterns to me just seems like ADHD..

Dietary changes (whether or not you think he has an eating disorder) are behavioral changes (I personally think Nico has AFRID)

Within House of Hades Nico's poor sleep patterns are constantly referenced, and I'll give him a pass on poor hygiene because he's in the middle of a quest but still..

I have extremely complicated feelings on what Will says here, it's possible Nico is an extremely unreliable narrator (unlikely, it seems many people are bothered by him and only maybe a handful aren't), I've also thought at many points this was Rick trying to backtrack some stuff with Nico because he realized he'd made his story a little too harsh for a kids book, it could also be Will's trauma kicking in and that happening... I'm not counting it as full proof about Nico disliking social interactions, but Nico does try to leave even after this conversation and isn't convinced to stay until the last chapter, so maybe there's something to be said about people's dislike of him for being a Hades kid- but I think it's fair to say Nico also dislikes people at least some because he doesn't have interest in trying to befriend anyone either, and is quick to assume all people dislike him (paranoia/low self esteem/and some other possible stuff). There's lots of discussions to be had about this quote and other similar ones, and I don't think a broad brush approach of "Nico good everyone else bad" is accurate it's more, "Nico is good but he fails to try and you have to work on your own mental health everyone won just go to you, and also people dislike Nico for silly reasons and need to get over themselves and make an effort too". (I'm extremely oversimplifying my thoughts and feelings to keep it brief.)

More on delusions and hallucinations:

Now I want to state that lots of schizophrenia symptoms share a lot of commonalities with ADHD and with depression, so although I might include some moments you think are just ADHD/depression I wouldn’t necessarily disagree with you but they could also be schizophrenia or coexisting mental health issues/divergences. I also went through the DSM-5 for schizophrenia (the DSM-5 is just this big book with lists and it’s how doctors diagnose any mental health issue/divergence), I also looked through the DSM-IV (an older book from before DSM-5 which is no longer really used) and the differences between the diagnosis was fairly minimal but they quit categorizing types of schizophrenia and instead rely more on a couple of word descriptions that seem more in line with a spectrum rather than a checkable box.

In order to receive a schizophrenia diagnosis, two (or more) of the following, each present for a significant portion of time during a 1-month period (or less if successfully treated), and at least one of these symptoms must be (1), (2), or (3):

Delusions

Hallucinations

Disorganized speech (frequent derailment or incoherence)

Grossly disorganized or catatonic behavior

Negative symptoms (i.e., diminished emotional expression or avolition).

It’s important to note that only one of these need to be checked off/true if the patient has voices which narrate their actions/behaviors/thoughts or if the person has more than one voice conversing with each other.

Nico deals with auditory hallucinations (2), he believes the voice belongs to Bob, his titan friend he left in Tartarus:

However this isn’t and immediate diagnosis because Bob’s voice doesn’t talk to another voice(s) in Nico’s head, and we don’t know if Nico has voices running commentary on his behaviors/thoughts.

The reason I state we are unaware if Nico has commentary isn’t because Nico hasn’t said anything, but because many people with schizophrenia before their diagnosis believe the narrative voices are just their thoughts and are a normal internal monologue- usually patients don’t realize anything is wrong until the voices start providing commentary on their actions so instead of “washing the dishes now” the voice(s) might say “wash the dishes now, you’re so lazy you can’t do anything, idiot” during a period of psychosis which may help them acknowledge that the voice(s) isn’t the way most people experience internal voice(s). It is very possible Nico is unaware he is experiencing narrative thoughts and simply assumes that his experience is something most people have, but I won’t use this to argue my point because it’s not confirmation of anything.

Returning now to Bob, Nico knows he is hearing Bob’s voice but he believes Bob is calling to him from Tartarus. Now, Nico says the voices are calling to him from Tartarus but there’s no confirmation of this anywhere… What I think is happening is Nico has a guilty conscience. He feels bad for “using” Bob to get out of Tartarus and various other things, so he feels bad that he is still down there. However, we don’t really know if Bob is calling to him or if Bob is able to do that- what I personally think is happening here is Nico’s brain is convincing Nico that Bob needs him because Nico is upset with himself for not helping Bob more, but also because Nico has never “sat still” before without a quest. Nico has also always felt the want to be needed/important...

It very well could be a delusion.

Schizophrenic patients often experience delusions which make them think they are destined for greatness, or that they have some divine/high force calling out to them for help that only they can provide. It’s an extremely common thing in individuals who experience delusions, and is in fact one of the most common delusions experienced. So although Bob could really be calling out to Nico, I don’t think he is, it doesn’t entirely make sense and there’s lots of little things which point to it being not entirely real- like the fact that nobody else knows about it? Or how absolutely sure Nico is that he need to return to Tartarus? It seems like a mixture of PTSD, delusions, and trauma response (returning to the trauma), working against him. I’ll say delusion is very likely (1).

Using these two factors alone there’s sufficient evidence for diagnosis, but let’s keep going just to see.

For disorganized speech (3) this isn’t something Nico seems to struggle with, and even if he did “derailing” could be ADHD or Autism, so I don’t think this symptom pertains to him.

Changes in behavior (4), seem to all be explainable via depression and/or PTSD- he has begun to express emotion again in Tower of Nero upon learning of Jason’s death he is said to be upset by Will and he walks off to be alone, seems like depression to me. Emotional/Behavior changes from schizophrenia tend to relate more to bipolar disorder rather than a depressive disorder, so I would say if Nico has schizophrenia he probably doesn’t have emotional or behavioral changes from it. If he did he might have some catatonic behavior, but this seems to be clearing up some in Tower of Nero so I’m not super sure on that, maybe during bad periods of psychosis behavioral changes occur, but I would lean more towards this isn’t a symptom Nico personally deals with. Negative symptoms (5) tie into this same idea, it’s possible it’s schizophrenia, but it’s more likely PTSD or depression at work.

So why do I care so much about the possibility of Nico being schizophrenic?

I feel like canonically/fanonically making Nico schizophrenic does a few things, firstly schizophrenic rep in media is extremely extremely awful- can you think off the top of your head of a schizophrenic character who isn't from a horror film/a murder/a villain in their own story? Maybe, but personally I can only think of one which is Charlie from Perks of Being a Wallflower- and even then? That's not canon, it's only implied- and it might not even be true

Schizophrenic media representation always paints schizophrenic people as bad, scary, and evil, and although the horror genre is extremely well known for being super ableist, transphobic, racist, homophobic, and misogynistic (just the final cherry on top) having one of the first- if not the first openly confirmed schizophrenic characters in children's media not only be someone who has lots of character development, and isn't a stereotype, but also be someone people have grown up with, cared for, and sympathized with- would be extremely monumental.

People with schizophrenia and other related disorders aren't something to be scared of or to think of as bad, and often times they're more bothered by whatever they're experiencing than you are.

I don't have schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder or anything like that, but I have various undiagnosed mental health issues which often lead to me questioning reality, or having to set aside time to convince myself that no there isn't a man living in my wall... Having a character have to question those things, work through those feelings, and learn to trust themselves and care for themselves even with those difficulties would be really great to see in media, not just for people with schizophrenia but also for people with similar/related disorders who might share symptoms see parts of their own struggles in a good, educative way.

I have to finish this in two parts because tumblr keeps breaking because there's too many words in my post lmao (2nd part here)

[revchainsaw]

Nausicaa and the Valley of the Wind (1984)

Prayers and Salutations Cult Members! I am your mysterious minister Reverend Chainsaw and this is another nights revival service at the Cult Film Tent Revival. I bring you a special word tonight. Tonight's word is about a person who roamed the earth, in a time where people were backward and warlike. A leader emerged into a kingdom full of eschatological expectation. This leader came preaching peace, and was killed for the sins of the world, but was resurrected. In that resurrection a new hope was brought to the planet, and true healing through the power of love in the face of violence is made possible. I am talking of course about Princess Nausicaa from the Valley of the Wind.

The Message

Nausicaa and the Valley of the Wind is the film that put studio Ghibli and Hayoa Miyazaki on the map. No animated feature this grandiose and epic had been achieved by 1984, as much as Disney may beg to differ. The tale may be simple, and it may feel super 80s to us today, but Nausicaa is a masterpiece, and the fact that Howl's Moving Castle is brought up alongside Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away more often than Nausicaa is a farce and a tragedy.

The film takes place on a fantastic planet that seems to have suffered the ravages of an apocalyptic war. A war that involved gigantic warriors with powers so devastating they about made the entire planet inhospitable if not uninhabitable; save for a few areas. The fall out of this ancient war has left the earth in a state of repair, where the natural processes of a planet healing has creating giant toxic jungles.

Beyond these jungles lie two imperialistic factions, they seem almost to be city-states but it's not terribly clear. The Kingdom of Tolmekia, a militaristic proto-fascist society of almost Spartan sensibilities. Tolmekia is governed by the ambitious and cynical Princess Kushana, But I like to call her Furiosa. Just like Furiosa, Kushana is physically missing parts of herself, a visual metaphor for her metaphysical lacking and the parts of her humanity she has cut away. Kushana's world view is one of fear, a fear that can only be quelled by waging a genocidal campaign against her enemies.

Speaking of enemies, the Athens to Tolmekias Sparta would be the Pejite Kingdom. The Pejites might like to view themselves as simply responding to Tolmekian aggression, but the narrative of the film, and the story told quite visibly on the body of Kushana, is quite different. The Pejites are just as bloodthirsty if not more palettable in their approach, but like the Tolmekians, they believe only their own lives have any value. And thus, in this theatre of war, a Giant Warrior from the ages before is unearthed by the Pejite Kingdom, Stolen by the Tolmekians, before the forces of nature themselves, seem to conspire to drop the Giant Warriors "egg" right into the Valley of the Wind.

The Valley of the Wind is populated like the world of Avatar the Last Airbender, that is mostly of children and the elderly. The people of the Valley have been able to remain untouched by the ravages of war and the toxic jungles of the damaged world primarily due to geographic luck that's explained in minor exposition in the film. They are ruled by a King, and they are all deeply enamored by their beloved Princess Nausicaa.

Nausicaa is a gentle soul. She is kind to animals, she is empathetic, unreasonably patient, and bears pain and grief inflicted on her out of cruelty with a saintly understanding. She really is a thinly veiled Christ figure, scratch that. There is no veil. But she's also my favorite Christ figure. She does not preach a message, as much as she tries to save everyone from their own short sighted goals. She is not perfect, she does lash out and do some fantasy sword fight murder, but she regrets her actions so deeply that it seems to have played a part in motivating her to become even more compassionate and patient with the evils of the world.

