#that AND i just saw a fic that could be labeled as “problematic” or whatever and in the SAME DESCRIPTION reads “proshippers dni”

[arsynnotarson]

im still baffled how people with "proshippers dni" in their ao3 fanfic desc / tags exist.

like, i thought it was a myth. ( /j because of course antis would do something like that )

its ao3. AO3!!!

it's an archive for the stuff wattpad and ff.net kicked off.

any by their definition, that stuff was "proship content" made by "proshippers".

you can't kick the freaks off the freak website made for freaks.

you're fighting an uphill battle, antis. if you hate proshippers so much, get off their site.

[luxexhomines]

An Explosive Concoction of Hope and Despair (v.3)

Finally, a Danganronpa-related post! 

I was commissioned to make a revision/appendage to the first commission I had ever received, so I’ll drop the AO3 link (click here!) and put the fic under the cut! If you click on AO3, please be aware that I post some “problematic” content things on that account, but this fic does not contain that content!

It was supposed to be posted on the night of Tanabata, but due to declining mental health, I had to post it later than initially foreseen. 

If you remember this fic, it’s the Junko and Makoto fic where Makoto gets chased around the festival with lots of explosives with hints of teasing/flirting from Junko (but now featuring more explosives & thrills!). 

If you’re interested in commissioning me, please read my rules here! They’re not currently open, but if you seriously want to, I’ll make a tentative waiting list. 

CW for explosives, fireworks, and dynamite! 

If you were to wonder what the Ultimate Luckster Makoto Naegi was up to at this very moment... Well, the answer was that he was in a world of trouble. 

“Gah! Why are you doing this to me?!” 

Makoto just barely dodged an explosion as he dived toward the takoyaki stand to his left, rolled and got to his knees, and started running again. 

If this sounded like a practiced movement, that was because it was. Makoto had been dodging explosions and running away from the Ultimate Despair sisters for the past half-hour: well, mostly Junko, because if Mukuro were chasing him, she already would have caught him, what with her military training and reflexes. 

Makoto gritted his teeth and pushed through the crowd of people. It was the day of the Tanabata festival. He should have been out having fun with his classmates and friends, but instead, he was stuck entertaining Junko and her antics by running for his life tonight. He ditched the yukata for convenience and was wearing only a plain shirt and shorts. He was starting to get pretty tired. After all, he was only an average kid with average athletic ability and a tiny bit of luck. He was beginning to think getting into Hope’s Peak Academy was not good luck as he had initially thought after having to fight for his life on what seemed like a monthly basis. 

He stopped to catch his breath and leaned against a tent. 

“Hey, are you the guy coming in for the next shift?” 

Makoto started to respond to the person coming out of the tent but gets interrupted before he could answer. Something like a hollow sphere plopped down on top of his sweaty face, and the inside did not smell great. 

“That’s great because I’m tired of dealing with the kids. Go inside and put on the rest of the costume. I’m free for the rest of the night,” the guy said, and Makoto heard cheerful whistling as he struggled to stand to his feet. He stumbled inside the tent. He could barely see out of whatever heavy object the guy put on him, but he could see a mirror, and it looked like he was wearing...a teddy bear head? He sighed. It was just his luck. 

Wait...just his luck? 

He spotted the rest of the costume and put it on. Hopefully, Junko could not recognize him in this outfit. But it sure was hot in the costume, so it had better do its job. 

Makoto toddled out of the tent. Might as well do his job while he was dressed for it. It would help disguise him. 

Or so he thought, but he did not predict getting run over by children. Literally. He felt like he was being slowly stomped into dust on the ground by thousands of little kid feet, and he could hear whooping above him. He had pretty much given up until he saw a hand outstretched in front of him. He reached out, and the hand gripped his hand, pulling him out of the mess. 

“Thank you so much,” he said. Makoto thought he was going to cry from relief. But that was when the hand that had helped him stretched out and tugged the ear of his mascot head. The head dropped to the floor. 

It was Junko who had pulled him up, and she was smiling ecstatically, a fat, luxurious cigar wedged in between those pink lips of hers, the cigar drooping from its weight and sparkling in an excessively flamboyant manner. The sparks from the tip of the burning cigar were flying every which way, which served well as a more festive look for the night of Tanabata, but if Makoto knew Junko at all, the true reason for the constant stream of sparks had more to do with the excitement of possible danger by existing as a fire hazard and thus becoming an opportunity for further, greater despair. The cigar itself looked branded and expensive: as expected of a fashionista like Junko, Makoto supposed, but it was the largest, fanciest cigar he had ever seen—excepting perhaps the one Celeste regularly had on her when inviting him to gamble with her. When he took a closer look—well, as much of a look as he could while not getting any nearer to her, since it could prove explosive and deadly—the cigar had a black and white label with an image of...Monokuma? Makoto shook himself out of his thoughts; now was not the best time to be mulling over Junko’s questionably gaudy and abnormally large cigar, especially if he wanted to keep his body intact. 

However, taken aback by Junko’s sudden and flashy reappearance, Makoto watched open-mouthed as she took a piece of dynamite from her hand purse and stuffed it in his mouth like feeding a carrot to a horse. She leaned in sultrily with the cigar still perched perfectly in her lips and touched the end of her glowing cigar to the now lit fuse of his dynamite. 

Junko started walking backward, chuckling and watching as Makoto, with a red face, yanked the stick of dynamite out of his mouth frantically and chucked it as far as he could throw from civilization and ran in the opposite direction. He winced upon hearing the boom and took a look at Junko, who seemed unaffected. 

Of course. She was wearing earplugs. And a rather pretty yukata, for that matter. For once, her hair was not in two ponytails, but one, and she had a single Monokuma pin adorning her hair. 

Makoto sighed and stripped off the mascot outfit, which was sticky from his sweat and uncomfortable either way. It was no help disguising himself from her. She seemed to have a sixth sense just for finding him. 

Even so, he managed to slip away in the crowd of people and purchase a large stick of fluffy, pink cotton candy. As he was about to take a bite, however, Junko popped into view once again. He internally sighed as he watched her stride closer with a scheming grin on her face. 

“Makoto, I made something just for you. Why don’t you have a bite?” 

She thrust a platter of takoyaki balls toward him, and he instinctively backstepped when he realized something was very, very wrong with the unassuming plate of food. 

“No, thanks!” 

Junko kept inching forward with slow steps as Makoto hastily retreated, and she smiled with gleaming, white teeth. 

“Come now, Makoto. Don’t be shy,” she laughed, holding out the steaming, perfectly cooked takoyaki balls toward him, her arms outstretched trying to force him to take the suspicious plate of food. Makoto eyed it as she came closer and closer. His eyes widened in shock for what must have been the hundredth time that night.

“Are those sparklers? What are you trying to feed me, anyway?! Stop, don’t give that to me!” Junko simply smiled, like she expected Makoto would give in soon enough, the way cornered prey might give in to a powerful predator. As Junko’s advances became more aggressive, Makoto reached out impulsively and shoved the plate away from him. “I can’t eat that, I’ll die!” 

“That’s the point-” Junko began to say, but the takoyaki balls drenched in thick, brown sauce, along with the lit sparklers and explosives wedged in between them, were thrown back toward her from the force of Makoto’s push, and they subsequently fell into her open mouth. Reflexively, Junko swallowed the contents of the platter whole. 

Makoto and Junko stared at each other for a moment. 

“Ah, uh-” Makoto stuttered. “S-Sorry?” 

Why was he apologizing, anyway? Junko had just been trying to get him to swallow it only seconds ago. If there was nothing wrong with it, then it should not be a problem for her to eat it herself. Except that there was something wrong with it. 

A muffled sizzling sound coming from Junko’s stomach caught her attention, and she ecstatically smiled as she dove forward and grabbed Makoto, hugging him as tightly as possible while he was caught off-guard. 

“Oh, the despair!” she exclaimed gleefully. “We’ll be blasted to kingdom come in just a few more moments, even though I couldn’t get you to eat it properly.” 

“And why would I eat it?! Let go of me-” Makoto protested, struggling violently in her grasp to no avail. Junko plopped a perfectly manicured hand over his mouth with a sharp look. 

“Shut up, Makoto. I want to enjoy this moment, and you’re ruining it,” she cheerfully said, although her eyes were deadly. Makoto had nothing much to say anymore, anyway, since it was clear that Junko was not about to let him go—but that was not going to stop him from trying to getaway. He was never going to give in to despair; it was against his very nature. He continued to squirm in Junko’s bear hug, although escape was unlikely, and Junko began counting down to the explosion happily. 

“3...2...1…!” 

Makoto screwed his eyes shut nervously and braced himself. Not that it was going to make a difference in the face of dangerous explosives, but he could at least pretend he had an iota of control over the ridiculous situation. 

Only, nothing happened, and he was still intact half a minute later. Junko let go of him, shrugging. 

“Must’ve been a dud,” she nonchalantly said. “Too bad. I thought I’d gotten you that time.” 

She brought her cigar to her lips, which was still ostensibly sparkling, and Makoto could not help but stare at it again. It was the kind of prop that drew attention wherever it went, even if you saw it before. As he was watching, mesmerized, a small, pale white moth fluttered toward it in looping movements. Makoto flinched when it landed on the burning tip of the cigar and smoldered into ashes. 

Junko chuckled, unruffled, and seemingly amused. 

“Ah, that’s the fourth one tonight.” 

Makoto lifted his eyes to meet hers, which were burning like the end of her cigar despite their icy blue hue. She was smiling as usual, but Makoto couldn’t restrain the shiver that ran down his back. 

“The fourth moth that burned to death on your cigar?” 

She smirked. 

“Yeah.” Her crystalline blue eyes bored into him. “Pity that I just can’t get you to join them,” she commented offhandedly. “After all,” she brought an elegant, white hand to his tan cheek, “you’re the one I want the most, Makoto.” 

Another chill, not unlike her fiery, cold eyes, came over him like a douse of ice water. He stared back at her, his jaw set.

“I won’t join them. Not now, not ever.” 

Junko laughed, the sound hollow and high-pitched. 

“I’ll get you one of these days.” She paused and put a hand to her chest, where she casually drew out a colorful stick of dynamite as if simply fishing her phone out of her pocket. “Maybe it’ll be today?” 

With a swift movement that looked all too natural to her, she lit the dynamite, tossing it carelessly into a taiyaki stand—which was thankfully unattended and without any festival-goers nearby. 

Makoto’s eyes were glued to the soaring arc of the dynamite as it dropped to the food stall, his jaw gaping. 

“What are you doing?!” 

Junko crossed her arms with a smug smile and took the cigar from her lip, tapping it delicately to get the ashes off. 

“Oh, just going blast fishing.” Puzzled, Makoto gave her a bewildered look. “You’ll see soon enough,” she cackled. 

The taiyaki stand blew up, bursting into a multitude of colors and a dazzling show of lights, becoming a kaleidoscopic display as the many taiyaki pastries flew out of the stall by the dozen and proceeded to rain from the sky like meteorites. Junko held out her hand and happened to catch one of the flaming taiyaki with a piece of apparently inflammable wax paper. She offered it to Makoto with a bright, almost innocent grin as if she had not just blown up a food stall like a maniac. Correction: she was a maniac. 

“Here, want one? They’re perfectly cooked.” 

Makoto shook his head adamantly, his eyes darting around as he watched the countless blazing taiyaki fall from the sky like blistering meteorites from space. 

