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anteroom-of-death · 5 years ago

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Life, for Dummies p8

a/n: *tyra banks voice* the master, but make it domestic. sorry all, tumblrs tags didn’t populate part 7 in the tags. but hey! lemon! romance! a little spice...

You woke with a curious yet lazy start, the smell of coffee and other breakfast-y type scents were drifting in your bedroom door. The sun was lazing in and your ceiling fan was twisting around giving you a hypnotic white noise. You dreamt the Master had returned for you, that he was genuinely sorry, it was confusing, but you shook it off and enjoyed the morning.

Then it dawned on you: the scent of coffee? Food? How could that happen. You were in another room. You were suddenly in not such an enjoyable mood. You grabbed your screwdriver and crept out to the kitchen and found him at your table, he was reading a well-worn copy of 50 Shades of Grey.

“Morning, I thought you’d never wake! Coffee, just how you like it. I also made those things you like.” He smiled and placed it down, clearly on best behaviors. He pointed out his place setting for you, complete with daffodils and a paper towel folded like a swan.

“Is Gallifrey a hood in Boston?” You querched up and eyebrow and eyed up the coffee tentatively. He was good, remembering that you needed coffee for any basic functions to happen. You smelled it and took a few cautious half sips. His coffee was better tasting than you remembered.

“Hmm?” He asked, clearly confused. You indulged him in an elaboration. “You are certainly brown-nosing like a little Masshole.”

“That slang for people that are from Massachusetts, yeah?” He seemed a tad more confused, but he got the gist of the sentiment.

“Finding your inner goddess?” You lightly mocked his choice of reading material.

“Oh yes! I was out of touch with her for a while...I think I might go back to my chemises and corsets…”

You’d seen Missy from a distance once when you landed on a planet and she was looking for hats on the Planet of the Hats, you could admit, Missy was an experience from the ten seconds you saw her and the fact she vaporized a shopkeeper for having nothing that matched her favorite overcoat.

You shook your head and gave a chuckle.

“I’d like to see it.”

“Come with me, and maybe you will…” He alluded smoothly.

You pointed at your mug of coffee, “I haven’t finished my coffee, therefore, I’m still thinking.” You were firm. You still didn’t know exactly what to think of this all. You were still very angry and very hurt, yet exchanging pleasantries with him like it was no big deal. There was a slight tension in the air, but it wasn't an overt cloud of angst. Perfectly palatable, and doable. Enjoyable even.

“Alight.” He gave you some time and went back to his reading.

The food was phenomenal, you had to give them that. He even drizzled a little bit of maple syrup in the corner of the plate into a smiley face. Cute.

He was begging in the only way he knew how. As much as you would enjoy him begging more, last night's awkward display of the man who has all the words choking at the idea of sentence formation had you in enough stitches for several lifetimes.

You may be a tad bit of a sadist, but you weren’t that big of one.

You let out a sigh, “You have to promise me that you’re all in. You’re not going to pull more nonsense. You’ll also let me put in my two weeks.Maybe even go through a bit of couple’s therapy if need be. You will also not wig out if we meet her again. You. Are. All. In…” You laid out your demands in a succinct voice.

“Lasty, you are not going to take that damned collar off me again once it's on. You are in this ride for the long run. No backing out for any reason…” You forced yourself to say it with a blank face to let him know that you were dead serious.

“All but the therapy and you got yourself a deal.” He offered his hand out as a deal signer. You took it.

“Man’s only as good as his word.” You muttered, but meant for him to hear.

He smiled at the deal.

“I can be domestic around here!” He clapped.

“What?” You staggered back.

“Two weeks of work? And I can show you how good I can be…” The words played out like he was making fun of himself being at the mercy of another.

You rolled your eyes and smiled and rubbed your temples. Your usual migraine was flaring up. You just let him bustle around as you went about your day, clearly in servicing behaviors. Just because the Master was in town didn’t give you the benefit of getting sloppy with your days.

After you got done with everything you sat down and started drafting your resignation letter, casually posing the question, “‘You and our team were a pleasure to work alongside of…’ or ‘It has been a pleasure working alongside the whole sales team…’”

“Pardon?” He paused his tinkering on your security system.

“My resignation letter. Have you ever heard of one?” You dragged slightly, it’s not like Time Lords has Human Resource Management. Insane bureaucrats that they were…”What sounds more diplomatic?”

“The first…” He walked over and peered over at your laptop, peering over to parse through your letter. “Yeah..that is definitely better. Sounds more chipper.”

“Thanks.”

You went on and worked.

Monday eventually came and you printed your letter out and delivered it to the boss.

“Furthering your education?”