Nausicaa discovers yet another plot by the Pejites, who are afraid of the possibility of the Tolmekians awakening the Giant Warrior, to use animal cruelty to enrage a group of almost invincible giant insects known as the Ohm. By luring the Ohm into the Valley of the Wind where the Tolmekians have become an occupying force, they hope to completely wipe out everything that threatens them. The Tolmekians DO awaken the Giant Warrior and pure pandemonium ensues. Nausicaa manages to save the Baby Ohm and calm the rage of the bloodthirsty Ohm swarm, and to defeat the warlike tendencies of both the Pejites and the Tolmekians. All the while fulfilling a prophecy fortold about a messianic savior figure called the Man in Blue.

Now that you have heard the Gospel of Nausicaa, please stand to receive The Benediction.

Best Character: Half a Person

Now that I've spent the better part of this review gushing about our Lord and savior Nausicaa. I have to admit, she's at times a bit too perfect, a bit too saccharin. Even her flaw, or her one weakness and her failing to be perfect, just adds to the perfection. I can't even say she never makes mistakes cuz she made one, and that's infuriating. It's even more infuriating that I still think she's a great character. Normally this kind of thing really kills a hero. Most Chosen Ones are the most boring and least likeable characters in their narratives. I don't know how Nausicaa avoids this trap, but she does. I'll have to do some meditating on that.

However, just like in your typical Chosen One fantasy narrative, the hero is a lot less fun than the villain. I'm going to say the best character in Nausicaa is Kushana. I want to be like Nausicaa, but I don't understand her. She's almost alien, even though we learn all about her. Kushana is mysterious, secretive, and enigmatic, yet I understand her. She barely has an arc, she doesn't really change. She's cold and cynical to the bone, but I don't need to see much of her situation to completely understand why she is the way she is. I usually hate totalitarian bad guys, but Kushana I like. Sue Me.

Also fun fact, did you that Nausicaa means 'Sinker of Ships'. That's kinda fun.

Best Scene: Spoiled for Choice

I'm going to be lazy and say take your pick. There is really not a bad seen in this movie. If the action isn't going, then there's intriguing dialogue. If there's no dialogue then you may be about to get hit with a forceful burst of whimsy. There's horror, there's swordfights and aerial dogfights. The only thing in Nausicaa I don't like to see, is the bloody tortured Ohm Baby. It's like a god damned Sarah Mclachlan commercial.

Best Creature: Foxy Shazam!

The Ohm are so simplistic yet so detailed. The number of eyes is alien, but the way they are used is expertly expressive. Who'd think you could get me to love what basically amounts to a silverfish with the intensity that I love a kitten. How did Miyazaki pull an Okja with a creature that should be haunting our dreams? I don't know.

And what about the Giant Warrior! If you are an Evangelion fan then you probably already know that Hideaki Anno designed and animated the melting goopy biomechanical beast. Surely a sight that would make both H.R. Giger and Clive Barker giddy with excitement. Just the image of the silhouettes marching amidst the desolation of the old world is burned into my brain.

So which of these is the best creature from Ghibli's first outing? It's fucking Teto. It was always gonna be Teto you idiot. Just look at Teto, he's adorable. He's too cute to exist. I'm so alone. I need a pet.

Best Character Design: Tolmekian Regalia

I originally included this category to talk some about Kushana, however, at that time I also thought I was going to say Nausicaa was the best character. I thought hard about deleting it, but I think it's a different category and you can't accuse me of playing favorites because my favorite character is clearly Teto. Just to keep it simple. It's the two costume shift from full military regalia in white and gold, to the one metal arm, warrior princess get up. It's a great costume and a great look. Get on this shit cosplay nerds. It's great for Cons in Canada, you have to think about layers, and you can't keep going as Mr. Plow. It's lazy.

Best Excuse to Talk About Patrick Stewart's Character: Lord Yupa

I just realized that I was about to write this whole review without talking about Lord Yupa. Lord Yupa is a sword saint and all around badass I think a lot of entertainment, especially in the west is lacking bad ass old men. Lord Yupa particularly shines in the early half of the film as a warrior and as a wise council to Nausicaa. If she's Jesus then Yupa is John the Baptist. He is also voiced by the elegant and eloquent Patrick Stewart. He also comes with 2 chocobos!

Worst Character: For Whom Asbel Tolls

This might also be the worst actor category as well. Actual Cannibal (haha meme) and actual monster (haha real life) Shia Labeouf doesn't so much act in the role as he read the lines and it was recorded. The good news it doesn't effect the film too much because Asbel is completely forgettable. He is a catalyst to some of the action, but besides that I don't really care for him.

Worst Aspect: To Be Fair ...

It would be unfair to completely ignore anything negative about Nausicaa. I have already mentioned in many places that there are some pretty corny, or pretty predictable tropes to this movie. But what I can't capture in words is exactly why it feels fresh when it's done in this movie. I suppose that's what makes it good. It's just so good that it's weak points are lifted up by it's strengths. Some people may bored of Nausicaa's unyielding goodness, or that she very rarely chooses to take action as much as she chases and pleads with her surroundings, but I mean, she does pay for that eventually. It's a fantasy story and it hits a lot of timeless themes that have been hit in stories for as long as human beings have been telling stories. Some people may feel that it doesn't do enough to stand out.

Summary

I have defined the S tier for myself as "near perfect and personal favorite" films. I like to think that Nausicaa and the Valley of the Wind is near perfect. Some may say that it looks like it might just be a personal favorite. In the case of Nausicaa, I'm having a very hard time telling the difference. I think it would be overly simple to claim that Nausicaa is just an ancient archetypal heroes journey with an 80s anime coat of paint. I think it's doing quite a few new and interesting things with that formula, those things are just playing out all around that narrative as opposed to being at it's center. For a first full length outing by the studio, you can really see Miyazaki's heart and the values he holds close to. I'll repeat myself so that we are completely clear on the matter. I think Nausicaa and the Valley of the Wind is a near perfect movie.

Overall Grade: S

[duhragonball]

For the Ask Game: Son Goku

Give me a character and I will answer:

Why I like them: Goku is the main character in Dragon Ball Z, an anime that I have enjoyed tremendously for over 20 years.  He kicks aliens really fast and hard, and he eats wolves and bugs and clouds, and he’s very cool and good.   

That may sound kind of basic, maybe even borderline sarcastic, but I’m not sure how else to put it.    I’ve gotten so used to liking Goku that it’s hard to articulate why.   

Like, okay, you know that one episode during the Cell Games, where he’s gonna pick apples from his favorite apple tree?   And he does the special karate punch that makes the apples all fall out of the branches without really hurting the tree?    In the dub, he says to the tree “Ready for one more round, old timer?”  Or something like that, and then after he hits it, he’s like “See?  That didn’t hurt a bit.”  I’m not getting the lines right, but you get the idea.    That’s some choice Goku right there.    He’s friends with that tree!   

Why I don’t: hE gAvE mOrO a SeNzU bEaN-- ha ha just kidding, but can you imagine not liking Goku?   Because of something he did in some horseshit fancomic that doesn’t even count?

Lately, I’ve been hearing a lot of guff from people about Goku showing mercy to his enemies.   This is humorous to me, because I’d bet you dollars to donuts that they’re fans of Vegeta and/or Piccolo, and that only happened because Goku decided to have mercy on their stank asses.    “Well I like Vegeta because he kills people.”  He only gets to do that because Goku allowed him to live.    Best Green Dad doesn’t happen without Goku, period, end of sentence, new paragraph.   

I’m not a lore expert like that guy on Twitter who only watched DBZ Abridged, but here’s some cool trivia for you: Cell could have self-destructed and destroyed the Earth at any time.    It literally does not matter that Goku gave Cell a senzu bean before Gohan fought him, because Cell would have done the same thing no matter who beat him or how.     If Gohan had wiped him out quickly, that nucleus would have survived and regenerated, and he would come back even stronger.   The senzu bean just delayed the inevitable outcome, and not even by that much, because Cell wasn’t that worn out in the first place.   The whole thing with the senzu bean was Goku playing headgames with Cell and no one seems to understand that but me.   

But what about Moro, you ask?   Hey, come here.  

Closer.    No, closer.   

Listen to me.   I love you, okay?    But the Dragon Ball Super manga isn’t canon.   Hating Goku over something he did in Super is like hating Superman for something he did in a Mad Magazine bit.      

“Blargle blargle he doesn’t kiss his wife bad father, tournament of power--” I super mega don’t care about any of these ice cold takes.      Every day I go on YouTube and it recommends me the dirt worst Star Wars commentary videos.   “Maybe the SITH were actually the GOOD GUYS and the JEDI were the BAD GUYS!  Huh?  Did I just BLOW your MIND?   Be sure to like and subscribe!”  Every dope with a keyboard seems to think they can flip the script and pretend they’re some kind of genius.    “Thanos was right!”  “Magneto was right!” “Dr. Doom was right!” “Antifa are the real fascists when you stop and think about it!”  “Masks and vaccines are bullshit, COVID-19 is a hoax, but if it were real, maybe it’s the good guy in this situation!”

I didn’t mean to go off on a rant here, but the whole point of Goku is that he’s a pretty cool guy, and the hero of his particular adventure, and you see all these people trying to outsmart that somehow, like it’s not the premise of the character.   It’s like all those fan theories about how every show is really one character having a coma dream in the hospital.    It’s fake-deep, like when Will Smith’s kid goes on the internet and says something like “Water isn’t wet when you stop and think about it.”  

I’m not saying everyone has to like Goku, but I don’t get the hate-boner people have for him.    I don’t like cole slaw, it’s soggy and insipid and I don’t understand it, but I don’t go around trying to convince people it’s not made out of cabbage.  

Anyway, Goku’s awesome. 

Favorite episode (scene if movie): It’s hard to choose, but DBZ #248 always fucks me up.   I looked it up in my liveblog archive to get the episode number right, and the first line of that post: This one always fucks me up.

Moving on.

Favorite season/movie: In Dragon Ball terms, I guess this refers to the sagas, so I’ll go with Cell Games.    Goku goes into the battle with this flawed, touch-and-go plan, and it works.    He defeats perfection with imperfection, and it’s glorious.  

Favorite line: “What I represent can never be destroyed,” is one of the most metal lines ever uttered, anywhere.   It’s a threat and a moral lesson all in one.   

Favorite outfit: Two answers for this one.  