“I’m good.” Remembering the cotton candy he bought, clutched safely in his hand, he took a look and sighed in relief to see that it was still okay. “I’ll eat my cotton candy, thank you very much.” 

Junko surveyed him as he took a bite, her face blank. Makoto tried to forget she was there, but it was hard, veering on impossible to ignore the presence of someone like Junko, who was the definition of presence. 

He turned his back to her to ignore her, but Junko called out to him in a manner of seconds after Makoto started eating his cotton candy. 

“Oh, Makoto!”

He turned to walk the opposite direction, away from Junko, but he took no more than a few steps before coming face-to-face with her once again.

“Junko?! Ah!” 

He started backing away. With all that she had put him through tonight, he knew this would not end well for him if he stuck around. 

“You scream at me like I’m a monster or something,” she said, feigning hurt. “You wound me.” 

Makoto looked around for an escape as always, but the crowd was dense tonight, as it was each year. 

“Why do you keep trying to set explosives off near me? You’re going to kill me,” he said exasperatedly. 

Junko twisted a stray piece of blonde hair around her finger, looking bored. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s kind of the point. What did you think I was trying to do?”

He shook his head. There was no point in trying to reason with her. It was a better idea to walk away. But before he knew it, he was stopped in his tracks. Something heavy was now attached to his back. 

He turned to see Junko a few feet away, standing where she had been earlier. And she was slowly raising a string to her lit cigar. Makoto’s eyes followed the string. It was attached to whatever was on his back. 

He did not have eyes on his back and could not know exactly what was on his back, but he had enough sense to know that whatever it was, a string attached to it getting lit did not bode well for him in the least. 

He sprinted over to stop her, but it was too late. She winked, and within moments, he was racing into the sky on a bumpy ride. Makoto grabbed at the ropes attaching whatever it was to his back, and they surprisingly tore with ease. Huh. Okay, note to self to try that first instead of trying to stop a despair-crazed high school girl. And for some reason, fireworks were already going on, dangerously close to him. Were they not supposed to be at the end of the festival? And farther away from crowds of people, so no one was hurt? 

But the problem now was that he was hurtling out of the night sky. Luckily, he had not flown too high before dismantling the ropes. He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact of the hard ground—but he felt nothing. 

Makoto opened his eyes only to see Junko’s face inches from his. 

“Whoa!” 

She just caught him from the sky, and they were standing in a clearing at the festival’s entrance. 

“You know, you’re heavier than you look,” she laughed and threw him aside, his tailbone hitting the hard ground. He groaned and slowly got up on his feet, rubbing his backside. Why did he feel like he already was an old man when he was just a high schooler?

“Thanks?” 

“It wasn’t a compliment,” she smirked and lit a firework with her cigar, tossing it into the sky. 

So it was her, after all, who had been setting off fireworks in the middle of the festival. He should have known. It was unsafe and untimely, after all. But, speaking of unsafe and untimely, a huge pile of explosives had just been carted over behind her, likely courtesy of Mukuro. 

Junko did not even have to look behind her before she took a step back and plopped down onto the messy stacks of dynamite, a lazy smile on her lips as she puffed away at her cigar. 

“W-What are you doing?!” Makoto stammered. “You’re going to blow yourself up like that! And it’ll probably hurt people at the festival too since there are so many explosives!” 

Junko rolled her eyes. 

“Again, that’s kind of the point of me sitting here. Way to state the obvious.” 

Confused, Makoto rephrased his words. 

“Weren’t you trying to blow me up?” 

Junko laughed and shrugged. 

“Yeah, but this is fun too. Just part of the excitement, you know?” 

Something strange was swirling in those pale blue eyes of her, and Makoto had seen that look enough to know what it meant. She was enjoying the thrill of despair. 

“Suit yourself, I guess,” Makoto said, backing away for what seemed like the umpteenth time of the night. “But keep me out of it.” 

Junko pouted and pursed her lips. 

“You’re no fun! Why don’t you come over here and sit next to me, Makoto?” 

He shook his head, eyes wide, and started to turn and walk away. But before he knew it, he felt a hand on his shoulder forcefully stop him and turn him so that he faced its owner once again. 

“Come on, don’t be lame,” Junko sighed. “Here, take this, and this,” she said. She took her cigar out of her mouth and popped it into Makoto’s mouth, who coughed slightly from the smoke but tried not to drop it on the ground. Then Junko promptly pushed an armful of dynamite and other varied explosives into Makoto’s arms, who automatically caught them. It was his nature to be a pushover helpful.

“Wait, what are you doing? Why are you giving me your cigar?” 

Makoto tried not to drop anything, but then he realized he had a smoking cigar in his mouth, and if it happened to light any fuses, he would be dead. 

“Blow some stuff up, dude! Don’t be a drag and rain on my parade,” Junko smirked. “All you gotta do is put the end of the cigar to the fuse!” 

Makoto immediately dropped all of the explosives on the ground, and they clattered against each other noisily as they fell and rolled around. 

“Why would I want to do that?!” 

“It’s fun!” Junko cackled and scooped a few more sticks of dynamite back into Makoto’s arms, shoving them against his chest in a pushy manner. 

Makoto threw them away from himself and took the cigar out of his mouth. 

“I’m not you! I don’t enjoy blowing things up or near-death experiences,” he said exasperatedly. “Stop giving me explosives, and take your cigar back.” 

Junko eyed him for a good few seconds before taking the cigar from Makoto’s fingers and putting the cigar back in her mouth. 

“Ooh! Indirect kiss,” she squealed. 

Makoto winced and wiped his mouth. 

“That was so unnecessary,” he replied dryly, unamused. 

“Unnecessary, but true!” she sings in his ear, and Junko swings an arm over his shoulder. 

“Yo, take a look over there. I got it for my last birthday,” Junko said proudly and pointed to a large, shadowy figure in the distance, but still rather close to the festival.

He raised his head to look at what was over there. It was rather big and towering over the trees where it had been placed. A...Junko statue? Makoto started to sweat. It was giving him bad vibes. 

Sure enough, the real Junko had separated from him and was standing a few feet away from him, holding a TNT plunger. He attempted to grab it from her, but he was still weak in the knees after getting tossed like a salad in the air from being an unwilling participant to his little fireworks adventure. 

She pushed down on the TNT plunger triumphantly and cackled as the statue burst into pieces. Makoto breathed in sharply and watched as the festival descended into chaos. 

People were running around screaming as rubble on fire fell from the skies and rained upon the festival booths, setting things on fire and destroying merchandise. Before this, no one had batted an eye at their explosives and fireworks, since it just seemed like a couple flirting weirdly, the explosives seemed fake, and fireworks were normal any way, but now that safety was severely compromised, everyone was turning to point fingers at Makoto and Junko. 

But Junko could care less. She was hoping to see a piece of flaming rubble land on Makoto, who was still standing out in the open carelessly. It was then that she saw a figure grab his arm and pull him away, and she punched the booth nearby in anger, which collapsed under her force and a stray boulder, the plastic poles holding it snapping in half easily. She had been so close. 

“Come on, Makoto. It’s not safe here,” said Kyouko. 

Makoto let him get dragged away, and then took a second look at Kyouko, who had let go of him after he was now walking without her prompting. 

“You’re here at the festival?” 

She nodded. 

“Yes, and I’ve been watching you run around like a trapped mouse.” 

Makoto stopped walking in the middle of the road to gawk at her. 

“You’ve been watching? And you didn’t say anything?” 

Kyouko sighed. 

“Yes. Can we keep walking? I’m not going to be lucky enough to avoid getting struck down with flaming rubble like you.” 

Makoto started walking again but at a faster pace to accommodate Kyouko’s stride. 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “But could you help me escape her? I just wanted to have a good time at the festival tonight, but I’m stuck trying to run away from her all night instead.” 

“Runaway from who?” a voice said imperiously. 

Makoto turned to see Junko sitting on a rocket barely a meter away. 

“Junko!” He turned to ask Kyouko for help, but the detective had already disappeared into the night. He curled his hand into a fist in irritation. Sometimes she could be so...ugh! 

“Come here, Makoto,” Junko beckoned. 

Makoto was about to politely refuse before he felt something hard pressing at his back. He had never felt one pressed to his back before, but he was guessing this was a gun, probably operated by Mukuro. A chill ran down his back. 

“Okay, okay, I get it! I’m coming.” 

With little other choices, he walked over and climbed onto the rocket with Junko, taking a seat.

“Good boy,” Junko said, grinning and patting him on the head, ruffling his brown hair. 

“I’m not a dog,” he sighed. 

“You are if I say you are,” Junko said. She held up the fuse in one hand, and in her other hand, she momentarily pinched her cigar between elegantly manicured fingers and tapped it. Its glowing ashes fell onto the fuse, and within moments, the two were flying into the sky. 

Makoto tried to hold on, but his hands were still sweaty, and with little grip to keep him ahold, he slid off of the rocket, falling, and watched as Junko continued, soaring through the night sky, the stars twinkling. The rocket exploded to reveal a firework image of Junko riding it, who winked—seemingly at Makoto himself—and then took a seductive drag on the firework cigar before she ostentatiously blew a firework smoke ring into the sky, gloriously lighting up the night. He could not help but smile a little at her fireworks, so utterly Junko-like—but such an endearing moment was quickly interrupted by the leftover bits of the fireworks dropping into a ring of fire around him into the ground. 

He scooted away from the fire and sat in the dirt in the forest, beside the ruins of the festival. It was not his time to die yet. Or was it? He wondered when he saw what looked like a shooting star, heading straight for his face. 

Something crashed into him, and Makoto fell over onto the ground, blinking blankly as he lay on the ground. 

The something was Junko, and she was sitting on top of him—straddling him. She was a sight to see, and not because she was beautiful, though this too was true; she was covered in soot and parts of her yukata were smoldering, holes in the fabric ringed with singed black. She leaned down and took her cigar out of her mouth, tapping its ashes out centimeters away from Makoto’s head, smiling in the insane way she usually did when she was high off of despair. 

“What a night, am I right?” she giggled. 

Makoto gulped and looked away from her. 

“No thanks to you,” he said, almost bitterly. But he was too nice to be sour about it. 

Junko laughed dismissively. 

“It’s a night you’ll remember forever, though. Immortalized in the history of Tanabata Festivals.” 

“Is this why you did it? Chasing me around with explosives and blowing stuff up?” Makoto demanded. 

Junko shook her head and took a drag from her cigar before answering. 

“No, of course not, silly! I wanted to see you suffer, and I wanted to feel despair,” she responded happily. “You little nitwit.” She flicked him on the forehead, and he blinked reflexively. “Daww, did that hurt? Here, I’ll kiss it better.” 

She bent down and placed a rather gentle kiss on Makoto’s forehead, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought it would not be too bad to date Junko Enoshima. 

But then she stepped away from his body and aimed a gigantic rocket launcher at him, courtesy of her other half, Mukuro, and he was brought back to reality. 

Makoto scrambled to his feet and began running in the opposite direction. He watched as a missile shot by Junko and meant for him tore through a tree less than a meter away from him. The missile soared upward and disappeared into the sky. He shuddered to think what would have happened to him if the poor tree looked this miserable. 

As for Junko, she had been slightly put out at her newly failed attempt to kill Makoto, but not too put out—after all, there was still much more to come. However, she did notice the unfortunate lack of sparks coming from her cigar, which truly was put out. With a smirk, she looked in Makoto’s direction and started to walk over.

The sound of Junko’s footsteps alerted Makoto to her presence, and he turned and watched as she made her way over to him with swaying hips and a sultry smile. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t the man of the hour.” She took the cigar from her mouth, the head of the cigar dragging sensually against her lips, which were glossy and moist. “Got a light?” 