“Oh, yeah. Got accepted to a university in Galloway.” You said. The Master thought it would be funny for the play on words due to a Master’s Degree being something a human could earn and Galloway being a place and sounding like Gallifrey. You let him keep it in. As if it would be verified and you’d actually be here to suffer the repercussions. A funny little white lie to fraud you over until you died at the hands of some alien in another galaxy. No big deal.

“Well, congrats! Didn’t know you were looking to further your education! We’ll miss you around here…” Your heart fell a bit, the staff here were all so nice and had that small town charm but none of the artifice. You let yourself ride the wave of guilt. You hoped this would all be worth it.

The rest of the week got tense. Sure the days were oddly peaceful and uneventful, but you two were getting handsy in ways you weren’t quite trusting of him yet. Simple brushes and hands laid on thighs. Quite scandalous, but you even shared the couch together as you watched a movie one night and shared the same snack bowls. He was still the same frighteningly attractive dunce he always was.

What was also on your mind was he was really trying to atone for his poor behavior, your abandonment and anything else that might come to mind. It was beyond astounding that a man would and could try to correct his behavior, especially when you knew what he was capable of in times of casual cruelty.

Your mind ached from the sheer amount of mental gymnastics and working through your thoughts and coping.

But you did enjoy a roomie on his best behaviors.

Soon your two weeks were up however, and you came home and shrugged off your clothes and slipped into a shower. The sweethearts treated you to sparkling wine and mini cupcakes, and even a little gift basket filled with anything a student back to school might need, even a few gag gifts.You nearly cried, but the adrenaline of traveling the stars again won out until midway through scrubbing your scalp. You were so excited for the stars and living a truly exciting life again, but damn if Earth gives her best shot at giving you a reason to stay. You finished up both your crying jag and your shower routine and walked out of the bathroom to go get dressed.

He was drinking a cup of tea in the living room and glanced your way, his eyes grew and got covered in lust, and it happened quicker than you could fathom. The mug fell and sploshed all over the ground as he rushed over to you and pinned you to the wall, shaking your shelves a bit. His mouth found yours as he bit your top lip ferociously. He reached under your towel and slightly worked at you until your jaw went slack and a moan rattled out of you, “I’ve waited too long to touch you, pet.” He huskily moaned. You barely tried to fight it, “I’m not letting you go now, you’re all mine now.” He pinned you to the wall with his hand and undid his belt, “Enough playtime.” He was already hard and tossed your legs up around his waist, you obliged and instinctively wrapped them around his torso, clinging for dear life.

He thrusted up into you and took you in the most aggressive ways, if not for the shock and the thought of “Oh no! I forgot to lotion my legs!” You would have been into it more, but the dryness of your legs was distracting, as they were wrapped around each other and you could feel them sloughing against one another.

He was claiming you in the most primal way. It was more violent as he penetrated your mind, filling you with images of all the other ways this past two weeks he wanted to have you and fill you with his cum.

The one involving your wrought iron fire pit spade to your bare ass was avante-garde and fascinating enough to say the least. That one threw you off the stress of your lotion-less legs.

He pulled your hair by the top and forced you to stare straight at him, “Precocious little slut thought she can forget about her Master, didn’t she?” He pressed his throbbing cock deeper still into you, “Not anymore.” He continued to use you and glare at you with a wicked glint behind rivers of lust.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, grunting, the question wasn’t a question at all, but demanded an answer.

You sputtered out in an almost hypnotized shout, “You! I’m yours!” It was so painful, but it felt so great to say it and own it yourself. You were minutely processing life at the moment.

“Call me by name…” The voice was lower and less staticy.

“M-m-Master!”

“Again!”

“Master!”

“Can’t hear you, pet…”

“Master!” You shouted as it clicked deep inside your skull and you felt him spasm inside you. Overwhelmed by this, he let you go off the wall with his hold and relaxed before petting your hair and smiling serenely.

“You did good…” he gently whispered into your chest as he leaned in a bit, letting himself finish up and leak out of you.

“Uh, thank you?” You were still a tad ready to go, but it seemed he was going to tease you and leave you wanting more. Not that you minded. You could deal with that later on yourself. You were throbbing and wet and your hair was still wet, you noticed.

He got back up and slyly gave you a sideways look, “Turn around and face the wall, little pet.”

You did it and he muttered, “Good girl.” You felt something slightly weighted go around your throat and his hands work some fabric deftly. He spun you around and marched you straight back into the bathroom by your arm pinned to your back, your towel was off and you looked shaken.

But your collar was back on, and it felt strange that it was ever off. He let your hand go as you glided towards the mirror and looked at yourself, stroking both it and your collar curiously, your thoughts flew many more miles away.