Shu’s outfit in the Fortuneteller Baba Saga was awesome.    I used to wear yellow T-shirts to work, so when I put on my blue labcoat I would see myself in the restroom mirror and think: yeaaaaahhhhhh.

I’m also big into Goku’s look during the Cell Games, classic orange outfit, blue shirt, with the Super Saiyan form ready to go.    That may sound obvious, since this is kind of Goku’s default look, but it takes a while to get all of this together.  For me, it was a big deal to see Goku in action as a Super Saiyan in his standard fighting gear, because the whole time he was SSJ on Namek his shirt was ruined.   Against Gero and 19 he was sick, but starting with the Cell Games, we get him fresh as a daisy, and it’s worth the wait.   Harder to stealth cosplay, though.

OTP: Gochi.   Come on.    I don’t even care that much about ships, but they’re adorable on the show, and the internet backlash against Gochi only intensifies my defiance.   

Brotp: I wrote a fanfic with Goku and Yamcha just joyriding in the desert, and that seemed pretty awesome, so maybe we need more of that.   

I dunno, maybe I’m giving this to Bulma.   They don’t get a ton of screen time together after a certain point in the show, but the bond between them is this really sublime thing.    In the same fanfic, I wrote Bulma and Goku interacting, and that was just a pleasure to write.

Head Canon: I think Goku being an alien orphan matters more to him than he lets on.   Early on, he knew he had parents but he didn’t know why they left him in the woods.   Pretty much every interaction he has with the outside world is about him being different.   Then he finds out he’s a Saiyan and all the Saiyans hate him for being weak and sentimental and so on.   He can kick all their asses, but that doesn’t make him any less of an outcast.   

I think becoming a Super Saiyan is a bigger deal to him than he lets on.   That moment kind of serves as this unspoken proof that there’s more to being a “true” Saiyan than Vegeta, Nappa, and Raditz ever knew.   That maybe, if his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great granny could see him, she might approve.

Unpopular opinion:

Yukio Ebisawa is underrated. 

A wish: I always wanted to see Goku style on Broly ‘93.   It seemed unfair to me that they kept bringing Broly back, and even teased a rematch with Goku in Movie 11, only to not deliver on it.    I wanted Goku to turn Super Saiyan 2 and Broly’d be all “oh noes!” and Goku would look at him and be all “Yeah.   What now, bitch?    That green shit won’t cut it anymore.”

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: I think my darkest fear about the Dragon Ball franchise is that it’ll get bastardized like Superman, where some giant multimedia corporation owns it, has no idea how to tell new stories with it, and refuses to let it lapse into the public domain.   I have no idea how public domain works in Japan, but “Disney Toei’s Dragon Ball KH” doesn’t sit well with me.    Hopefully I’ll be dead by the time that happens.  

Like, Rise of Skywalker wasn’t that bad.   But it did lead me to worry that they really have no idea how to make Star Wars work.    They got it right enough, but the part where Rose is going to stay and guard the base or whatever, it just made me realize they’re only guessing, and they just happen to guess right often enough to succeed.   And it’s not like you can jump over to some other studio and see how they handle a Star Wars movie.

5 words to best describe them: Ain’t nothin’ to fuck with.

My nickname for them: Geeko.    Ha ha, just kidding.  

[alysemeadfad]

𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓

Most would say its easy for a teenager to rebel at any point in time, but I find it hard to rebel in any way, most teens get tattoos, piercings, cut and dye their hair to rebel against their parents, but growing up with a mom who is tattooed, hair in fun dyed styles and piercings, I’m really just following in her footsteps she practically encourages. 

The only thing I rebel against is tidying my room and making cups of tea, cant really say I could start a world changing rebellion on that.

Rebellions i find important

1903–18 — Women’s Suffrage Movement The foundation of the Women’s Social and Political Union by Emmeline Pankhurst in 1903 began a more militant phase of the call for votes for women, which had been growing through the end of the 19th century. The Suffragettes used militant tactics like vandalism, arson, bombing and hunger strikes, with one member committing public suicide by throwing herself under the King’s horse at a race in 1913. The movement was wound up when some women were enfranchised in the 1918 Representation of the People Act, before all women over 21 were given the vote in 1928.

Suffragette Vera Wentworth in 1909, and the dress by Vaquera that it inspired

Stonewall riots 28 Jun 1969 – 3 Jul 1969 The Stonewall riots were a series of spontaneous demonstrations by members of the gay community in response to a police raid that began in the early morning hours of June 28, 1969, at the Stonewall Inn in the Greenwich Village neighborhood of Manhattan, New York City.

It is said that Marsha P. Johnson was the one who started the rebellion. Supposedly, throughout the bustle of the raid, Marsha threw a shot glass into a mirror and shouted, ” I got my civil rights!”.  With this inspiration and resistance against the police, other patrons began to follow.

Present day- Me Too movement.The Me Too movement, with variations of related local or international names, is a social movement against sexual abuse and sexual harassment towards women, where people publicize allegations of sex crimes.

The Punk Rebellion

the punk involved no protests or riots, it impacted people, fashion, music, society and everything to be honest.

The punk subculture advocates a do-it-yourself (DIY) ethic. During the subculture's infancy members were almost all from a lower economic class, and had become tired of the affluence that was associated with popular rock music at the time. Punks would publish their own music or sign with small independent labels, in hopes to combat what they saw as a money hungry music industry. The DIY ethic is still popular with punks.ideology's of punks

Ideology

Punk political ideologies are mostly concerned with individual freedom and anti-establishment views. Common punk viewpoints include individual liberty, anti-authoritarianism, a DIY ethic, non-conformity, anti-collectivism, anti-corporatism, anti-government, direct action and not "selling out".

Some groups and individuals that self-identify as being a part of punk subculture hold right-wing views. The belief that such views are opposed to the original ethos of the punk subculture, and its history, has led to internal conflicts and an active push against such views being considered part of punk subculture at all. Two examples of this are an incident during the 2016 American Music Awards, where the band Green Day chanted anti-conservative, anti-racist, and anti-fascist messages, and an incident at a show by the Dropkick Murphys, when bassist and singer Ken Casey, tackled an individual for giving a nazi-style salute and later stated that nazis are not welcome at a Dropkick Murphys show. Band member Tim Brennan later reaffirmed this sentiment. The song "Nazi Punks Fuck Off" by hardcore punk band Dead Kennedys has come to be considered an anti-nazi anthem.

VIV WESTWOOD

Rejecting the hippie ethos that was fashionable towards the end of the 1960s, Westwood and McLaren created clothes that referenced youth culture's recent past, selling rock'n'roll fashion in a shop unit at 430 King's Road in Chelsea. In 1974, the shop took on its most notorious identity: SEX, with Westwood and McLaren designing fetish wear that they sold to prostitutes, those with 'underground' sexual tastes, and young proto-punks brave enough to take a seriously edgy look out onto the street. The pair enjoyed shocking people, designing garments and shoes that referenced 'deviant' sexual practices, including rubber dresses and stilettos bristling with spikes.

How punk influenced me, because it influenced the world

My take on rebellion

Westwood inspired tights.

after watching a documentary on vivien westwood and the birth of the punk revolution i created some westwood inspired tights as a little spontaneous brainstorm, did not develop any further on the tights.

i used a pair of brand new white tights and put holes all in them, this is non conformist as if a regular pair of tights had a hole you would bin them as they were no good any more, but purposely putting holes in is quite rebellious in that aspect, i used sharpies to draw triggering symbols and words such as a swastikka and ‘punk fag’ .

crayon drawings

i used crayons to create these images as i thought it was a more rebellious medium and its created for kids so that is non conforming and it gives a rough diy finish look making it look slightly unfinished

i created a lesbian nun, this was a spur of the mind thought whats socially good and respected? a nun? whats the opposite of what a nun preaches, homo behavior. 

here i did a little barbie series drawing from observational on one and on another from mind and another from an image which i created by burning a barbie ehich is quite a rebellious act in a way. 

Collages

i decided to do some collages as its a way of just slapping ideas out in a visual format, my first one was using a fashion magazine and i realized this was the way to go so i printed some punk imagery and even used my own crayon drawings to create more collages.

photo shop

i wanted to mess with these collages more on a digital format so i put them in to photo shop to play with them and generate more ideas this was giving me a poster vibe which reminded me of punk posters.

 Final ideas

i used images from the new york trip to create a vision on photo shop, using a light of the american flag,sign posts, bins with posters on them.a clip art image of a chain and lock,street art and stickers i saw on poles in the street which is another form or street art which is quite rebellious as its not socially acceptable to vandalize and graffiti on public areas.

i took a few elements from the last board and included them in this vision board, i really wanted the main focus to be on the pipe that says “the rich killed nyc” i feel like it has a deep meaning behind it and it is quite rebellious as it reminded me of the punk rebellion in the uk as it was mostly lower class working people who used art, music and fashion to rebel against society and social constructs and actively non conform to the “rules” in a way. i also used a sticker that says jesus loves you and i crossed it out and wrote hate you over the loves you part as that is fitting to my rebellious visions.

in this board i again used “ the rich killed nyc” pipe as that’s my main surrounding element, i uses another pole with stickers on though you cant really tell what the stickers are, it just fits the aesthetic. i used a statue of liberty as she is known as a symbol of freedom, and along side it i used a photo of a photograph i saw in the modern art museum where this person had dyke tattooed on their neck which is a derogatory word to gay women, and that’s quite rebellious to take a bad word and own it by tattooing it on your body .

in this board i moved away from “the rich killed nyc” pipe as i felt i needed to come away from that one element for one board and to broaden my ideas. in this one i used a sky line image i took when on the ferry to liberty island, i changed the colour to black and white as the original colours of the image are quite blue and orangy, i used a sign post that says one way as it for some reason reminded me of like “one way to hell” or something and that there feels like there is no choice or individuality in the phrase “one way” . i used text over the sky line that says “the rotten apple” as new york city is known as the big apple and i thought, when i was there it did not remind me of a big fresh beautiful apple as the homeless people on the streets and the graffiti that has no artistic intent, so it was more of a rotten apple in a way. i used an image of the american flag i took on liberty island as i used an image of an american flag light, so i thought i could link back to that idea and use an actual flag, as its to represent freedom. i also used a art piece from the modern art gallery which was just a male mannequin wearing a bra which does not fit the social constrict of what men should wear there for its quite rebellious and opposite to the one way system. 

in my final board i included the american flag, a chain over it completely doing the opposite of what the flag means which is freedom, i used the bun that says don’t be afraid of anyone with an edited red paint drip on it which kind of looks like blood, i used text that says “ the rich killed nyc” as i loved that phrase bit i over used the pole in the other boards and i liked that my main message is that the rich killed nyc, i used an image of my dr martens that i took while my feet were up against a pole as i sat on a tube, showing anti social behavior basically which is stereo typically rebellious,and also dr martens were quite fashionable in the uk punk rebellion so i’m hinting to my idea that was inspired by the uk punk rebellion, and finally i have a set of traffic lights which are about order and control, the light is also on red which signifies danger, and the word stop which fits to my idea.