Before he could answer her, though, fate had decreed its will, and a bolt of lightning struck the earth just millimeters from Makoto and hit the tip of Junko’s cigar straight-on, relighting her cigar and blasting her into the air. Makoto watched with an open mouth as Junko went flying away and over the trees of the forest beside the festival grounds in what was a rather spectacular manner. At least, if not for how ridiculously perilous the situation was, even if it was just like the way cartoony villains got sent flying out of the panels in the comic books Makoto avidly read as a child. 

When he realized he was holding his breath, he started taking sputtering breaths once again; the dynamic and chaotic nature of all that Junko involved him in seemed to have startled him into a moment of shock. Makoto took a seat against a tree close to where the festival was, one of the few that was thankfully still in one piece. 

From here, he could see all of the festival grounds, and it appeared as though people were salvaging the remains of the festival and setting up to have fun again. Fires were put out, stands erected once again, and children were playing games at different stalls with bright smiles on their round faces. With a smile of his own, Makoto walked into the festival. At least Junko had not completely demolished the festival grounds. It appeared hope would prevail yet again.

Makoto walked to a booth and purchased a candied apple. He strolled and surveyed the area with a lenient eye, warmth fluttering inside as he watched the children play with yo-yos and run around. Finally, he could enjoy the festival a little bit and live like he was just 18 years old—or maybe not. 

“Makoto! Maybe you should check your pocket.”

“What for?” he said, and looked at his back pocket, only to find a stick of dynamite lodged there snugly. “Gah!” 

He grabbed it, avoiding the spark, and chucked it into the woods. ‘Sorry, trees,’ he apologized internally. ‘Crisis averted,’ he thought to himself and wiped the sweat off his brow. He was getting tired of the whole defying death deal and running away from explosions all night. 

It was then that Makoto happened to notice out of the corner of his eye a hint of blond hair. The smell of a cigar wafted through the air and mingled with the scents of oil and sweets. Junko’s lustrous, long hair had become undone, her hairpin from before having been blown off when lightning struck her, and the tip of her cigar, sitting comfortably between her lips again, was crackling with electricity. Along with those details, he saw in her hands a gigantic, colorful, festive-looking mallet. 

“Sweet dreams, Makoto!” 

He barely had the time to panic or form any coherent thoughts before he found himself hammered with the mallet Junko was wielding. It would not be until later when he was conscious again that he would realize the mallet’s uncanny resemblance to the Mallet of Luck, Uchide-no-Kozuchi. It was an unfortunate coincidence—though knowing Junko, it probably was not a coincidence but another sick joke she had prepared for his torment and thus her amusement. 

A burning sensation on his cheek forced Makoto out of his unwilling slumber. He reflexively jolted his body away from the source of the pain. 

“Wakey-wakey, Makoto! Sleeping beauty’s got to wake up now unless he’d like another kiss to wake him up a little more thoroughly,” Junko chuckled, now holding the culprit of Makoto’s first, burning kiss—her cigar—between two slender fingers. 

He woke up to the breezy night air and found himself perched on a ledge a little bit above the festival. It was an ideal place for viewing fireworks. Aside from there being Junko Enoshima nearby, that is. His cheek was stinging, and he could feel the ashes sticking to his sweaty skin unpleasantly from the tip of Junko’s cigar she had unceremoniously and firmly pressed to his face. He itched to rub them off and cool his burn, but he felt too sluggish to move. His head was pounding as if Junko had somehow hacked into his brain and managed to lit fireworks inside it. With her abilities, he would not doubt the possibility if he did not remember that he had been whacked over the head by the oversized mallet she had been holding. 

“Makoto! You’re awake! I thought I’d have to kiss you again. Our main attraction is almost ready,” Junko cooed with delight. 

Still woozy, Makoto looked around in a daze. 

“Huh? Main attraction?” 

Junko walked over to an enormous black cannon, which was swathed in bright, gaudy streamers and had strings of paper origami stars hanging off its sides like colorful, sparse bead curtains, and she laughed maniacally. 

“Look, it’s a cannon! It fits a human—or two—inside! All I gotta do is light this baby, and you’ll go boom boom!” She took a nice, long drag on her cigar before pursing her lips and letting out a stream of smoke. “I borrowed the cannon and mallet from our adorable, tiny upperclassman, Hiyoko. Not that I asked her or anything, but never mind that—aren’t they simply magnificent?” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered in delight, her face pink with excitement and her trembling lips pressed together. “Ooh, I just can’t wait!” 

She sauntered over to him and leaned in close, the tip of her fat cigar brushing against his nose sootily. 

“And you’ll be the guest of honor tonight, Makoto! Ooh, I’m so excited! I simply can’t wait!” 

With that, she brought the humongous mallet that’d knocked Makoto unconscious to the end of her cigar, lighting the mallet on fire—it was easily flammable or perhaps coated in a flammable substance. With a single swing of her mallet, she hit Makoto into the air with a flourish, spinning in a crude and yet undeniably beautiful manner before sending the flaming mallet hurtling straight into the sky with a great throw. The eye-catching hammer spun just as Junko did, and it burst into an elaborate, magnificent display of fireworks. The firepower behind the mallet came from the excessive amount of firework powder tightly packed into its head, which had also made it a weighty and fearsome weapon for Junko to brandish before it exploded. Although Makoto was too preoccupied with soaring into the air and subsequently falling, the rest of the festival-goers were able to appreciate the large, colorful image created, which was a resplendent copy of the mallet before it had exploded. 

Makoto dropped into the mouth of the cannon almost perfectly. The rest of the firework mallet fell out of sight. 

“Hey! Get me out of here!” he banged his fists on the curved metal from inside the cannon, but it was useless.

“No way!” Junko snorted. “You’re live on television and streaming online. Be nice to my viewers! And of course, we’re close to the festival too, so they’re gonna have front and center seats to you getting shot outta that cannon!” 

“I’m going to really die this time,” Makoto groaned and put his face in his hands, sitting in the darkness. Hopefully, Junko would set out some fireworks, and his death would not seem too grim. 

“Of course you will, sweetie! Now it’s time to light this baby,” Junko shouted into a giant megaphone enthusiastically. People from the festival looked up at her to see what was going on, curious. “Once I light it, there’s no going back! This fuse can’t be put out. The cannon will be shot tonight, and the lucky rider is going to be Makoto! What a fine opportunity you have to see this special view tonight, folks! Happy Tanabata!”

Junko took the long fuse of the cannon, which was extended for dramatic suspense, and put the end of her cigar to the fuse, lighting it. She climbed onto the barrel of the cannon cheerfully and plugged her ears, a smile stretched from cheek to cheek on her face. But of course, shooting Makoto into the sky just wouldn’t be complete without a good jab at him before. 

She scooted up the cannon and popped her head into the mouth of the cannon. 

“Hey, Makoto-whoah!” 

Junko tumbled inside in a surprising show of uncharacteristic clumsiness. With the shaking of the cannon from her falling inside, Makoto fell forward and dove face-first into her chest. 

“Mmph!” 

Somehow, Makoto managed to extract himself from her chest, but not without a lot of awkward shifting in their positions inside the cannon. 

“You know, this would be the part where I punch you into space—except that the cannon’s going to do that for me,” Junko snickered. 

“Gh! Sorry,” Makoto said, feeling his face grow hot. 

“No harm done,” Junko said. “Except that you’re tarnishing a young girl’s purity,” she teased him. 

Makoto sighed and shook his head in exasperation. 

“Anyway, look at what you’ve done. Now we’re both stuck in here. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t tried to shoot me out of this humongous cannon.” 

“No,” Junko corrected him. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t avoided death earlier when I was setting off explosives.” 

“What?” Makoto exclaimed. “So I’m just supposed to lay down and explode from a stick of dynamite?” 

“Yes,” she confirmed. “That’s what’s supposed to happen. Or you’re supposed to be unlucky and get hit by a piece of flaming debris.” 

“And what’s the point in all that?” Makoto asked cynically. 

“Because I like you,” Junko said rather abruptly. “That’s why I’ve been chasing after you all night and setting off explosives near you. I just wanted your attention all along.” 

Makoto rolled his eyes. 

“You’re joking, aren’t you.” 

“No, I’m not,” she replied, and for once she sounded serious. “I like you, Makoto.” 

He looked at her blue eyes, blond hair, and torn up yukata. Junko Enoshima was quite possibly one of the most beautiful girls he had ever met, not to mention one of the most insane girls he had ever met. And yet, was it possible? He stared at her, trying to decipher her, and then she burst into laughter. 

“Bwahaha! You’re so naive, Makoto. How could I ever like an ordinary, non-despair-inducing guy like you?” she said cuttingly. 

Yeah, she was the same Junko he had always known after all. 

Makoto sighed, looking at the still-lit cigar in Junko’s mouth. Honestly, the nerve of this girl… 

Wait. The cigar was glowing rather brightly, which let him see a little. It seemed like there was a chink in the cannon somewhere next to his butt. He felt around and pressed at it, and he suddenly fell through the walls of the cannon and onto the plain ground. A sense of relief coursed through him as he glanced up and saw the hatch close back up. Makoto stood and ran. The cannon had been elevated, so there was ample space under it to stand and walk. The fuse seemed to be running out as the spark traveled closer and closer to the butt of the cannon. 

Meanwhile, Junko sat in the cannon comfortably. 

“He got away again,” she sighed. “How despairful… But on the bright side, the cannon’s about to fire!” 

She puffed at her cigar in excitement. 

“This is gonna be a good show.”

She climbed out toward the mouth of the cannon and stuck her head out, looking around. There he was. Makoto had not gotten too far yet since it had only been a few seconds since he had escaped. 

“Yoohoo, Makoto!” 

The person in question momentarily stopped running away and looked over. Of course. Who else would be calling his name? She was waving at him, too.

“Wish you were here,” Junko winked at him and blew out a smokey heart ring before settling back inside the cannon, even though at that point, it would have been easy for her to simply climb out of the cannon.

Outside of the cannon, Makoto sprinted away, plugging his ears. He stood safely in the forest and watched as the cannon shot out one Junko Enoshima, who appeared a dazzling shooting star bursting forth. Accompanying her takeoff were relentless waves of flashy, chromatic fireworks, interspersed with showers of gold fire. Following the launching of the cannon, not a second passed without another booming firework to fill the darkness hanging above. Hot, bright sparks flew out from the display, and the ground rumbled, quaking with the vibrations and noise of the massive contraption exerting—no, unleashing—its force. 

“Yes! Despair!” she shouted. “Woohoo!” 

The distance made her voice seem faint, but it was miraculous Makoto could even still hear her at all amid all the noise. People were watching from the festival grounds, clapping and cheering for her. After all the trouble she caused, they were rather happy she had been shot out of a cannon to somewhere hopefully far away from the night’s festivities. Makoto himself was simply relieved that it was not him who was shot out of that cannon. Who knows what would have happened to him?

And with that, the night of the Tanabata Festival came to a close; it was a grand finale truly befitting of all that had preceded it. The shining Junko Enoshima disappeared into the night sky, brilliantly twinkling out of sight with a “ding!” 

“A fitting end, don’t you think?” 

Kyouko was standing next to Makoto, who startled at her words and glanced at her briefly before looking back at the beautiful night sky. 

“Kyouko? When did you get here?” 

“I was here all along,” she smiled. “You ran over here after I got here.” 