[clarasimone]

A perspective on the forewarning fascist iconography in GoT

Was it yesterday ? I reacted to a mind-provoking aesthetic analysis of GoT reblogged by @felixthemudnescat ... which basically no one reacted to (LOL) but... chatting with @scratchybeardsweetmouth and @ser-jorah-the-andal, I felt like revisiting it to add observations to my initial reaction. Even if it’s too heavy-meta for such a beautiful summer day. @felixthemudnescat pardon me for not using the reblog button cause I want to do this under the dot-dot-dot so as not to weigh down the usual degree of levity in our tumblr group ;-)

Also I only realized today that you actually reblogged without commenting and I assumed, maybe wrongly, that you adhered completely to what you reblogged. And that might not be the case, so I’ll alter my text accordingly...

So here we go... (my input comes at the end)

Anonymous asked:

Girl. Gurl. Who the fuck is Leni Riefenstahl? Y'all Sansa stans pulling the most elaborate nonsense out of your asses to justify shitty writing. Or you twist everything and make D&D sound as if they're the most brilliant minds the world has ever seen LOL

fedonciadale answered:

Hi there!

If you would have taken one moment to look up Leni Riefenstahl - and I assure you that it is not difficult to look her up - you would not have combined your question with a comment about the writing…. Look her up and learn a lesson about how tyrants manipulate.

The visuals of the show are alluding to famous/ notorious shots of Leni Riefenstahl. You would agree that the visuals are something that gives us hints? In addition to the dialogue?

Sansa stans have complained about the writing since season 5…. You all - I’m just assuming you are a Dany fan, correct me if I’m wrong - had no complaints about shitty writing in season 7?

Look I am not saying that the way D&D got to DarkDany this season was well executed, but the foreshadowing and the character development are there. And actually from all the things the show did Daenerys is one of the better from book to screen. The hiding of her path to ruthlessness by filming from her POV is well done in season 1 to 6, and the triumphant visuals are part of that.

Visuals are part of the foreshadowing. It did not come out of nowhere and it was always a major plot point - as has been argued by book readers for ages. That Dany blew up King’s Landing was always to be the culmination of her arc. And it was always meant to hit you in the gut. So, as you do nicely put it : get your head out of your ass as and realise that you have been duped. And ponder about why? Was it because Dany is beautiful? Was it because she had the occasional bouts of benevolence? Was it because you thought she was entitled to an ugly chair because she suffered? Was it because she was set up against people coded as villains, so that you don’t care about how she defeated them? Was it because she is a woman and woman can’t be evil?

Take your pick and learn something about yourself and your own bias, how we can be duped by a tyrant! If you do that you are doing exactly what GRRM intended his readers to do by writing Dany like he did.

une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir

(in fiction, all these logos meant to reference the nazi flag)

fedonciadale

Reblogging for @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir ’s excellent additions. I could not have done that because that film is actually forbidden in Germany.

justacynicalromantic

Ohhhohohoho the last one - I am😏 at people who half a year ago threw stones at me when I argued that Dany has always had parallels with Hitler.

felixthemudnescat

Found this shared on Quora, had to re-blog!

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Hi @felixthemudnescat​ long time no see !

I had not seen the original posting of this. My first instinctual reaction to this iconographic/aesthetics research is to object to the simple equation of Daenerys with Hitler. No fiction character will ever match the scope of evil (for lack of a better word) this man and his ideology represented. By ricochet and association, it makes every fan who was moved by Daenerys a potential Nazi sympathizer and that makes no sense. It’s also unnecessarily hurtful and insulting both to these fans and the real World (those who suffered and still suffer from The Holocaust). This said, the iconographic evidence you provided through your reblog has weight and is exactly what I referred to in some of my posts as the visual clues given in the show as to Dany’s *possible* arc, its *possible* finality (more on the *possible* further down); clues which scream at you if you have the cultural baggage to recognize them, and when you binge-watch the series 3 times in one month instead of watching it an ep at the time over 8-9 years. The middle seasons are especially ripe with these visual signs because they’re tagged unto somewhat repetitious narrative (Dany freeing/conquering one city at a time with little intimate character dev scenes). And @fedonciadale is right in wanting fans to look more closely into themselves; we shouldn’t close ours eyes on the shady ideological and moral symbols casting shadows on Daenerys throughout the seasons. But they were shadows. I don’t think they were meant to be the beginning and end to all things explaining the character.

@felixthemudnescat​ or @fedonciadale don’t you think D&D were building something much more subtle than the end result they opted for and which gives weight to your comparative iconographic essay ? For many seasons, the fascist references or foreboding reminders of Targaryen madness never outweighed the characterizations of Daenerys as a young woman who, regardless (or because ?) of her thwarted and abusive upbringing was trying to conjugate her own suffering and road to affirmation with the conquerer’s path given her. She might not have questioned the necessity/validity for her to conquer her way back to Westeros, as the only way she could get home, but she didn’t do it through simple rampage either. She did care to free the people she needed to build her armies. She did have a heart. This she did spontaneously; it came from a deep source within her, not a calculated one. Even if, of course, it turned out to be an astute strategy. And that sets her apart from the Nazis and its leader. At their best, D&D conjugated the two: giving us a rounded character build-up and evolution with ominous symbolic shadows lurking about her. @scratchybeardsweetmouth also made me realize, I who have not read the novels, that this humane aspect of Daenerys is brought even more to the foreground in the books. I quote @scratchybeardsweetmouth: “In the books (...) she repeatedly communicates firsthand with her freed people. She hears their opinions, is not afraid to mingle with them, always finds a way to protect them, even went out of her way to help heal some when a disease was about...” Without getting as much detailed info on her compassionate stance and actions in the show, it’s certainly the impression she indeed left us with, and it’s what her most faithful and steadfast companion, ser Jorah, sees in her and repeatedly says out loud, lest we forget it ;-) (“You have a gentle heart,” etc.)

So I thought it was IMMENSELY daring of D&D (or the novelist I’ve not read yet) to give us that scene where Daenerys is called Mhysa/Mother by the slaves she freed because the scene was inhabited with so many conflictual signs: I was all at once moved and sooooo worried as to where this could lead. Moved because, bottom line, these slaves are freed, actually freed, it’s the start of something. Dany has always given those she freed a choice to leave if they so wished… Moved because it’s a woman effecting the freeing, not a man… Moved because it’s Dany, the girl who suffered, who was a slave of sorts, that does the freeing, not her mentors…. Moved to see a culture refer to their freer as “Mother” (what a great homage to mothers, to women in general) / buuuuut also worried to see a culture refer to their freer as “Mother” because it seems to infantilize them on screen. 

Here we could also open up a whole debate about the malaise one can feel in seeing an Aristocratic White Woman free Third World People but I urge you to go read @khaleesirin‘s meta writings on the subject. She makes a great case for us NOT to see Daenerys in this fashion. Regardless of her looks and lineage, the novels (and GoT, I insist in my chats with @khaleesirin ;-) shows her to be like the people she frees: an Other. She like then is homeless, uprooted, migrant, disenfranchised. If we fail to see it in Essos, the show really drives this home once Daenerys sets foot in Westeros where NO ONE welcomes, understands or appreciates her. (Which suddenly complexifies our rapport to Sansa and the Northerners we grew to love and respect since they seem not to be above xenophobia, and racism.) 

But to get back to the Mhysa scene. Once the worrying starts, I can’t seem to stop it, even as I am moved to tears. Literally. Because of the above-mentioned qualities of it, and also possibly because of the Christ-like iconography it uses to celebrate Dany (”Let the little children come unto me” - if I may paraphrase the New Testament -- and thanks to @ser-jorah-the-andal for the reminder). And I’m always partial to feminizations of Christ; I love it, I think it’s sublimely subversive :-) But I’m also kicking myself for liking this because I fundamentally don’t want a Messiah saving the Third World, I want the Third World to save itself... and I’m worried. I’m really worried as I watch Daenerys triumph in this scene because we know she’s lacking important elements in her “psycho-affective and socio-political tool kit” (regardless of the quality and loving care of advisers now on hand, *cough* Jorah -- in the books @scratchybeardsweetmouth tells me she needs no advisor to keep her moral compass straight) and, so, will this get to her head ? Will she get drunk on her Messiah complex (and of course she does at the end of season 8) ? And what will happen if those she freed disappoint her (again flashforward to the end of season 8) ? And how will she rule them exactly (ditto) ? And, finally, yes, worried because, the fascist iconography is there and I’m going: omg where are they going with this ?

Here I want to open another parenthesis, also brought on by something @ser-jorah-the-andal wrote me: “if this is what they meant in the first place, they sure as hell didn’t bother to tell anyone in the cast so they could act accordingly, tho a case could be made that Dany never saw herself as the villain so that’s why they didn’t tell Emilia.” Indeed I’m sure the cast, or at the very least Emilia Clarke, were never told about the endgame, or never cued to the quoting of fascist iconography in some of Daenerys’ triumphant scenes. Clarke’s shocked reaction upon reading the last screenplays is a testament to her profound surprise... and this raises ethical questions, doesn’t it ? I mean in the ethics of creative partnership. It’s a recent debate possibly because there are so many tales of directors manipulating actors into giving them the performance needed to embody and communicate the discourse they want to leave us with. But the professional in me cringes here a bit. You’d hope they would trust actors enough to let them into what it is exactly they’re supposed to be creating...

This said, up to the moment before “the bells” scene in season 8, I had nonetheless seen D+D and EC give us a woman struggling morally with her choices. That’s important to state. And to get back to the above demonstration of fascist parallels, well, please, let’s point out that the Nazis and their leader never did struggle morally with what they were doing (or if they did, History bears no markers -- I’m talking about the Nazis here, not the German people as a whole). And I was prepared to see Daenerys fail because she never healed, she never achieved psycho-affective soundness (shall we get into the chapter of her misconstruing what love is ? Her relationship arc with Jorah speaks volumes) but I was expecting her to feel remorse if she did succumb to true fascism; remorse to the point of self-execution if you will, because that’s the kind of moral person D+D had been building for 7 years.  But after D&D sent her over the edge, they erased all the previous nuances they had built into her, and I believe, tried to explained it away with a broken heart, megalomania and madness…. 