“So you were going to just watch as Junko shot me out of that ridiculous cannon,” Makoto said in an accusing tone. 

Kyouko shook her head. 

“I knew it’d end up like this.” 

Makoto turned his head to look at her. Kyouko’s pink eyes were shining slightly. 

“Did you open the cannon hatch to help me escape?” he questioned. 

Neither confirming nor denying his words, Kyouko just smiled mysteriously. 

“I’ll just say it was lucky that you escaped her plans again. As expected of the Ultimate Lucky Student.”

It was then that Makoto felt something hit his head as it had simply dropped out of the sky—and it might as well have; when he caught it after it bounced off his noggin, the object in his grasp turned out to be Junko’s lighter, now safely in his possession. It must have fallen out of her pocket when she blasted out of the cannon. 

Makoto turned his gaze back to the night sky where Junko twinkled out of sight, the sky no longer brilliantly lit up by the fireworks or Junko’s ride through it. Despite all that he had gone through tonight at Junko’s expense, with attempt after attempt to blow him up, he hoped that she was alright wherever she ended up landing. Though, it was not exactly his first time seeing Junko get caught up in these kinds of things: mishaps, or adventures if you will. That is if you liked for your adventures to constantly put your life at risk. 

He glanced down at the lighter clutched in his hand, the smooth metal reflecting the pale moonlight that now shone forth in the absence of other flashy light displays. He sure hoped that Junko would maybe, just maybe, grow out of her extreme antics and unusual disposition for attracting—or, making—trouble someday. 

Omake

Junko flew through the sky, her trusty cigar still in her mouth, and she protected the end from the wind as it burned vicariously. With no way to slow down her rocky flight—assuming she even would want to—and the multitudes of explosive power from gunpowder and other contraptions still on her person, Junko ignited most gloriously. 

From far away, the scorching ball of fire she became seemed to be a shooting star soaring through the night sky. As she blazed through the sky in a fury of orange, the people down below gazed up in wonder and, thinking she was a shooting star, made wishes on her. If she had been cognizant of this, Junko would have fallen into despair from accidentally turning herself into a symbol of hope. It contradicted all that she aimed to be and for the most part, still was, if not for her current appearance that had temporarily elevated her into an unidentified flying object that could hypothetically grant wishes. 

Thanks to all the power in the cannon that Junko fastidiously prepared, her flight through the sky travelled a great ways away from the festival. If she were to hazard a guess, she’d traveled hundreds of miles at the very least, and for a brief moment, she thought she might’ve lost consciousness as she reached space, where the air was thin and unforgiving. But luckily—or unluckily—Junko quickly started free-falling back to earth. The wind gave a great roar past her ears as it clawed at what was left of her already ripped and thoroughly burnt yukata. The air pressure adjusted with her great fall, allowing her to breathe, even if she was still dropping at a dangerously accelerating rate. 

With a big splash, Junko plunked into the water by the shore of a deserted island, effectively extinguishing her cigar and herself. Being completely submerged in the water, she flailed until her head was out of the water again and sputtered slightly, though she kept a firm grip on her cigar. A trusty keepsake like her cigar should always be at her side, after all. It was custom-made, too. 

When she made it to the sandy white shore, crawling and coughing, she clambered back onto her feet and attempted to dry herself off, wringing her hair and the rags of her clothes. She was alive and surprisingly well, aside from being thoroughly charred and bruised from her ride through space. But even escaping with that amount of injury seemed to be getting off lightly, considering all that she had gone through. 

Junko chewed on her cigar, which now faintly tasted of saltwater from the ocean, though she didn’t need the cigar to taste the salt—her mouth was already tainted with the ocean water after she’d unceremoniously been dumped into the water and half-drowned, like a cube of sugar might be dropped into a cup of hot tea. At least she didn’t simply dissolve the way sugar did, though, and the water was lukewarm, being summer. She felt around herself for her lighter so she could relight her cigar, but it was nowhere to be found. All she came up with was the fine grains of sand sticking to her damp skin. Junko sighed. It must have dropped out of her pocket on her ride over here. Hopefully, it would set some trees on fire and bring despair somewhere, she thought to herself.

“Can’t a girl just smoke a cigar?” she complained. 

But at least she did not have any more explosives or fireworks to set off anyway, she thought to herself. It had been a good night, though. It was despair-inducing that she ended up getting shot out of the cannon instead and that Makoto escaped a gruesome fate yet again. 

“Makoto sure is one lucky bastard,” she reflected. “Well, I guess he hasn’t really got anything else going for him, though, so it’s his one saving grace. Everything else about him is the most average of the average.”

She looked out over the open waters and dark sky, watching some fireworks faintly go off in the distance. The myriad of colorful lights was beautiful as they sprinkled in and out of existence, even dimmed by how far away she was watching them from. They reminded her of all that’d happened during this one night, which inevitably led her thoughts to the past times she’d attempted to put Makoto in extreme danger in her usual despair-inducing manner. 

Fondly, she remembered when she’d gently nudged Makoto toward the train tracks by swinging her school bag toward him—there wasn’t much in it, really, just a few bricks—only for him to trip and spin, falling in the opposite direction and comically face-planting on the train platform, whereas Junko had also tripped, but toward the actual train tracks. The oncoming train had barrelled straight into her, and she’d landed a good ten meters away from the train from the force of impact. They’d rushed her to the hospital, where she was put in an entire-body cast and stuck in the plain white room, bored to death for a few months. The only minimal comfort was that she had her other half, Mukuro, to be her hands and feet while she was immobilized. 

There were a few other instances that Junko had tried to put Makoto in danger, from plain incidents like locking him in the freezer room in a warehouse, to movie-esque occurrences like following him on a crazy car chase with Mukuro behind the gun and shooting at his car. Each time, she had met her defeat in all kinds of different ways, shameful, odd, and painful—and yet, oh-so enjoyable. 

As she watched the fireworks, it suddenly occurred to her that one of those so-called fireworks was actually the missile she’d fired off earlier, and it was hurtling straight in her direction at Mach speed. 

“Uh-oh.” 

Makoto was holding a teddy bear plushie and eating konpeito, candied stars, when he noticed a huge, billowing mushroom cloud in the distance. Along with it came a deafening, faraway kaboom that rumbled the ground and sent tingling vibrations up his legs. The top of the cloud had ears and the fluffy shapes had an uncanny resemblance to the head of Junko’s beloved Monokuma. 

His phone vibrated with a notification, and he pulled it out only to see a message from Junko, which read: 

“I’m alive!😁✌️ Bet you would be dead if you were me 💕💕I’ll get you next time 😜” 

His phone vibrated again, and a photo appeared in the chat. Did he even want to look? He sighed. Better to know what was going on, after all. 

He tapped on the photo to reveal Junko herself, covered in black ashes from head to toe. Her yukata was even more torn up than the last time he’d seen her—it was more shreds of scorched fabric than an article of clothing at this point—and the overbearing cigar was still snug between her lips and lit. It looked like the cigar had been relit by the explosion of the missile's remains, which he could see in the background of her photo, just next to her feet. As expected of Junko: not even a ride through space from a massive cannon and fall from grace could defeat her, and neither could a military-issue missile.

Makoto was not looking forward to the next time. He very much hoped there would not be a next time.

But the fact that Junko was alive ensured it, and he put his phone back in his pocket, accepting his fate. Hopefully, the next time, he would come out alive and safe again, if not a little ragged. 

[brightblueinky]

Long winded ramblings about a Bronycon video

So I’ve seen some hubbub about a YouTube essay going over the history of the Brony fandom up until the last Bronycon. (You can see it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fVOF2PiHnc ) I just got around to watching it today and I was...somewhat confused by some of the stronger negative takes I was seeing floating around Twitter, and I’ve been in a “fandom discourse” mood lately so, hey, I thought...why not talk about it. The first part of this was originally going to be a Twitter thread until I realized Twitter wasn’t going to let me keep going on the thread so I gave up and decided to put it here instead (lol) so it’s probably going to be a bit choppy since I was trying to keep it readable for that format.

So first of all, my background, so I can be completely honest about where I'm coming from and try not to portray what I'm saying as like...an end-all-be-all take here, because I don't wanna do that. I was never really an MLP fan. I watched the first season of FiM and really enjoyed it, but I didn't really engage with the fandom because by that point I'd gotten to where I didn't spend much time in huge fandoms. So I can't come at this from the perspective of an MLP fan. When I’m addressing the fandom here, I’m coming at it as an outsider in the sense that I am not a MLP fan/brony. What I AM going to do is come at this from the perspective of something of a "native" to fandom. I've always been a geek. I've engaged in online fandom in some form or another since I was about 8, which was in the mid 90s. I've been around the fandom block. Actually, I can even say that I used to lurk on 4chan a lot and I saw a lot of the early Brony discussions there. I also watch @JennyENicholson's videos, and yeah, there's been times where I've been bugged because we had a disagreement of opinions and felt like it was a little harsh. She's got a dry sense of humor and sometimes it's hard to read when she's joking and when she's being genuine. So like, I wasn't surprised when I saw some hubbub from some people online about her doing the video about Bronies. Not at all. But I gotta say...I am really surprised by some of the more INTENSE takes on the video after watching it?? The LARGE majority of the video is @JennyENicholson covering this fandom from an INSIDER'S perspective. She was an MLP fan before FiM, she was active enough in the fandom to be a BNF. A huge, huge amount of the video is positive and nostalgic. In fact I now wish I HAD been in the fandom! It seems like it was a lot of fun! The only thing I felt was maybe harsh in the video is I think she gave the impression that being "furry" is exclusively a sex thing, but by the end she talks about furries being a community that's a very inclusive, kind community with a lot of queer people, so even then I think if you're really paying attention to the whole video you're not going to come away with the idea that the furry community is bad. Just maybe could've had more nuance earlier in the video?  So from glancing through mentions of her in a Twitter search (which is definitely not going to be a perfect sample) from what I can tell there's like two things that people seem to be upset about with the video: 1, the idea that the fandom is "dead" and 2...just...Body Pillows. So let's talk about the dead fandom thing first. As I mention, I have been in fandom a long, long time. Although I (usually) shy away from big active fandoms now, I started off in bigger ones--Sonic, Pokemon, Digimon, LOTR, etc. The two fandoms I currently care about the most, though, are definitely fandoms that tend to be called "dead" and were never HUGE to begin with (Princess Tutu and Chrono Crusade). I think I can count on my hands the number of ppl who actively discuss or create fanwork for CC.   So I guess what I'm trying to say is, I've been on both sides of the coin here. And let me reassure Bronies: "Dead", while maybe too strong of a label for what it actually means, does not have to be a negative thing and you don't need to defend your fandom from it, IMO. I think the "dead" label simply means that interest in the fandom has cooled, the number of active participants is significantly down from the heydays of the fandom, etc. And I don't think that's an unfair label for brony fandom from what I know.   If there was a large scale replacement for Bronycon then maybe it'd be unfair, but...yeah, if you're losing your large hubs for the fandom community, if the flow of fanwork and discussion has slowed, I think "dead", as it's used, isn't an unfair label.   But again, I don't think this is a bad thing! I'd imagine that even the current state of the brony fandom is larger and more active than the Princess Tutu fandom at its greatest heights. It's a pretty relative term. It doesn't mean nobody cares, or that you can't still enjoy it! All the "dead" label really means is acknowledging the change in a fandom. It's not a bad thing. I might be 1 of ~30 writers for Chrono Crusade on AO3 but I still have fun writing fic and I still get hits and occasional positive comments. It's not bad. Just different. Okay so now let's talk about the body pillow thing and oh man, is this going to be a minefield, lol. Let's first talk about my personal lens I'm going to come at here... I've created NSFW fanwork. Some of it taboo. I'm also (somewhat) a part of the "proship" discourse on Twitter which is basically a community of people that push back against another community of "anti"-shippers who feel that some ships are problematic (because of character age, power dynamics, etc) and shouldn't be shipped. (I think that simplifies a lot of the discussion on both sides but it’ll do for the purpose of what I’m getting at here, I think.) At its worse this debate has lead death threats and suicide attempts. I have seen people get treated abusively for fanwork (sometimes NSFW but not always). (And I also want to add that while I think the major component of the pro-ship discussions on Twitter are anti-harassment, there’s been some ‘edgy’ types who think that it’s fun to harass antis with NSFW fanwork and the like and I want to make it clear that is ALSO ABUSIVE AND NOT OKAY.) Basically, I want to say I'm sympathetic to a knee jerk defensive reaction over NSFW fanart. Okay? I can get why people might want to push against criticism of stuff they enjoy/create, and that there’s an element of possibly being harassed for fanwork you create. But the thing is, I don't think this is really the attitude Jenny is taking in the video. She lightly mocks NSFW stuff and body pillows, but often describes it as "harmless" and "fine". The only time she's critical of it is when she notes that sometimes body pillows with suggestive poses could be on display at conventions where young kids were present--at a con celebrating a show MEANT for young kids--and that probably shouldn't have been allowed. She's not saying you can't buy a body pillow, or create one. She didn't even say that while discussing body pillows of characters who were 10! She expressed personal discomfort, but the only restriction she really suggested was "keep this out of the sight of minors." And I don't know why that would be a controversial take. I read lemons when I was younger so I'm not going to sit here and act like it's going to completely ruin kids lives or anything. But I ALSO think it's appropriate to have boundaries for sexual materials for kids (or anyone who doesn't want to engage for whatever reason). I want my stuff to be clearly labeled as NSFW, with tags being clear about the content, so people know what they're getting into. I’ve grown to care about this even more as I’ve gotten older. I don’t really want to know about minors reading my nsfw fanfic or anything. I’m not going to, like, parent them and shame them if they do, but I don’t want to engage with it, I want my stuff to be labeled, and I am DEFINITELY not going to put it on public display at a place where I know kids are allowed, ESPECIALLY not when it’s work based on stuff MEANT for children! I mean, I grew up in a fundamentalist Evangelical household and I will rant at you for hours about how damaging I feel that environment was, and that I don’t think kids and teens should be completely shielded from sex, etc. But that doesn’t mean that having boundaries in place is a bad idea, especially when minors are involved. I also think that boundaries are good just for the sake of consent, too? I’m not saying that someone accidentally seeing suggestive art is the same as them being raped, please don’t conflate it like that, but if people don’t want to see it for whatever reason they should be given the opportunity to make that choice as much as possible. The stuff that Jenny mentioned brony conventions would do (requiring stuff to be sold under the table, or having late night hours for the dealer’s room where 18+ merch could be displayed and sold) seem like really good policies and pretty similar to what I’ve seen at anime conventions I’ve attended (although occasionally some stuff that was maybe a biiit more suggestive than I’d be comfortable displaying in public...but hey, my local con allows kids but also makes it clear in their rules that it’s mostly geared for 13+ attendees and that it’s up to parents to decide what’s appropriate for their kids, and I think that’s fair). And yeah, I know, nothing that Jenny showed in the video being displayed at Bronycon was 100% explicit, just suggestive. She notes this in the video herself, saying that yeah, it doesn’t show genitalia, etc...and as I’m writing this I think I’ve maybe rambled too much about NSFW fanart when most of the stuff we’re talking about here is more “suggestive” than straight-up porn, since that’s probably muddying the waters a bit. But I gotta, gotta, GOTTA address the sentiment I saw multiple times on Twitter in response to her video: “Dakimakura/body pillows aren’t sexual and to say that is orientalist.” I...what? What the fuck? Okay, again, I’m going to make it perfectly clear what my background is here so that I’m not claiming to have some expertise that I don’t have: I am white. I am VERY white. My parents did the DNA test thing and the most “exotic” thing that came up is that my dad is 3% Spanish. Not latin american, I mean from Spain spanish. I am sooooo fucking white. I’ve studied a LITTLE of Japanese culture in college classes but that wasn’t even my field of study (Communication major on a Broadcasing track, minor in Theatre) so I’m not going to tell you I’m an expert on Japanese culture. I’m just a weeby geek that grew up in anime fandoms and never really stopped consuming Japanese pop culture. I have a very limited experience with Japanese culture. I am NOT an expert on what is and isn’t orientalist. I know I’m really hammering in this point here but I think it’s really, really important that I make it clear that I shouldn’t be used as an expert on this subject. But what I DO have a background in is someone who has engaged in Western fandom of stuff from Japan from a young age, I did spend a lot of time on 4chan, this is NOT the first time that I’ve seen some form of an “this isn’t sexual at all and you’re just a PERVERT” discussion about fanservice and...okay first of all, I highly doubt anyone saying this is any more qualified to define what is and isn’t orientalist than I am. I think this is bullshit and it feels like an attempt to make your opinions more legitimate by implying people that disagree with you are some form of bigot. (And look, I was a sheltered, insecure, stuck-up teenager in fandom, part of the reason I feel like I can recognize this is I totally pulled the same shit. I am not going to act like I have never tried to pull this and that I’m a pure innocent woke intellectual who’s never said something foolish, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let it slide, either.)

While writing this I googled ‘dakimakura’ to make sure I was spelling it right and noticed that Wikipedia does note that the origins of this style of pillow are sometimes used by Japanese kids as something like a security blanket, which I’m guessing is where the justification for the argument is coming from, but let’s be intellectually honest here--body pillow covers being sold at a convention aren’t primarily meant to be a security blanket for kids. And, okay, maybe you have a body pillow cover with a character on it that isn’t exactly in a sexual pose, just laying fully clothed on what looks like a bedsheet background. But I don’t think it’s an unfair argument to say that even THEN it implies a sort of intimacy, right, possibly a desire for a romantic attachment? Like, sharing a bed with someone doesn’t have to be sexual or romantic, I used to share a bed with my brother in hotel rooms when we were kids, but I’m also not going to share a bed with my brother and then hug him closely to my body no matter how he’s posed or what he’s wearing??? And look, maybe a body pillow isn’t ALWAYS sexual but to say it’s NOT sexual, which kinda implies NEVER, is so disingenuous. The top result I got when I searched for “anime body pillow” is a shop that includes categories like “18+ body pillow” and “sexy body pillow” and also SELLS FAKE BREAST INSERTS FOR SOME OF THE PILLOWS SO YOU CAN SQUEEZE THEIR BOOBS (obviously, NSFW link: https://www.dakimakura.us/ ) Like, COME ON, I don’t think it’s orientalist to say that something is sexual when Japanese people are actually selling body pillows they label as 18+. The second result even has a second for pillows you can insert sex toys into. And yeah I saw the guy saying “masturbation isn’t sex!” and sir at BEST you have a very narrow and incorrect definition of sex as simply being intercourse and, again, at worst you’re just being straight up dishonest. In fact, I’ll straight up call myself out for this. There’s a fanart body pillow of a fictional character I’ve considered buying several times! (Not porn but still probably NSFW link: https://www.etsy.com/listing/701912275/dakimakura-hypnosismic-doppo?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=hypnosis+mic&ref=sr_gallery-1-4&organic_search_click=1 ) Is this porn? No. You can’t see much. But on one side of the pillow he’s got his shirt untucked, you can see a bit of his stomach, and his fly is undone and you can see the band of his underwear peeking out. This is sexual. I’m not wanting it to like, get off on it, exactly...honestly it’s maybe a bit ironic, and a lot of wanting a body pillow in general is I like sleeping hugging onto something but I have a different sleep schedule from my husband I find him too big to hold all night and too warm in the summer anyway. But I’m not going to tell you that me wanting this PARTICULAR pillow case isn’t at all sexual, I know what I’m doing, I like the character and think the drawing is hot. I’m not saying don’t buy body pillows, okay? I’m not saying don’t sell them. I don’t think Jenny is either (she literally OWNS ONE that she shows in the video!!!). But don’t act like there isn’t ever anything sexual about it existing to try to defend their existence, okay? You don’t need to be a fucking coward about it, and you especially don’t need to say it’s racist if people call out something as being suggestive when, well, it fucking is. And I think it’s totally 100% reasonable for someone to say “hey I don’t think it’s a good idea to display suggestive art around kids, especially if it’s depicting young characters.” TL;DR -- Chill, guys. CHILL. Your fandom is getting smaller and the term people use for this is “dead” but that’s not a bad thing, you’ve still got the fandom, you can still enjoy it, there’s definitely no need to take personal offense over it. And enjoy your body pillows, but don’t be disingenuous about the fact that they can be suggestive and try to act like anyone that calls it such is racist, that is such bullshit. Like what you like, other people’s opinions of it is not automatically a personal attack on you, there’s no need to jump to being defensive every time someone says something vaguely negative about it. Chill, fandom friends. Fandom ain’t bad but it also doesn’t need to be the center of your identity and you don’t need to lash out against people for daring to have opinions about a thing you like. You especially don’t need to act like other people are perverts for noting something being suggestive. Chiiiiiiiiiill.

[fanfictionamerica]

A Love That Defies (Tony Stark x GN!Reader)

Title: A Love That Defies

Author: @fanfictionamerica (writing blog of @daneel-the-sister-of-castiel )

Pairing: Tony Stark/Iron Man x Reader (Modern!Guardian Angel AU)

Warnings: Mild language and violence, mention of a panic attack, some angst

Word count: 5,434 (whoopsie, ended up being my longest fic yet)

Tagline: A Guardian Angel’s job is never easy. But when your human charge is Tony Stark and messy feelings come into the mix, the job gets...problematic.

A/N: This is for the sweet @flatbottomholland 's Marvel Writing Challenge (apologies for taking so long). My song was Never Be The Same by Camila Cabello. While this is not a songfic, the fanfic was heavily influenced by it. This fic takes place in the MCU but where angels and demons exist. It is after The Avengers but before Iron Man 3. I should also let you know that this is my first time writing a gender-neutral reader and writing a Tony Stark fanfic, so I hope I did alright! I will be adding at least one other part to this story as well, so no worries.

       Tony was finally ready. He'd gotten all the ingredients and done almost all the rituals to summon as the weird, old tablet called it a "being of mighty, awesome power" with "wings of light." Bruce warned him it wouldn't go well, but Tony's curiosity needed satisfaction now.        He took a deep breath in, then spoke the final words, “Oh guardian of spirits, warrior of the heavens, I call upon you to show yourself here on this earth. And please don't make me repeat those ridiculous words.” Tony knew he sounded like a complete idiot, but thankfully, no one else was in his house at present.        He waited five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds. Nothing happened. Tony looked back at the inscription translated on his screen, searching for errors.        All of a sudden, a resounding crash came through the ceiling to his workshop. The superhero jumped out of his skin, aiming his repulsors at whatever the hell just fell through his roof.        A loud groan of pain pierced through the dust-filled room as Tony edged toward the crash site.        “What in heaven's name just happened?”        The dust finally cleared to reveal the source of the voice: a being Tony could only describe as... "An angel, seriously? I should've known.”