So if their plan was truly to make us see her as a fascist leader of the scope we’re talking about here, the way the above visual essay seems to suggest, they would have fleshed out her character’s arc accordingly throughout the seasons, and they didn’t. There were clues as to the possibilities -- yes, Dany stepping out for her final speech is absolutely shot like Triumph of the Will by Riefenstahl… but it’s also infused with other iconographic references. That image of her merging with Drogon’s wings belongs to the fantastic, and makes her into a formidable and powerful Id, which can be construed as a positive subversive marker. And some of us do celebrate WrathfulDany for this reason.... 

The reality of GoT is that there were no actual scenes developing her fascist ideology. So let’s not confuse allusions to fascism with actual fascism. With all D+D’s failings towards the end, Daenerys remained a more nuanced and contradictory character than that. She is NOT Hitler, please...... 

The iconographic research you provided in your reblog @felixthemudnescat show us one important aspect of Dany’s subtextual arc but not the full picture. It’s missing the heart and the suffering behind the soul who fell from grace.

I hope you don’t construe this long winding reaction as a slam. I know you come from a very specific place in regards to Daenerys. I just thought the excellent research you provided deserved to be reblogged, but with an added perspective ;-)

[abundantchewtoys]

HS Epi: Meat p12 reaction

Back to Earth C presumably.

I gotta say, I'm curious to find out the final page count of Meat. The way we liveblog, the experience is stretched out, so with theories surfacing and such, we might be caught off guard when things are really over. There's only so far that things will be taken, though I guess we're still in for those "original Male/Female characters", I guess. :P That shouldn't refer to the new Reload timeline John created, I think, with copies of all the people mentioned in the rest of the character list. So, uh, yeah, guess the reason Arquiusprite wasn't mentioned in there was because he remained unseen, voided out if you will. And I guess we shouldn't expect an alternate Equius to have a talking role, either?

---

==>

Well! Talk about jumping straight into the action, this page opens with a dialoguelog! Back to Dave, Karkat and if my eyes didn't deceive me, we'll get some lines for Jade, too! Supportive Jade will be supportive.

"hit jane right in her neoliberal austerity measures" ... Hah. Well, I didn't think that would get referenced again at all, but it seems after all these years since John's 18th birthday Dave still has issues with the ol' N.A.M. So, Jane's a neoliberal AND a fascist now, Dave? Is that... even feasible?

"DAVE: now shes gonna spin some shit about supply side economics but we cant let her control the narrative on that one cause the first thing thats gonna happen once she begins deregulating the baking industry is that some sweet dumb crocodile down in consort land is gonna start putting sparkle glue in the cupcake mix which isnt even the real issue thats just surface issues KARKAT: RIGHT. JADE: definitely" ... Like, Dave I admire you're getting so into this, but you realize they aren't following, right? Also, why would Jane want to deregulate the baking industry if she's the leader of the foremost power in said industry, as well as running for president? Plus, Jane can't control the narrative because Caliborn is already controlling it! :mspa:

"DAVE: i mean earth c has just been play acting capitalism the last five thousand years while we timeskipped ahead to live rad lives as gods without bothering with any of the boring shit that goes into making a civilization DAVE: which is fine i mean you cant really expect a bunch of teens who didnt finish middle school to set up a sustainable form of social democracy that isnt just blatantly ripped off whatever we incorrectly thought obama god rest his soul was doing back in the day" ... Gee, Dave's given this a real lot of thought. Props to him, but I hope that aside from becoming 'an activist' he's also got some legitimite action points to improve Earth C's situation.

Guess Sburb really does a number on players, huh? "Congrats, you won, you're all gods now, and also, here's this whole civilization on the brink of collapse, have fun with that. Don't mess this up, I need those people to start the apocalypse in say, 2000 years, k thx bye." (The fact that this civilization, being outside of the Green Sun's influence, may never implement Sburb, is a bit besides the point since I think the trolls would have had the same issue tossed onto them had they actually gone through the victory door.)

Right, but the trolls had their home planet already effectively run by children, I wonder if that will come again? Even though they had carpenter droids at their disposal to run some things for them, they might actually be a bit more self-reliant than the humans!

"DAVE: but janes got this old school mentality you just know she wants to restrict grist alchemy for the sake of “growth” and when that goes down itll take three seconds flat for some nobody in new dersetown to drop the earth c communist manifesto" ... New Dersetown, I like the ring of that. Would call it New Dersey for short, though. :P Again, valid points there, Dave! If any revolt started, it doesn't have to be in the troll community, it could just as much be an angry carapace uprising! They're only docile if there's no one to rally behind.

Blaperile has this idea that the new society in a universe is not supposed to be seeded with the remains of the session nor the universe that came before it. That's actually a valid point; the only reason this society got kickstarted was through the cloning apparatus that was on the meteor! The consorts and carapaces seem like they would be able to reproduce biologically though, so I'm not sure how Sburb normally ensures the planet is a clean slate for a new species to emerge. ... Okay, so the planet itself doesn't really need to be the place where a new Sburb-playing species rises, true. There's a whole new universe out there.

Maybe through "importing" old Sburb technology, the "alpha" planet designation went to Earth C automatically, though.

Or maybe First Guardians are expected to 'cleanse' the planet from outside influence normally, but since this society's outside of the Green Sun's influence, that ain't happening. And Jade won't be going Thanos on Earth C.

"KARKAT: OH YEAH. JADE: of course DAVE: are you two even listening or are you just making noises with your mouths" Dave realizing he's monologuing? What character development is this. :O

"KARKAT: I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M BEING ACCUSED BY DAVE STRIDER, REIGNING EMPEROR OF SPEWING ENDLESS VERBAL DIARRHEA DIRECTLY INTO MY INNOCENT HEAR DUCTS EVERY DAY OF MY FUCKING LIFE, OF MAKING THOUGHTLESS MOUTH NOISES. KARKAT: JADE, ARE YOU HEARING THIS? JADE: im scandalized JADE: especially when JADE: there are much better things we could all be doing with our mouths....." ... Jade, your animes are showing again. ... I think that maybe Jade doesn't want this relation to be going where Dave and Karkat want it to go.

"It’s been a really nice day they’ve been having, and then Jade had to go say something like that. The air in the hive changes in a way that is palpable, in a way that she can’t seem to accurately gauge despite having both superhuman and superdog senses." ... Ah. So I guess maybe Jade just can't get a lid on some of her more... canine inclinations, at time. Welp!

"Elements of her outfit resemble her god tier jammies: peasant skirt, sparkly flats, and a bold choice in striped tights." Nice! That's only the third person who created an outfit based on her god tier outfit that we know, aside from Meenah and Rose.

"the couch where she crashed last night, and the night before that, and the better part of the seven years before that." It would seem Jade has the wanderlust then, she's more like the vagrant dog that comes visiting from time to time? More GCAT in demeanor than Becquerel, in practice. Heheh. Good for her, after being isolated on an island and then a battleship for so long, she's finally going out & seeing things!

"There are other personal effects of hers in the living room too: plants on the windowstill, her bass guitar sitting in a corner" Cool, so when she comes over, she typically lounges here then. Guess the flute never made it over, though. :p

"a horrific-looking periodic table that Dave made her for her seventeenth birthday pinned above the stairwell. He typed it in Comic Sans, and then deep-fried it to oblivion with JPEG artifacts." ... Next up, on For Fans By Fans...

"And Dave, with his preternaturally perfect timing, sweeps a hand over his tablet to bring up a new PowerPoint slide on the TV. He returns to his Comic Sans-written political presentation, gruesome artifacts and all" Dave, Dave that isn't professional at all!

", with the grace and proficiency of a man who has diffused an awkward situation in his own household many times per day, every day, for many years." Well, okay, that is really mature. But when Dave is the adult in a situation, the situation is very awkward per definition.

"DAVE: alternia: brutal eugenics based space dictatorship KARKAT: NOT UNTRUE." Succinct, brutal, but not dishonest.

"DAVE: troll homeworld: lord of the flies nightmare scenario where kids murder each other just to get the chance to get to grow up and murder other aliens instead KARKAT: IT WASN’T THAT BAD." Karkat. Karkat that isn't a valid rebuke.

"KARKAT: YOU MADE THAT LAST ONE UP. KARKAT: ALSO, IT WAS DISGUSTING?? KARKAT: GROW THE FUCK UP, YOU UTTERLY CONTEMPTIBLE, POTTY MOUTHED *CUNT*." ... The irony is stark.

"JADE: also you know trolls dont actually have two dicks dave thats an offensive stereotype" Are we really doing troll anatomy? Well, I guess it's good to know that the fan theory about Sollux at least isn't applicable to the entire species.

"DAVE: trolls: literally ate babies KARKAT: ONLY THE DEFECTIVE ONES. DAVE: like you my dude KARKAT: ...YEAH. DAVE: so thats why our campaign can work" Yeah, Karkat ate grubs, though they weren't troll babies. Also, yeah, Karkat was a mutant, but I wonder if that would really help his case here.

"DAVE: btw im gonna be giving a long form exam at the end of this to make sure youre retaining info because this is only like the most important thing weve ever done collectively" Well he ain't wrong.

"KARKAT: ARE YOU ASKING ME WHETHER I’VE HEARD THIS EXACT SPEECH ALMOST WORD FOR WORD, INCLUDING REHEARSED VERSIONS OF BOTH THE COLORFUL METAPHORS AND “JOKES,” TEN OR TWENTY TIMES ALREADY? KARKAT: BECAUSE THE ANSWER WOULD BE KARKAT: YES, OF COURSE I FUCKING HAVE." Poor, poor Karkat.

"Karkat elbows Dave in the thigh, a move that is obviously meant to be an action of pure, brotherly jest. But instead it comes off as affectionate and overly intimate. Jade’s clever eyes don’t miss this. Her pupils follow the motion of Karkat’s arm, and then they follow the movement of Dave’s mouth as he smiles in what he probably thinks is a totally neutral expression that reveals exactly 0% of his true feelings toward Karkat Vantas. In reality, his veneer is as thin and transparent as cellophane. He is the only person who can’t see through it.

Jade does some calculations in her head. Two kinds of calculations, in fact: mathematical ones and personal ones." So, is Jade reading too much into their relationship, or are the dudes just... Both too shy?

"JADE: soooooo JADE: do you want a projection of her first years hit on the economy down to the decimal with a 0.3% margin of error JADE: because thats a thing i can do if itll make you stop talking about this stupid election for ten minutes" I didn't know that were First Guardian powers! :p I suppose it might be her natural intellect though, but we've only known her as the hands-on science type until now.

"She proceeds to dazzle the two boys with explications on complex math utilizing taxation rates, GDP figures, and some damned thing called the “Laffer curve,”" Dang, Jade is as much committed to this as Dave! (Or maybe she learned all this because it means so much to him, that could be it too!)

"The thing about Jade Harley is that she’s not as good at personal things as she is at other things. Like science, or mastering fraymotifs, or kissing, the last of which she has definitely put a lot of levels into over the past few years because, well, what else are you supposed to do with immortal godhood once you hit the age where the dog hormones start kicking into overdrive?" Guess for dogs, kissing isn't that personal. :p And well, I guess Jade's only now learning the real consequences of turning into a real-life furry. At least she won't have had lack of candidates to practice kissing with. She might even have become the Witch of Spacing Out Young Adults.

"Her high-prescription lenses make her eyes look anime-huge. They might literally be glittering, she’s so completely serious about the issue she is trying to stress." And the fan artists rejoiced for all the new descriptions they have to work with!

" JADE: im about to lay out some cold hard evidence so pay attention! KARKAT: OH, HANG ON, LET ME GET A PEN." You can't live together with Dave for years without learning when it's time to start taking notes and grab a fucking pen.

"JADE: evidence about..... JADE: our relationship! KARKAT: FUCK" Pfff, okay, never mind. I think Jade might have hit a wall several times over before, trying to either define their relationship or take it to the next level. These dudes are really sensitive about their feelings, after all.

But it would be interesting, learning Jade wants to know where they stand just as much as the outside world does.

"JADE: you let me live in your hive when im in town KARKAT: I CAN’T BELIEVE... JADE: im preeeetty intimately entwined in both your lives KARKAT: THAT YOU’RE JUST TALKING ABOUT THIS? JADE: AND you dont disengage from about 86.234% of my flirtations KARKAT: WAIT, WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU KEEP TRACK OF SOMETHING LIKE THAT? JADE: so....... are we doing this or not?" So, just like with taking on Lord English and acknowledging the lit fuse that is Earth C society, I guess the coming around of April 13th 2019 is when Jade had enough of all this silly business and wants to know what's what. (Also, I suppose the level of intimacy they shared on beforehand will be left to speculation.)

"KARKAT: DOING WHAT?! JADE: dating dummy!!!!!!!! KARKAT: OH. KARKAT: THAT IS KARKAT: THAT IS... A COMPLICATED TOPIC IN MY CULTURE THAT I’M NOT SURE HUMANS ARE EQUIPPED TO TALK ABOUT." Smooth, Karkat, real smooth. Maybe Karkat fears commitment will lead to some of their relationships shifting into other quadrants. And he wouldn't like to be moirails or auspistices with either of them.

"DAVE: also totally unrelated to the economy" ... Nice try Dave, but I think this can't be steered back into that track.

"DAVE: which not gonna lie is the only thing i want to talk about for uh DAVE: for however long it takes for this other conversation to stop happening JADE: so say no!!! DAVE: well KARKAT: UHHHHH JADE: im not just forcing this conversation for my sake! its for you two as well JADE: i mean after all this time have you two even kissed yet?????? DAVE: wha" I think Dave and Karkat might actually have been both content to stay uncommitted and fearful to put a label on it. Also Jade's question will presumably remain unanswered, it's already surprising it's confirmed she hasn't seen them kissing. And that is ignoring the matter of whether either Dave or Karkat kissed Jade before. I guess it's only fortunate for this situation that this instance of Jade never dated Davesprite, it would only complicate things further.

"DAVE: wha KARKAT: WH-WHY WOULD DAVE: uhh KARKAT: WHY WOULD WE KISS?? DAVE: thats KARKAT: THAT’S... YOU... I MEAN, HE’S... HE’S DAVE. DAVE: we KARKAT: AND I’M KARKAT." PFffffffff, hilarious! I can just see them blushing like tomatoes right now. Can't keep staying in denial bros!

"JADE: yes hes dave and youre karkat and everyone we know always calls you that JADE: “dave and karkat”" Hah! Yeah, but they also think you're part of the item, Jade. Care to shed some thoughts on the subject?

"JADE: i cant remember the last time i heard anyone mention one of you without the other JADE: the two of you have basically been together since your days on the meteor its SO obvious" Jade has turned this from a personal matter into a fandom matter. "Everyone and their dog knows you're dating, guys! Stop pretending otherwise!" It's interesting to note the different ways Dave has been seen handling relationships. When he dated Terezi in the GO timeline, it went south due her troubles in the black quadrant. When Davesprite dated Jade, it went south due to unresolved Dave issues, presumably having to do with his bros. With Karkat, Dave's been in a stable-ish thing for the longest time, though.

" KARKAT: VERY CLOSE FRIENDS WHO UNDERSTAND AND SUPPORT EACH OTHER ON A DEEP AND EMPATHETIC LEVEL THAT GOES BEYOND HATE OR PITY. YOU COULD EVEN SAY THAT OUR RELATIONSHIP... KARKAT: ...TRANSCENDS QUADRANTS." ... PFfffffff, so this could have been what it was like for the Sufferer and the Disciple, then! They were just never ready to commit? That would actually be funnier than it being this deep and fulfilling relationship. It would also make Doc Scratch' misgivings on the relationship even more hilarious.

"JADE: yeaaaaaah not gonna lie karkat but that sounds totally kinda gay KARKAT: UGH YOU HUMANS AND YOUR UNFATHOMABLE GENDER BASED QUADRANTS." ... Heh. Actually. Too trolls, the whole gender-based romance thing we have going must indeed be as unfathomable as leprechaun romance.

"Jade faceplams." Well that's a new verb. ;) What part of the body is the 'plam', exactly?

" KARKAT: ANYWAY WEREN’T YOU... DATING THAT CARAPACIAN COUPLE? LAST TIME WE CHECKED?" Lolwut. Jade. Jade are you... are you being a Ms. Casanova, a paramour or two in every city you frequent? If WV and PM turn out to be alive for the sole purpose of dating Jade, I'll choke on my drink.

" DAVE: wait you saying we arent fun JADE: whens the last time either of you left the house??????" I know Jade means it as in, she'd like to date them for keeps. But I also fulheartedly believe Dave and Karkat can sustain themselves on delivery pizza and chinese chow.

"In her other hand, she tries to grab Dave’s wrist, but he flash-steps to the other side of the couch." Well that's a new use of the power, guess Dave must really have felt alarmed. :p

"JADE: i wanna try dating for real KARKAT: HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED KARKAT: SORRY IF WHAT I’M ABOUT TO SAY TOTALLY BLOWS YOUR MIND KARKAT: DATING A SINGLE PERSON, FOR MORE THAN HALF A SWEEP, FOR REASONS OTHER THAN INITIATING THE CONCUPISCENT EXCHANGE OF FLUIDS?" Karkat is trying to throw the issue back into Jade's face by saying she should try dating for a longer period of time. But that's exactly what she's trying to do here! She knows who she wants that with! That poor little troll, he's not getting out from under this.

"JADE: third of all karkat arent you from a culture where people are expected to engage in romantic relationships with up to like five people at a time?? KARKAT: THAT’S NOT KARKAT: THAT’S NOT THE SAME THING AT ALL." If he's trying to avoid getting dragged into quadrants with people, he should stop upholding the validity of the quadrants to hold people off. :p

"DAVE: ok jade i think theres a flaw in your approach here cause you seem to think winning an argument on super clever logical grounds is gonna get a couple dudes to break down and fling themselves at you in like, a sexual way JADE: wellll it usually does ;B DAVE: oh my fucking god" So she swoons people by way of her big brain. Jade's got CLASS.

"This earns Dave a look. A long, sad one that has Jade messing with her glasses again so that she can peer right at him and apply some more of that faulty personal math to his facial expression." Just confirmation here that Jade isn't necessarily correct in all her assessments due to not being objective.

"JADE: dave are you in love with obama? DAVE: jade jesus where do you get this shit from JADE: is it about jesus then??????" Aaaaaand this has been derailed again.

"DAVE: no! DAVE: jesus wasnt even real JADE: i know he wasnt real! JADE: wait... JADE: are you saying JADE: obama was real? DAVE: ... DAVE: yes" Wut. Wai- I- Jade. Honey. Please. Guess for all her involvement in politics since, those isolated years on the island sheltered her WAY too much.

"DAVE: obama was real DAVE: he was the president KARKAT: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA JADE: all this time i thought obama was like JADE: an aspirational fictional character that you modeled your life after KARKAT: AHAHAHAHA I CAN’T AHAHA BREATHE... JADE: like snoop dog or nicolas cage" ... Jade. Jade no. You're just making this worse on yourself. For Jade, there would have been almost nothing in Homestuck she'd have seen as a reference to 'real life', would there?

"senary numeral systems that allow me to do complex equations in my head" ... Why is Base 6 good for complex equations? I'm probably not good enough at math to know.

"KARKAT: WHY IS IT LIKE SOME SORT OF *TRAGEDY* HOW SHE WAS RAISED? KARKAT: BECAUSE SHE WAS RAISED ALONE BY AN ANIMAL?? KARKAT: *I* WAS RAISED ALONE BY AN ANIMAL!" There! It's getting acknowledged again, how Jade's upbringing more resembles a troll than a human's! Becquerel the lusus.

"There’s a ripple in the room that makes it clear their god tier powers have just clashed against each other. He shifts his arm through time and Jade warps the space around them so that she’s the one holding the tablet. This is not the first time that they have rearranged the fabric of reality for a petty reason like this. Karkat has permanently sworn off playing board games with them." ... Lol. First real use of the god tier powers in Earth C, and it goes like this! Wait, couldn't Jade have snapped... Right, no, she actually wouldn't have First Guardian powers anymore now, I forgot. Still, what did Dave try to do, move the tablet to another point in the timeline?

"The moment Jade brings the paint program up on the television, Karkat stops laughing. KARKAT: NO!" Oh boy. Time for the Penis Quadrant scene, this time with three people. ... This would actually fall under both definitions of a "sketch", actually.

"He tries to grab the tablet from her, but she’s hovering well above the ground and he simply is not tall enough to reach. With a shit-eating grin and deliberate care, Jade begins to draw a grid." He's going to jump up to grab her leg, to disturb the drawing, isn't he?

"She gives Karkat a pair of fuzzy, angry eyebrows" Now I'm starting to think of the Karkat expressions in that one Paradox Space.