       Your superiors told you choosing him as your first human was a bad idea. They said he grow up to be too dysfunctional and too egotistical for you to be of any help to him. Too broken, too imperfect. Not to mention the factor of his status as a "hero." The chief angels called you crazy. They thought something had gone wrong with you. "You’re making it harder on yourself," they said. The more flawed, the more "heroic" the human charge, the more difficult and more time-consuming a guardian angel's job became.        You could care less. Everyone had flaws (including angels, despite what your superiors said), some more than others. That didn't justify not protecting them from evil or helping them in their times of need. Besides, the angels who told you such things were a bunch of stuck-up bums who couldn't see good if it hit them right in the face.        That being said, you felt less than amused and more than a little pissed to find yourself sprawled out in the middle of Tony's workshop after surviving a hellish fall through Earth's atmosphere.        Your body screamed in torment so your mouth could not resist letting out a guttural groan of pain.        “What in heaven's name just happened?” you asked, sitting up while rubbing your aching muscles.        You'd been sitting in heaven, minding your own business when you suddenly felt yourself falling through the atmosphere with no way to stop.        Your powerful energy protected you from burning up as you fell, but in the process made you black out from the drain on your systems.        You saw a figure inching closer to you. Your blurry vision had a hard time making them out. But as the figure drew closer, your mind went into panic mode when you recognized them as your first human, Tony freakin' Stark.        He gaped at you then said in a disappointed tone, “An angel, really? I should've known.”        You shot him an offended look, then snapped back, “So sorry to disappoint the great Tony Stark. I'll try harder next time I get involuntarily summoned to Earth.”        And that was the start of your fascinating visit on Earth.

Two months after the summoning:        “Can I see your wings again?”        You glared at the persistent scientist. “No. You plucked a feather out of one the last time, and it hurt.”        “Oh come on, don't be stingy. You grew it back.” He flashed a boyish smile your way, causing you to scowl even more.        “If I hadn't been worried about hurting you, I would've smacked you in the head with that wing.”        Tony put a hand to his heart in fake offense. “I give you food, I give you shelter, and this is the kind of treatment I get?”        You sighed. “I'm grateful, but you're the reason I'm down here in the first place, Tony. Excuse me if I don't feel bad for wanting to smack you in the head just one time.”        Tony furrowed his brows then walked over to you and put a hand on your head. “Do you have a fever or something? Because you're a bit grumpier than usual.”        If it were any other person, you might've snapped. But you knew Tony. His words conveyed concern, despite the terrible phrasing he used. He wasn't wrong, either. You had been more on edge lately, for more reasons than one (but you wouldn't tell him that).        You took a step back and turned your head away from Tony, avoiding his penetrating stare.        “I am, I am running low on energy, that's all. Being away from home takes a toll on me,” you tried reassuring him, yet still not meeting his gaze.        A rare moment of silence passed between you two before your charge replied, “Alright Clarence, don't get your halo in a twist. You should go get what we humans call some "food." It's SO good, and you're just not you when you're hungry.”        Tony's sassy words caught you off guard, and you looked back over at him in shock. But before a retort could leave your mouth, Tony tossed a small object towards you. Your reflexes reacted in an instant and caught the object in your hand. Let's say you were less than shocked when you read the label: Snickers.        “You couldn't resist, could you? You must think you're SO hilarious.”        “Because I am.” The cocky billionaire's lips formed into that infamous smirk of his before he turned around and finally went back to tinkering with another suit.        You breathed a sigh of relief as he did so, the built-up tension leaving your body.        You see, the last few months with Tony had been eventful. You found out that he had discovered a long-lost Divine tablet, the primary purpose being to summon an "all-powerful being with wings of light." Of course, Tony with his insatiable curiosity, couldn't leave it alone and ended up summoning you, his guardian angel.        You were furious. You couldn't protect your human charge like before. Following a superhero around with no invisibility would not work out for multiple reasons. You refused to talk with Tony out of anger for a few hours. Of course, that didn't last, though. He poked and prodded you for answers, and you eventually gave in, not having the will or patience to stay silent.        You only told Tony what he needed, however. That you were his guardian angel and that you needed to get back to your home sooner rather than later. You didn't tell him the reason for the urgency. He didn't need to know that you ran the risk of being killed by a demon in your weakened state the longer you stayed or that you could be cast out of the heavens for associating with your charge.        “I still wanna see those wings of yours again,” Tony interrupted your thoughts with the same request he had the first time around.        “Tony, I already told you no,” you admonished the persistent scientist, crossing your arms in front of you.        He said nothing in reply, just giving you a carefree smile as he started walking out of his workshop.        A suspicious feeling crept over you at his lack of protest, so you quickly followed Tony up the stairs and into the living room.        “What are you up to, Tony? You're not gonna bug me about not letting you see my wings again?”        “No.” He didn't even turn around to look at you, still walking towards the back of his house.        “Tony...”        The mischievous genius pressed a few keys on a window, which opened it up to the porch outside. He stepped through it before showing you another less-than-innocent grin, then walked toward the edge of the porch.        You followed after him, stepping out onto the porch. The moment you did so, though, Tony faced you, gave you a little wave, and took one giant step backward onto nothing but air.        Your heart lurched in your throat as your legs immediately went into action, and your wings flashed into existence. You jumped off of the porch with hands reached out in front of you.        The man was already on his way to crashing into the ocean below, so you brought your wings in more as you dove and increased your streamlining.        Tony looked utterly relaxed as he fell, a smirk on his lips when he saw you racing after him. But his proximity to the water should've scared him.        Your heart pounded in your ears as you strained your arms reaching for Tony. You mustered up one last burst of energy, snatching up one of Tony's hands in yours just before he hit the water.        “What in the world were you thinking, Tony Stark? You could've gotten killed!” you shouted.        “I wanted to see your wings,” he said as if that was the most normal thing in the world.        “Besides,” he continued in a confident tone, “I knew you'd catch me. You're my guardian angel after all.”        For some reason, a warm feeling spread through your chest at his words. You began to feel slightly embarrassed again, so you hauled Tony up into your arms bridle style so he wouldn't notice.        “Looks like you're my angel in shining armor, too.” He winked up at you.        Your mouth twitched upward in spite of yourself. “I'm still angry with you, despite your attempt at charming me.”        “Then the smile you had was just my imagination.”        “Definitely.” With that final word, you took Tony back up to the house, that warm feeling still fluttering in your chest.

Four months after summoning:        The metallic stench of blood wafted up your nose as you lay on the pavement, battered and bruised.        “Pathetic angel. Did you honestly think you could defeat a demon like me in your weakened state?”        The demon stood over you and stabbed his jagged blade back into your wounded shoulder. A raw scream of pain left your mouth, but you still struggled to free yourself from the demon.        The evil being gave you an unimpressed, disgusted look. “You still fight, bird-human? Why?”        Despite the piercing agony you felt, you still managed to croak some words at him, “Because I, agh, have something worth fighting for. Also, I really want to try some, damn it hurts, shawarma. I've heard great things about it.”        The truth was, you were trying your best at keeping the demon away from Tony and the bystanders. The superhero didn't need an invisible enemy attacking him in the middle of his fight. He was battling some domestic terrorists who used alien technology to generate fear and take advantage of innocent people, so he needed all of his attention focused on them.        He had also trusted you enough to let you come on the condition that you stayed away from the main battle. You were upset about that, but he hadn't ever seen you fight before. So you agreed (begrudgingly) to staying behind. Thank goodness he did, or people might've gotten hurt. The demon may have been after Tony, but they didn't care about other humans in their way. They were considered collateral damage by the devil.        The demon growled. “So you're stupid as well, angel. Can't you see that humans aren't worth your life? They are insects compared to you, yet you protect them.”        You gave him a bloodied, smug smile. “Mmm, I'd get bored otherwise, gargoyle.”        “You won't be so witty as I kill the other humans and then your human as I make you watch.” The rusty blade was removed from your shoulder, making you bite your lip in an attempt to keep from screaming again.        The demon raised his sword above his head, activating its Hellfire. Your eyes widened, and your heartbeat sped up. There was only one reason that he'd activate his power: to cut off your wings.        You tried to crawl away, but he stepped on your knee, and you heard the sickening crack of bone breaking.        You cried out, but you still crawled in spite of the agony perforating your body. You had to, for Tony.        This time he stepped on your other knee, effectively trapping you on the rough concrete.        “Prepare to-”        “Do us all a favor and stop with the terrible monologue. You just don't have the voice for it.” The familiar, pleasant voice of your charge interrupted the demon.        Your head snapped in the direction of the voice to find Tony standing a few feet away from you with his helmet off, his right repulsor aimed directly at the fiend's head.        The demon froze in shock, dropping his weapon.        The first thought that came to your mind was how in the world could he see and hear the demon? The second and more prevailing thought that came to you was Tony's safety.        You managed a hoarse warning. “Tony, get away!”        The hero kept his ground, actually stepping closer to the enemy. “Can't do that, Y/N. He's hurt my guardian angel.”        He gave you a wink before shooting his repulsor straight at the demon's face without blinking before they could react.        All that was left of his face after the blast consisted of his horns. The body promptly turned into dust, as all demons do when they die.        “You're such an idiot.” You sighed, before you fell into a coughing fit, golden blood leaking from your lips.        He rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance. “The idiot that just saved your life.”        With that, he scooped you up in his arms, careful not to jostle your injured body.        “My human in shining armor, how sweet...” you said as you drifted off from the pain, safe in the arms of your hero.