"all he accomplishes is turning the redrom trajectory between her and Dave into a redrom loop-de-loop." This is all I could want from a reprise of this scene.

"JADE: see me and karkat have great black chemistry! KARKAT: IT IS NOT BLACK CHEMISTRY YOU HORRID NON-CHITINOUS WINDBAG!" A+ denial there, Karkat, props on the response.

"JADE: and now that daves all chill hed make a great auspistice" Jade just wants all Karkat's quadrants filled by the three of them, somehow.

"JADE: because you and karkat are kind of like moirails DAVE: no JADE: and you and i JADE: well yknow its always been pretty flirty DAVE: jade JADE: EXCEPT!

Jade finishes drawing a shaky heart directly into the paint program. It’s so big and bright on the TV that it fills the entire room with red light." She's putting all these names and symbols to the relationship, it might just be too much for these poor boys to handle. :p

"JADE: i call this political arrangement: JADE: fully automated luxury polyamorous space-time communism!!!!!!!" That is not the shipping name I would've chosen, but it's the shipping name we deserve. And hey, communism! Get it? Cause Karkat had a sickle.

I wonder what Karkat's take on polyamory outside of the ashen quadrant is, actually.

"Jade rolls her eyes and tosses both the tablet and pen over her shoulder. Dave flashes across the living room to catch his very expensive computing device in both arms. The pen bounces off his forehead." This. Entire. Scene.

"JADE: i have to go talk to roxy and callie about the election anyway" Well, she's going to let them stew on this for a while. But I'm eager to find out who Roxy & Calliope would back. You might think Jane's a given, but if she's been busy maybe they have grown closer to Jade & Dave!

"Jade clicks her heels together to propel herself back into the air and actually winks at them before absconding through an open window." Think happy thoughts! Also, I just realized becoming a god sadly never gave Karkat the powers of flight.

"Dave and Karkat both stare after her, silently caught in their own private rationalization spirals.

Karkat needs to verbalize part of his out loud." Ah, but can they stay in that spiral or will they have no choice but to break out of it?

"KARKAT: WANNA PLAY SOME TROLL TONY HAWK? DAVE: hell DAVE: yeah" Yyyyyeaah, they are not going to have changed when Jade comes back, will they?

So even Karkat calls it "Troll Tony Hawk", not whatever absurdly wrong name it'd have on Alternia, and not whatever Tony Hawk's duodecimal name in Alternian would be. :P

[divagonzo]

HI, its me again with the ? about eyebrows and how shes rude to people. on your blog again 2 vent. I DON'T UNDERSTAND PEOPLE WHO TRY TO JUSTIFY THE BOOK RELATIONSHIPS AND/OR CHARACTERS, usually y harry/hermione ACTUALLY(hah) MAKES SENSE OR HOW DRACO IS A REDEEMABLE BADBOY(lol) or why draco and hermione should b together despite them never really EVER having a conversation. also he's a nazi?? sooo. AND THEN THEY SOURCE THE FILMS?????? how can people be so wilfully ignorant and unbelievably stupid

Evenin’ Nonnie. Biscuit?

I will take these one at a time, just for my own sorting and all. Might as well get comfortable since this might take a spell.

For the first bit, where people try and justify The Chosen one with The Bookworm, I think much of it is a trope, where the Hero gets The Girl (And for many stories, this is the case. It just didn’t happen in this one.

Those who ship such? Sure. NP. But please stay in your lane. (like one of the wonderful mods for @smutty-claus whom I adore and is incredible.) I’ve read plenty of this particular ship and for various reasons, I don’t see it personally (much of it coming down to personalities but also how each copes with trauma and how that could affect a romantic partner) but then there are plenty who read the same things and would disagree with me. I even have a dear friend of mine who has written Golden Trio fic and I like how he makes the dynamics work and also plausible. (I won’t mention who but @nightfalltwen knows who I am talking about!) I could read their stories time and time again. (Oh right, I have.)

This friend also said that I am the only writer who they will read Ron & Hermione together, because I have both of them flawed and also working together. To me, that is an outstanding compliment.

I think what sticks in my incisors the most is that when I come across a fic of The Chosen One and The bookworm in a romantic relationship, Ron is utterly discounted, bashed, and otherwise trashed in it and that bothers me. Alas, instead of being a tosser and whining, I nope out and go about my day/weekend.

Ah, the Ferret. Yes, I do find it disheartening where so many fall and believe the trope of “the girl saves the asshole boy from his own bad choices” which I disagree with completely because it’s not her job to take responsibility for him. He’s his own (eventual) man and can be responsible for his own decisions. I’ve written fic involving him but also a few steps on his redemption path - which I see is his own journey and not the responsibility of anyone to make him do it.

When I see Darko, I’m immediately reminded of this:

Source: Rare Historical Photos

Everything he did up to that point (say, before his sixth year) has been focused on prejudice, bigotry, genetic superiority, and being a git x 100. I can’t think for a moment that he didn’t participate in such atrocities, such as disposing of prisoners, tormenting those for information, or other nefarious actions. I do think that he was thrown in above his head and realized that, “Oh, shit. I’m in way too deep!” and secondly realized, “Fuck, I’m in deep trouble. Help?”

There was zero contrition on his part to not continue to advocate for the side in question, even after he was rescued in the RoR and nearly immolated and owed his life to Harry - and still turned around and betrayed them (or attempted to before Ron punched him in the nose.)

For actual redemption? He’d have to do it himself (it’s a personal responsibility and not a saving grace, even if he was included in it) and work towards being a better man. No one can make him change. He has to want it himself and work on it himself.

I find it personally distasteful, as a trope, where the girl saves the bigoted boy from his own bad choices. It’s not her responsibility to save him with her lurv.

Do I think he did redeem himself somewhat at some point? Yes, I do. Do I think it’s a saint now, 19 years later? No. Some bells can’t be unrung. He has to live with the fact that he tried to kill multiple people (and failed only by sheer dumb luck) but that’s the absolutely most minimum bar set for being a human.

And those actions are why I personally think that Ron and Hermione would never forgive him and would be civil and polite only for their children’s sake. Harry’s welcome to participate in radical forgiveness but expecting people to forgive you when you’ve stood aside and let ish go down, up to and including attempted murder…. and I couldn’t do it.

So to say he’s a bad boy with a heart of gold… I see it as being toxic romanticism and not seeing that as anything but fantasy will get girls (and some boys) hurt long-term.

Ah, yes. The ship I find distasteful. (it’s not a NOTP of mine but I will nope out of anything related since I find it squicky but won’t torment anyone over it. I find others more…. deserving of my ire.

As I mentioned above, I see that particular trope as being toxic in many ways. Yes, he’s considered a wizarding Fascist and a class 1 bigot. I cannot fathom how someone could see that quality of a person making it a romantic story with him and The Bookworm. I personally can’t, at least in the time frames that everyone writes in.

Why?

Hermione isn’t one to be very… forgiving of anyone who betrays her friends. This includes Harry and Ron (and others.) The only ones that I do see her actively forgiving (in actions but not words) are Ron and Harry (and maybe Ginny, off- page.) She is so damn stubborn that I can’t see her ever muttering the words I’m sorry unless it’s an absolute last resort. (Oh wow, that is me in a nutshell still. I digress.)

I don’t see her being content being a stay at home wife making babies. I don’t see her being content to be put on a pedestal and shown off - and then shoved aside when it’s not convenient. I don’t see her content being the doting wife, quiet in public and only fierce in private.

The writing of enemies to lovers fails this one completely because of the distinct differences is core beliefs. Hate s*x? Sure. That’s about it, if that.

If.

Finally, films. I will be forever salty over them and how fucked up Uncle Steve cocked them up. His atrocious writing and arrogance in thinking he could make the story better earns a kick in his shins and arse for fucking up such an incredible story (even if there are problematic elements involved.)

I think that Tom Felton is a sweetie and the early crushes that Eyebrows McGee had been cute but using personal chemistry and not character chemistry boggles me greatly. The movies aren’t canon but Uncle Steve’s fanfiction made into movies loosely based on the books (kinda like the bourne identity was just the book titles and little to no relation to the books themselves.)

Sadly, it seems that most people don’t have the attention span for reading a book and rather rush through a 2-hour movie and be done with it, as a passive viewer/consumer than actively reading for comprehension. I can’t make people look at canon and go, Hey, the movie got that wrong repeatedly.

I can yell into the void for years and not make a dent. So I don’t try that much unless asked.

[femvulvaphile]

let’s break that weird shit down, then

“We’ve been here since the beginning. I know your hate group, your little Nazi sub-sect, has this lie you like to spread that we suddenly spring into being from whole cloth in the 1970s, but that fighting all through history? WE’VE. BEEN THERE. FOR ALL OF IT.” cool but that’s literally not what I said. transwomen’s and women’s fights are inherently different. Sex-based oppression doesn’t DIRECTLY affect transwomen: you will never be shunned for menstruating, you will never be afraid of having your prepubescent vulva mutilated for the sick pleasure of a men five times your age, you will never be afraid of being impregnated against your will, or of miscarriage of a wanted child, or of all the pregnancy and birth complications who are still killing women all over the world. you will never know what it’s like to have men catcall and grope you when you’re nine years old just because your boobs already began to grow.   

"The demonization of trans women is a relatively recent invention in the grand scheme of human history and it is one that you have helped re-surge into the modern world.” that’s bullshit. the “demonization” you’re talking about can refer to one of two things: either the conservative view that transwomen are “deviant men” (which I definitely agree is shitty), or the radical feminist view that transwomen retain their male socialization and so, as a group, can represent danger to women (which is backed up by research, btw, and the amount of “receipts” in the form of news reports of transwomen hurting and murdering cis women AND in the unending threats and harassment that radfems receive online and irl).

"The idea of ASAB and tying it to gender in some inviolate and unchangeable way is something colonizing white people brought to this country, and others they invaded.” cool but that’s bullshit? pretty much every culture on earth has a history of identifying biological sex and applying sociological roles to them. that’s not a white invention, that’s not the fruit of colonialism. the concept of “gender” as behaviors and roles based on reproductive function has existed for as long as people have existed. some cultures have stricter rules about them, others are more loose. some cultures refuse to acknowledge non-conforming people as their “original gender”, and then you have things like two-spirit or hijras.