Six months after summoning:        “You aren't gonna dance, Y/N?”        You flashed Rhodey a dismissive smile.        “No, I'm good. I'm a terrible dancer anyway.”        The lieutenant colonel gave you a skeptical look and then said, “Or maybe it has something to do with the person you want to dance with is currently taken.”        You crossed your arms and avoided Rhodey's gaze. “Has absolutely nothing to do with it, absolutely nothing.”        The lieutenant colonel raised his hands in a surrendering gesture, doing a terrible job at hiding a smirk. “Whatever you say, Y/N.”        He walked off to talk with some of the other guests, making you breathe a sigh of relief. You didn't need another person bringing up feelings.        Lately, your mortal body would react in the most uncontrollable ways just thinking about Tony. The symptoms got worse whenever you were near him. You didn't feel like eating. You couldn't sleep even though your human body needed it. Your words would fail you, your brain becoming a jumbled mess. It felt like someone had injected you with a drug that wouldn't leave your system no matter what. Honestly, you considered not going to this charity ball because of the upheaval your body was going through.        It started around the time Tony saved you from the demon. After he snooped around in angel lore, he found out that the primary duty of a guardian angel was protecting their human from demons. Researching further, the engineer figured out your weakness and decided he'd create some technology using the biological components of that feather he took from you in case you needed backup. The scientist didn't tell you in so many words, but you knew he did it because he cared about you.        He visited you in the private SHIELD hospital room he'd gotten you almost every day. He'd crack jokes, update you on finding a way to get you back to heaven. It felt so nice to be cared for, especially by someone you'd spent so much time doing the same for. You got to see that beautiful heart of his firsthand, feel his hand on your shoulder, have him looking at you instead of through you. Your head denied feeling anything, but your heart screamed at you that you were and that there was nothing you could do.        “Care to dance, Y/N?” a boyish, yet smooth voice interrupted your dangerous thoughts.        Your heart fluttered in your chest, recognizing the voice of the very man you had just been thinking about.        You slowly turned around, finding Tony holding out his hand with that famous flirtatious grin of his adorning his lips.        “Of, of course.” You gave him your best smile, hoping he didn't notice your nervousness.        “Good. That saves me from having to drag you onto the dance floor.”        You shot a glare over at him, but the smile still on your face betrayed how you really felt. You snatched up the millionaire's hand in yours and guided him to the dance floor, praying he wouldn't notice your sweaty palms.        Tony took you by the waist and drew you in closer, gently swaying you to the mellow beat of the music.        However, once he pulled you closer, you felt a gush of fear and panic overcome you. These feelings, they weren't yours. They were Tony's.        You gave him a look of concern, noticing his paling skin and the sweat dripping down his face. Soon you began to feel a slight tremble in his hands. You knew what was happening, and it'd be worse in front of other people.        Your smile turned into a worried frown. “You're in no shape to dance, Tony Stark. I'm taking you outside.”        Not giving him any time for protesting, you dragged him outside into the garden by the enormous hall.        “What are you doing? Y/N, I'm fine.” Even as he said it, you felt his trembling get worse than it was before.        You took a deep breath and took him in your arms, not caring how embarrassed you were at the moment.        “Tony, you're not alright. But I'm here for you until you're ready to let me go. I got you, nothing can hurt you here,” you mumbled into his ear, rubbing a hand in circles on his back.        A moment of silence passed before he spoke in a shaky voice, “One of the reporters started talking about the Battle of New York, asking me all sorts of questions about what happened. I felt fine until I looked down at the dark floor and I was back in that wormhole, falling to my death.”        “I'm here to catch you, Tony. I won't let you die.” You held him a little tighter.        “Take a deep breath in, one two three four.” You felt his chest rise in response. “Then let it out, one two three four.” His breath tickled your ear as he let it out.        For ten minutes, you continued with this exercise, encouraging Tony to breathe and holding him in your embrace. Only once you felt the tension in his body release and his heart rate slow back down did you let your charge go.        “Whadda ya say we ditch this party and go have some real fun? Stop playing it safe and lose control?” Tony interjected, wanting a break from all the stress of the party.        Part of you wanted to tell him no, knowing those feelings brewing inside you would only grow stronger each moment you spent with the mechanic.        The better part of you told you your feelings didn't matter at this moment. Tony needed a distraction to help him recover, and you'd be damned if you'd abandon him in his moment of need.        You took your hand in his and simpered. “Let's go do just that. I've been itching to get out of here ever since I had someone sneeze on me...twice. I've never been more disgusted.”        Tony cringed in sympathy. “Agreed. What do you say about going on a night fly together? Haven't seen those gorgeous wings in a while.”        Your eyes turned downwards for a moment, slightly flustered by his offhanded compliment.        Then you met his gaze again with a twinkle in your eyes. “Why not? They've been in need of some stretching.”        A look of fake shock crossed the millionaire's face. “What, you don't do angel yoga?”        You rolled your eyes with a smile on your lips. “Funny, very funny.”        Letting your hand go, Tony took a mock bow. “Thank you.”        You resisted another eye roll, taking a step away and holding out your arms, gesturing for him to climb in them. “I can fly you to your house if you want, be faster than driving.”        “I don't know; you said someone sneezed on you. I don't need a cold, can't make as many suits,” the man ruminated, putting a hand to his chin in thought.        An unimpressed look formed on your face. Tony knew you couldn't get sick, being an angel. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer, Tony. Take it or leave it.”        He slowly wrapped an arm around your neck and draped himself into your waiting arms. “You know I can't resist being in the arms of my angel in shining armor.”        Instead of annoying you, the nickname brought about that familiar fuzzy feeling you'd been trying to avoid earlier.        “Not that nickname again,” you half-heartedly complained, hoping he didn't notice your lack of committal.        With that, you took off into the night sky and set out for Tony's house. The air might have been cold, but your heart was warm as you glided with Tony in your arms, a childlike smile that could light up the world adorning his face. For one moment, everything was right in the world.

Eight months after summoning:        No. It couldn't be. You couldn't believe it. There it stood, though, the Mark of the Damned. The pain the Mark gave you served as another confirmation.        You could pretend that you didn't know why it was there, but both your mind and heart knew. You had violated the most sacred rule of guardian angels, falling in love with your human charge.        You thought avoiding Tony would help, but it only made it worse. You missed him terribly, and it broke your heart to see him with such a sad look in his eyes.        “What is that, Y/N?”        You damn near jumped off the floor in surprise, forgetting that you had left the bathroom door open.        “Nothing you need to worry about, Tony,” you replied in a dismissive tone, pulling your shirt back over the Mark.        You saw the man cross his arms in the mirror, very clearly not satisfied with your lackluster answer.        “Deflecting is my style, not yours. A burn isn't "nothing." You're hiding something, and I wanna know what.”        You sighed, pinching your nose in frustration. “Tony, knowing might make you do something stupid or dangerous. I can't tell you.”        The hurt in his expression made your heart lurch. “Can't tell me or won't?”        You bit your lip to keep tears from falling and tried to leave the bathroom. The emotions in the room were suffocating you. However, Tony stepped in front of you and blocked the only exit, effectively trapping you.        You kept your gaze straight ahead, knowing if you met those beautiful brown eyes that you'd fall apart.        “Please move, Tony. I want out,” you pleaded, desperate to get away from him again.        “No, you can't keep running away from me, Y/N,” he replied tersely. “I'm not leaving till I get answers.”        You crossed your arms, trying to provide yourself with a kind of comfort. “What if I told you that if I revealed why I have this Mark, you'd be in danger from my superiors? Beings who are infinitely more powerful than me?”        Tony scoffed. “I've fought angry gods and homicidal aliens before. I can take on a few self-righteous halo-wearers.”        You finally looked over at him, a desperate and sad look in your eyes. “No, Tony, it's not the same. They can erase your memory or cause great injury to you. Not to mention that your technology won't work on them; they're too strong.”        You could tell that Tony didn't look the least bit swayed or bothered by what you just said.        “Does it look like I care?” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Just because your job is to protect me doesn't mean you can stop me from protecting you. I wanna know who hurt you.”        You broke eye contact again and looked down at the floor. Telling him would almost certainly reveal your feelings. You didn't want him to find out, but you couldn't half-ass the explanation or tell him a white lie. He wasn't stupid, and you weren't the best liar.        A moment passed before you let out a shaky breath and dived right into the explanation, Tony's expectant eyes on you. “It's called the Mark of the Damned. You get it for disobeying the most binding Guardian Angel rule.”        “And what is that?” His stare seemed to be boring into your soul at this point.        Tears welled up in your eyes, but you managed to keep them in before you said in a small voice, “Never fall in love with a human.”        You omitted the stipulation that it was falling in love with your chosen human that got you in the most trouble. You were hoping to keep Tony from finding out about your feelings for him a little longer.        “…I see. Is it the mailman who dropped packages off here as an excuse to see you or the person who kept flirting with you at the charity ball?”        You bit your lip again and shook your head. “No, Tony. None of them. Think closer to home.”        Tony asked in a strained voice, “Is it Rhodey? Because I could see why.”        “No, Tony. Not him.” You finally looked up into those warm brown eyes of his, shocked by the pain you saw hiding in them. “Who's the person who never gave up on trying to get me home? Who's the person who told me to let go of control and enjoy life? Who's the person that took care of me when I nearly died? Who's the person that risked their life for mine against an unknown enemy?”         Your lips stretched into a bittersweet smile. Then those tears you'd been holding back started pouring from your eyes like rain from storm clouds. “You see, I could try to run from you, but I realize now that it's useless. Being with you has changed my life, and I'll never be the same.”        Tony stood there in shock, finding himself speechless (which was rare).         Your heart pounded in your ears, your body shaking. After a few seconds, you couldn't take it anymore. You ducked under one of Tony's arms and started walking in the direction of the front door.        However, just as you reached out for the door handle, you felt his calloused hand grab your wrist and spin you around. Before you could shout out in surprise, your lips were covered by the touch of another pair of lips. Your eyes bugged out of your head for a moment, not believing that it was Tony kissing you. Your brain couldn't compute.        The man pulled away before you got a chance to respond in kind. Then he laughed a little at the bug-eyed expression written on your face. “I thought you said no more running away, Y/N.”        The shocked expression on your face melted into a joyful smile, momentarily forgetting about the danger. You replied in a tearful voice, “Yeah, I know. I'm a nervous, confused ball of energy right now, okay?”        Tony raised an eyebrow. “Confused? How can an "a being of mighty, awesome power with wings of light" be confused?”        You let out a nervous laugh. “Being suddenly kissed by someone will do that to any being, powerful or not.”        He stuck his hands in his pockets and tilted his head in puzzlement. “Does it really surprise you that I would like you back?”        “Yes, it really does,” you said in a resigned manner. “You've known me less than a year, Tony. You're a human; I'm an angel. I could get you hurt.  Besides, part of me hoped that you didn't like me back. It would've made leaving you easier.”        Tony opened his mouth to refute you, but then your last words registered.        “Leaving you? What's that supposed to mean?”        You backed away from Tony, walking toward the front door.        “The Mark is burning, Tony. Those superiors I told you about, they're coming to take me back to the heavens. I have to stand trial for my crimes.” You attempted a happy smile, but it turned into a bitter one. “And I can't let you be near me when they do.”        “What do you mean by that?” You saw Tony take a step towards you, probably planning on stopping you. However, you couldn't have him doing that. So you raised your hand and used what little power you had left to halt his progress completely.        Tony made an effort to move forward but found himself unable to do so.        He gave you a look of disbelief and betrayal. “This is how it is, then. You'll leave, and you won't let me protect you.”        “I'm your guardian angel, after all, not the other way around.” You sent him one last smile with one final tear gleaming in your eye. Then you stepped out of the millionaire's house and flew up into the sky, not once looking back.        You enjoyed the feel of the breeze through your wings, knowing it would most likely be the last time you experience it. Almost as if on cue, you felt a great power surge, and warrior angels appeared in front of you with weapons at the ready.        “Do not resist, Y/N,” one of them commanded, “Or things will end-”        “Badly for me. Yes, I know.” You sighed in annoyance. “I'll come willingly.”        You held out your hands, waiting for the handcuffs.        They gave you a skeptical look, then one of them clasped the handcuffs around your wrists in a cautious manner. They subsequently flew on either side of you, and each took a shoulder of yours in their grasp before you all flashed back to Heaven's Court of Judgement.        You were standing in front of a vast assembly of angels, all with varying looks of disgust, disappointment, or sadness.        The room grew silent as the honorable Judge sat down in their throne with a grave expression on their face.        “Here before you stands the accused, Y/N of the lowest choir of angels. The charges against them: Letting a human summon them and defying the Guardian Angel's most sacred rule. Their possible sentence: banishment from Heaven. Y/N, do you wish to defend yourself against the charges?”        “No,” you stated in a resolute tone.        The Judge's frown lines deepened. “Do you realize the graveness of your situation, Y/N? If you do not offer up any explanation for your grievous transgressions, you will be found guilty and thrown from the sky, in which you have no guarantee that you'll survive the fall.”        Your hands shook, but you managed looked up into the other angel's eyes with a steely gaze. “I have nothing I should be ashamed of, so I don't see the need to explain myself to you or anyone else. If that deems me guilty, then so be it. If loving another is what kills me, then I'll die gladly.”        You were a bit dramatic, but you needed their focus on you. The pain you'd go through didn't matter, despite your fear of it. You'd do anything to keep them from hurting Tony. Besides, what better way to keep them distracted than by telling the truth?        “So be it, Y/N of the Guardian Angels,” the Judge replied in cold, apathetic tone. “With your blatant disregard for the rules and complete lack of penance, I find you guilty of all charges. Your punishment shall be banishment from Heaven and the pain that the fall shall bring about.”        No sound could be heard as the warrior angels grabbed you again and guided you over to the Banishment Gateway. You felt the icy coldness of fear creeping in your veins, but it wasn't nearly as powerful as you expected it to be. That warm feeling of love Tony gave you countered the fear's effects, made you feel safe.        Even as you felt yourself being thrown from Heaven, fading out and burning as you fell through Earth's atmosphere, you knew that love was all worth it in the end.

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Tony Stark or other Marvel characters and their stories. Gif belongs to the creator.

[lifeorbeth]

Farewell, Orphan Black...

I know I haven’t been as active in the fandom after season 3, that I’ve missed being able to watch season 5 live (Every. Single. Episode.), that even this post is like 24 hours late. But Orphan Black meant a lot to me - and Clone Club means a lot to me. So we’re gonna do this thing.

I began watching Orphan Black in July of 2014. I couldn’t tell you why I watched it; I didn’t know anyone else who had seen it. The name just popped into my head and the first season was on Amazon Prime, so I just decided to go for it. I watched the first season in like 3 days. I immediately bought the second season and watched that to round out the week. I didn’t know what I was getting into, what I was feeling, so I immediately watched it again. The whole thing. All 20 episodes.

And I was just... bursting with the need to share my thoughts on this crazy, wild trip of a show. So I dug out an old tumblr account that I tried to use like a traditional blog (who even does that anymore?) and searched the tag. I found so many things: commentary, memes, analysis, fanfics, edits, gifsets, etc etc etc. And I was all over it. I started following every single person who had ever posted anything in the Orphan Black tag (I’ll admit, I went a little overboard).

And I tried to take in everything. Me, a self-proclaimed novelist who spent all of middle and high school disdaining anything labeled fanfiction. I was reading every alternate moment and scene analysis and discovering what the hell AU meant. I read so much content and saw so much investment in this show that I just stumbled into for no reason, that I wanted to write. My first ever fic was this stupid “what was going through Beth’s mind when she jumped” thing. Because Beth was the one that stood out to me, even though she had about 30 seconds (if that) of screentime. And I wrote thousands upon thousands of words about Sarah, about Beth, about Helena and Rachel and Alison and Cosima and the clones we barely knew. I was bursting with ideas and inspiration and people were asking me to write things for them - things they didn’t know how to put into words, and things that I could bring to life for them.

And I met people who inspired me, people who made me laugh, and my two best friends (who, between them, got me through the loneliest and most depressing year of my life).

The show itself may have had its problematic moments, it may have done so many ridiculous and awful and tropey and fan-servicey things. But this silly little clone show has changed so many of our lives over the course of its five-year run - or, in the case of us later Clone Clubbers, whatever portion of the last five years we’ve been a part of. And while I’m glad that the show ended before it could completely warp into something unrecognizable, I’m exceedingly sad to see it go. I’m not ready to see OB content fade away into nothing. I’m not ready to fully let these characters and these stories go.

So thank you, Orphan Black; thank you, Clone Club. Thank you for four years of adventure and trying new things and minifics and liveblogging and speculating and caring so much about a TV show that I would do more than simply watch it. Thank you.

[janiedean]

marrecarandgi ha risposto al tuo post

“marrecarandgi ha risposto al tuo post “remember when oscar isaac was...”

What are you arguing here? That Finn doesn't face racism or faces less than Poe? It's simply not true. In this fandom and in all others. If you don't believe me, you have Google at your disposal, I can't fit the countless examples here anyway. So, when POC notice racist and specifically anti black tendencies, that a whitepassing (only "Europeans", who "don't see race" claim that Poe is "white for them, not actual critics) character is treated better than a black coc, you probably should try to listen to them instead of playing the victim of the fandom not being nice enough space. Because, honestly, if I had time or desire, I could've explained to you how each and every one of your point is bs.

... have you even read what I wrote? oh good lord I don’t have the patience any more

let’s go over it again

I’m saying people talk about finn less than ****kylo ren**** because people are generally more interested in the antagonist rather than the good side heroes when it comes to star wars. vader is more popular than just about everyone and the dark side generally gets more attention. idg it because I personally don’t care for the dark side but it’s not **racism** per se, it’s how fandom goes. every time. people care more about loki than thor because loki is the kind of tormented antagonist that interests people and thor is the good guy who doesn’t as much, not because loki has black hair and thor is blonde and no one likes blondes.

I’m also saying that people talk less about poe because he has relatively little screentime in comparison to finn and rey. he was in there for twenty minutes total maybe thirty if we stretch it.

I’m not saying finn doesn’t face racism especially from people who are in fandom but don’t write fanfic or do fanart or whatever and I especially mean those assholes who said you couldn’t have a black lead in SW, I’m saying that when it comes to fandom’s treatment of finn vs kylo or vs poe or vs whoever else a lot of the things that people deem problematic are common to every other fandom in existence and to the type of character finn is. the things I hate most about fanon finn’s characterization are the same things I hate about fanon bucky characterizations, and what do they have in common? they’re two people who come from being employed against their will by the villain side of the story who are actually good people and don’t want to fight for that side and who have gone through types of brainwashing to a different degree (finn because he was brought up to be a stormtrooper without identity and bucky because they literally erased it form him) from people who saw them as weapons and not people. it’s a trope. in a lot of fic where they’re in it, they’re characterized as if they need someone to hold their hand every other moment, which I frankly dislike a lot, and it’s the same for a lot of characters coming from that context. in some cases it can be racism, in others it’s just that finn is that type of character and he’s black, but I’ve been in fandom since 2003 and I saw that way of writing abused characters back then. address that if you think it’s an address-able problem, but it happening to finn has more to do with his background than his skin color. then if you’re talking about other things idk because as stated I stopped engaging other than checking the ao3 finnp0e tag after I read that if you shipped it you were objectifying nonwhite people because I ship people for their relationship, but that was the state of the discourse when I noped out.

‘only "Europeans", who "don't see race" claim that Poe is "white for them, not actual critics’ > er, actually most latin-americans I know would argue that poe is *not* a POC and that they don’t even abide to that definition and that people across latin america come in all shades so making the white/poc distinction makes no sense because they don’t think of themselves as such. but okay.

also: idk if you wanna be edgy by putting “don’t see race” in brackets, but I’m gonna tell you a thing: us europeans who *don’t see race* have studied WWII in school for a long time. I studied WWII since I was nine. now, you know what’s the basics of nazi race theory? that races exist and some races are more worthy than others and that you can count how much of a race you are by tracing back your grandparents, so idk if you have one black grandparent and three white ones you’re still considered *impure* same as if you have a jewish grandparent and so on. the drop of blood rule to us sounds like nazi theory 101 and honestly that’s why to a lot of us Europeans just the fact that here on tumblr ‘race’ is used as an actual thing that exist is skin-crawling worthy. what I learned in school is that the human race is just one and then you have different ethnicities within it but that at the bottom if it we’re the same, because if you admit that then saying you’re inherently better than a black person because you’re *different* or another race entirely isn’t that easy anymore. which doesn’t mean we don’t see ethnicity or culture - I’d never say that a chinese person is the same as a french or a south-african or canadian because I know they have different background and different experiences and different ethnicities, but I would not say they’re a different RACE than I am, because to me it would sound like something out of mein kampf. I can’t conceive the prospect that me and a black person are different RACES. we’re both human. then they’re obviously different ethnicity and culture and I see and recognize it. like, can you all stop twisting it like we think everyone is the same and there’s no difference at all? also, here, the moment someone says black people are an inferior race or a race at all, they get labeled FASCIST RACIST 101 STAY AWAY FROM ME. anyway, I do understand that on tumblr the discourse is american so I just scroll by over the use of the term race, but for me your definition is something I could never use. because cultural relativism. and ‘white passing’ for me is just the proof that poc as a term only works in the US and badly at that because why the fuck you need a term to say that some people who aren’t white look white is beyond me when you could just use their damned ethnicities to call them and be done with it, but never mind.

also idk where you gathered that I said poe was white. I said that according to some people it seems that he’s not when he’s shipped with finn but he is when he’s shipped with rey. and that makes no fucking sense. if oscar is a poc and poe is a poc (according to your definition) then both finnp0e and reyp0e are interracial couples. period. you can’t change the meaning of a word or someone’s ethnicity based on who the fuck you ship him with. and that’s a thing that happens in this fandom. period.

‘you probably should try to listen to them instead of playing the victim of the fandom not being nice enough space’ > man, I don’t think you understood my point. I’m not playing victim. I’m in fandom because I want to have fun and not because I want to run a politics campaign. now, I don’t care for fandom being a nice space, even if like, since it’s escapism, I’d like it if it was about fandom and not US politics cropping up everywhere. the point is that some of us are in fandom for shipping. I like finn and poe together. I wanna write finn and poe together. I want to do it best as I can and admittedly the one time I did it and posted it on tumblr I got more notes than I do for.... four fics for my main fandom combined. I had fun. I wrote them the way I saw them. I made sure to write them as IC as I could. I kinda wanna do it again. but the idea of going into a fandom where there’s discourse at every corner makes me want to shoot myself in the head. if people complain about ky*lux getting more traffic now, it’s because there’s less discourse over there for whichever reason you wanna pinpoint (problematic faves? problematic ship so no one judges others?). are there wankers over there? sure thing, but nowhere near as much as a corner of the fandom where every other day you can’t ship anything because it’s somehow -ist. and some of us want to, like, have fun. and produce content. and we don’t. because it’s not fun. and like, you can make it a welcoming space or not, idc because I’m not in it, but if then your discourse makes people run off to ship kylo and hux then don’t complain that you used to have more traffic when the movie was out and everyone was excited about things and the discourse wasn’t a thing. like. I don’t even engage in fandom exactly because I don’t want discourse, so I’m already doing what you’re telling me to. sometimes I rant about it on my blog.... in...... untagged posts like the one you replied to which I didn’t tag EXACTLY BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT DISCOURSE, so.

‘Because, honestly, if I had time or desire, I could've explained to you how each and every one of your point is bs.’ > yeah, but you didn’t. (always the same thing I hear. ‘I could tell you why you’re wrong but I won’t’) and honestly, given that I’m not gonna touch this fandom properly with a ten foot pole for the foreseeable future, I also can live without it.

anyway, I was just arguing that tfa fandom is unlivable if you’re not here for the discourse (which is true and it’s one’s prerogative since again fandom is escapism or a hobby unless you’re a youtuber or you made a job out of it), that people can and will ship what they want and they should be able to (and if you think this point is bullshit then we don’t have any more to discuss because the moment you tell me that people shouldn’t ship ANYTHING because it’s not morally fine according to you I’m out), that a person can’t fucking be white and not white at the same time (which is just basic logic) and that accusing people of -isms based just on their shipping preferences is bullshit (because rl and fiction aren’t the same thing and most of us know that, and again if you think this is bs you can spare yourself a reply I’m not even gonna bother because it’s a point I can’t really gloss over and we’d have a basic disagreement). idk what you thought I was saying or when I said poe was white (btw whiteness in europe =/= whiteness in the US) or when I said fandom wasn’t racist towards finn or whatever but feel free to put words into my mouth ad libitum, I’m really done.

(and this is still why I’m not touching this fandom ever)