"Whether you realize it or not, and…let’s be honest, you probably do, your actions, your hate group, is just a laser-guided subsection of what fascism and white supremacy stands for.” wtf tho. fascists and white supremacists and nazi want a “pure” world without “lesser” groups, like black people, jewish people, homosexuals, gnc people. how is female-only radical feminism the same? are you aware that plenty of radical feminists are woc themselves, and even jewish? are you aware that the vast majority of people you’d call “terfs” aren’t even american, or english speakers? we literally just want men to stop fucking murdering us.

“Without colonization, without white supremacy, your argument, your constant, hammering on “male” as if to conjure some demon from the word, would mean nothing.” male violence has been a reality in human history. it’s not a theory, it’s not up to debate. it’s a fact. you know it is, according to your original post talking about men posing the most danger to transwomen. women all over the world are victims of men. it doesn’t change whether we talk about it, or use the words male, men, amab.

"I don’t mean that in the rhetorical sense, I mean literally, your words would not have a cogent basis without that.” again, bullshit. male violence is everywhere, in every culture, in every part of the world, regardless of how much contact with europen colonization the culture has had. japanese men are violent, russian men are violent, french men are violent, english men are violent, american men are violent, cuban men are violent, argentinian men are violent, brazilian men are violent. nazis didn’t invent misogyny.

“How fucking dare you invoke my dead sisters, how fucking dare you bring up that most of us getting murdered are PoC, while peddling Nazi approved propaganda.” uh. it’s “nazi approved propaganda” to say that women face violence from men and therefore need safe spaces from them? and I brought up the groups that murdered transwomen belong to because YOUR GROUP likes using them, using your so-called dead sisters, as argument points, as proof that a white middle class educated men with a dress and lipstick is somehow more oppressed than any woman on earth.

“Meanwhile, asshole,” oh cool name calling when I wrote a relatively calm and non-offensive post. “I was talking about SHARED SPACES. LGBT focused communities, the ones you are perpetually try to focus trans lesbians out of because you view us as the worst of what you already consider the worst.” yeah, maybe we wouldn’t need to do that if “lesbian” transwomen could stop demanding so much from women, or if they’d stop claiming protagonism when they don’t even experience SAME-SEX ATTRACTION, which historically has been, you know, the entire defining poing for “lgbt” people.

“You didn’t even notice it, did you? You were just launching into Pre-Written Terf Rhetoric #5 without so much as reading what I actually. Fucking. Said.” dude, you’re calling me a nazi literally just because I said women deserve female-only spaces and transwomen should create their own safe spaces away from men instead of demanding entry and protection from women.

"Your insistence that we’re “straight men” only serves to try and push us out of those communities as well." you have more in common with straight men than with lesbians, tho. you don’t experience same-sex attraction, you’re not female, you can impregnate a female lesbian (depending on transition specifics, but let’s be honest: the big problem is the transwomen who claim “there’s no need to need to transition bc my dick is a woman’s dick”), if you’re not “passing” you don’t need to fear homophobic violence from strangers.

“Jesus fuck, like did you even notice that was the fucking point? Like your shoving us aside as non-women is already fucked up but that wasn’t even the point of this particular post.” the point of your post was vilifying women who question the notion that “transwomen are exactly the same as women”. the point of your post was putting the blame on women, “terfs”, for what men do.

"The idea that men view us as also men is so beyond laughable I can’t even properly convey it.” they view you as “DEFECTIVE” men. they definitely don’t view you as women. men are violent towards you as a result of toxic masculinity - a non-conforming male is a threat to their notion of rigid male-female roles. the violence towards you is closer in motivation to the violence towards gay men, rather than the one towards women.

"But I’m just going to say: You don’t live our lives. You don’t live our experiences.” yes. just like you don’t live the lives of women. which is exactly why I said transwomen do deserve safe spaces, but not by invading female-only safe spaces.

"If you don’t know how wrong you are it’s because you’re incapable of treating our words as anything but the words of the target of your hate and thus discarded.” you’re lumping me in with nazis (I’m a latina gender-non-conforming lesbian, I’d be raped and killed by actual nazis faster than you could type “op is a terf”), refusing to actually ACKNOWLEDGE the things I said, bringing up way more arguments than the ones on your original post, and then blaming me for not being able to read your mind.

“The power you hold is that you have been aligning yourself with right-wing christian groups,” bullshit. again: women can’t even get men to stop raping us. how exactly do you think we have any power, any voice, over THE most misogynistic men on the planet?

"the power you hold is that your ilk has been speaking to audiences wherever they can find them in academia for decades,” again, bullshit. women have been in academia for, like, two years, in comparison to how long men have been dominating every public and private space.

"the power you hold is that you went into the communities that might have helped us stay alive and sowed false accusations to turn others against us,” b u l l s h i t. YOU came into OUT communities demanding we treat you as equals, when we are observably NOT equals. sex-based oppression doesn’t affect transwomen the same way it does women. men’s violence is distinctly different based on your sex.

"the power you hold is in helping, insidiously, to uphold the institutional biases that keep us marginalized, alone, and dying.” the same can be said of modern trans rights activists, tho. you’re all contributing to the strengthening of gender as a hierarchy - and not because you need to conform to survive. no, your original message (the one we can still hear from drag queens and transvestites from stonewall, for instance, that your kind likes to claim as “transwomen”) has been corrupted to the point where people look at a feminine gay boy and tell him he must be trans, he must transition, he must be a woman because he likes makeup and is attracted to men. your kind tells parents of vulnerable children that their little boys and girls will KILL THEMSELVES if they don’t take hormones as soon as possible. your group tells lesbians they need to suck dick to be proper lesbians. your group supports (and breeds) more murderers, rapists, and pedophiles than radical feminism could. your group tells women of color, lesbians, survivors of all sorts of male violence, that they’re the problem. you tell us we’re even worse than men. you tell us to die, you threaten us with rape, with baseball bats. you punch sixty year old women who dare take a picture of people trying to silence women. you rape and murder a twelve year old girl. you rape and forcibly impregnate a female trans person, and then brag about it. you support rapists and pedophiles being housed in women’s prison because of their “gender feels”. 

you tell women to shut up about their own experiences. you tell women they’re not the “right kind” of women. you tell women they’re not woman “enough”. you tell them to sacirfice themselves for yet another male.

“And yes, before you even start, I’m blocking you. I don’t debate Nazis or Nazi bootlicks.” still nowhere near being a nazi, but alright.

bonus:

“also do they just have a terf blog name generator somewhere, i swear all terf blogs read like a bunch of synonyms for vagina and spellings of rad and possibly a wolf reference or phile or fetishist, all put in a random name generator” that’s hilarious to men because I literally saved this url after I seeing an asshole claim that lesbians aren’t allowed to call themselves lesbians if they don’t suck dick, and that they’re actually vagina fetishists. the person used -phile on something, I can’t recall what, and I immediately thought “hmm, yes. I love vulvas. I’m a vulvaphile. A female vulvaphile.” 

[soul-dwelling-not]

We’re losing the DREAM Act. You didn’t vote Clinton? This is your fault.

Last night, many of us on the left were horrified as a Republican likely will end the DREAM Act. People will be removed from this nation, that has been their home throughout most of their childhood and throughout all of their adult life.

But not all of us on the left were horrified enough to focus our attention on this problem.

Last night, others decided a web site targeting Clinton voters was more worthy of outrage.

“Clinton needed to earn my vote.” No, she did not: you just think blaming one person is easier than blaming millions of registered voters who thought letting Trump in was acceptable.

I am mass-blocking certain people who want to turn every horrible Republican action by Trump into an excuse to debate whether Clinton or Sanders should have received the nomination.

If looking at the candidate choices you thought the risk of Trump was not enough to persuade you to vote Clinton, then you’re a fool.

Nothing Clinton could have done would have been as bad as Trump--yet you withheld your vote because your conscience told you that your responsibility ended with voting. No. Your responsibility starts at voting--and continues with always pressuring the people in office, whether or not you voted for them, to take the actions you think are best for the protections of everyone’s rights but especially those who are most marginalized.

Voting for Clinton would have continued all that was good in Obama’s policies and would have been a check against any awful legislation Republicans attempted to pass, such as repealing health care protections and trans protections. Clinton would not fix problems you saw--and it was your responsibility to elect people who pushed her to the left, and it was your responsibility to push her to the left with protests, a future primary of her and any Democrats running, writing to her and legislators, and campaigning not just for candidates but for specific acts of legislation.

Instead, others last night decided to complain “The 65 million who voted Clinton doesn’t represent me, because I didn’t vote for her.”

Or “She didn’t earn my vote.”

Fuck you.

You didn’t vote for Clinton? Then you helped Trump get into office with a minority of the national popular vote thanks to numerous Republican-led voter suppression tactics to give him enough Electoral College votes.

And instead of focusing your time on restoring the Voting Rights Act, supporting the DREAM Act, protesting, campaigning for people on the left (Democrat or otherwise) to replace Republicans, you’re complaining online that still, almost a year after the 2016 election, that Clinton didn’t earn your vote so you withheld it. This is how you choose to spend your time, while someone is crying because Nazis are normalized, because health care is at risk, because LGBTQ persons are devalued by their own government, because children of immigrants risk being exiled from their own nation, because Houston’s survival is in the hands of someone who is removing funds from clean-up to build a useful wall that immigrants still can bypass, and on and on.

Everything Trump does is the fault of anyone who could have voted and did not vote Clinton: his voters, third-party voters, and anyone who stayed at home and did not make every effort, despite voter suppression, to get their ballot cast.

In a primary, a candidate earns your vote. After that primary, whoever on the left has the best chance of winning deserves your vote, not because our goal is to stop Republicans but because that is the first step--as we have seen, after Trump, W., Reagan, and Nixon, that no Republican deserves any office in this nation. The next step is to constantly work for better policies.

But some of you, rather than combat what Trump is doing now, would rather complain about Clinton for another 3 years. Your time spent on Twitter complaining about a fucking pro-Clinton web site, or complaining about one qualified candidate and not those voters who were too lazy, foolish, privileged, and otherwise inhuman to vote for her if just to offset a Republican vote and to prevent this fascist from getting into office--you are awful people. Your priorities are awful, and you should be ashamed of yourself.

I’m mass-blocking these fools on social media--don’t bother contacting me, I don’t want to hear your refusal to take responsibility for not voting for Clinton. If you dare to say one word to me, you’re blocked--end of discussion. Your words do not deserve to spread, and until you change your priorities, I am not going to respond to your nonsense and give you a platform on my accounts. Come back when you realize whoever on the left has the best chance of beating a Republican--whether they are a Democrat or a third-party candidate--deserves your vote. And since that was Clinton, if you didn’t vote for her, shut up, and let the rest of us fix the mess you created.