You really had thrown yourself back into this. You trembled a bit, nearly in tears because of the simple gesture. Who would have known that a damn collar would have made you feel so many emotions at once?

You had a feeling he knew…

You looked back at his casual, yet pantsless figure looming in the back. He was standing there, as proud as can be, just marveling in the fresh chaos he’d breathed into you. He had broken through what walls you erected and won.

“Why don’t I reclean you. You had been freshly bathed, yeah?” He offered kindly.

He drew you a bath and massaged you down and made sure there was no lasting damage done to you, he even got you a fluffy fresh towel and wrapped you in it and let you alone with your thoughts. (How dangerous!)

You sat in there for what seemed like ten eternities and finally it dawned on you: You were his. You always were his. No amount of time or space or anything would come between you two and the bond forged. It was bizarre to come think of, but the sheer fact that he owned you in such a way, was freeing. Of all the people in the universe, your only equal was this G-dlike being who was off in your house, doing heavens knows what.

And he was crazy about you.

You let out delirious laughter and pulled yourself off the ground and walked out of the bathroom for the second time that night.

He was sitting on your couch with a fresh bowl of popcorn, wrapped in your couch blanket. He looked completely normal. Like he was any other guy, harmless. Pants back on.

“I thought we could finish that wild documentary about the gay redneck zookeeper an the woman who took ‘eat the rich’ a little too to the heart!” He stretched out and offered you a place at his side, you slid in and grabbed a hand of it.

The Master was very good at making popcorn. He did something wild with coconut oil and salt and sugar that made the flavor pop into it. He also somehow managed to pop every kernel every single time. It was the most disconcerting thing about him, if you were completely honest with yourself. No one should wield that kind of power.

“You’re still a rat bastard…” You muttered as you slightly started to drift off.

“Oh, I know.” He confirmed.

You fell asleep glued to his side as some man rode off into the sunset on a jet ski and Eye of the Tiger zagged on.

You vaguely remember stirring gently when he lifted you up and placed you in bed, “Sweet dreams, my pet…” you heard in a sleep-drunk haze. “You have all the rest you need…”

In your mind you heard as you finally got into a deep slumber. “You’re going to need it…”

#personal #i wrote this #i made this #dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #the master #master x reader #doctor who self insert fiction #lemon #yummy yummy lemon #fanfic

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worseandworser · 6 years ago

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Beautiful

This exists thanks to @rodionismyhero <3 Thank you <3

Ship: Razumikhin/Raskolnikov

Summary: He was sure that wherever, whenever Rodya happened, so would Dima — and this way he was forever doomed with the prospect of following the man around like an overeager puppy.

But metaphysics was not his area — it was Rodion’s — and neither the point Razumikhin was looking for.

Rating: Explicit (warning for Lemon)

Warnings/tags: Modern setting, College AU, engineering student!Razumikhin, philosophy student!Raskolnikov, the very first time I post smut off-anon pls forgive me

read on ao3

If one made a list of problems in Razumikhin’s life, somehow it would always go back to Rodya being his friend. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the guy — which he did perhaps a bit too much; Dmitri couldn’t think of a plane of existence where the two of them hadn’t crossed and become at least acquaintances. The amount of appreciation he directed to Raskolnikov couldn’t possibly cease just because of a dimensional switch. He was sure that wherever, whenever Rodya happened, so would Dima — and this way he was forever doomed with the prospect of following the man around like an overeager puppy.

But metaphysics was not his area — it was Rodion’s — and neither the point Razumikhin was looking for.

People called their friendship ’weird’; yes, they had the guts to look Dima dead in the eyes with a sorry smile and call it weird. A stupid term, Rodya told him once, while he rambled about whatever Foucault's book he had been reading recently, and Razumikhin agreed. They weren’t weird — the grumpy hermit intellectual who ends up in a relationship with the extroverted jock everyone loves, or whatever. They were unbalanced. Both of them were, not as a duo but as individuals: Razumikhin was unbalanced for giving Rodya sovereign over his body, heart and soul, and Rodya for… well, being Rodya.

Which could be either a curse or a blessing — Dmitri was sure the only reason his friend hadn’t confronted him yet on his feelings was that said friend was Rodya.

He didn’t understand how the hell it happened. One day he was strolling down the streets, bumped into an undergrad from a completely different faculty, and then bang, he was lying awake at night thinking about mysterious dark brown eyes. He spent all of his high school years sleeping throughout history lessons, but when Rodion explained how Nietzsche’s books influenced eugenics in Nazi Germany he didn’t even blink. Raskolnikov opened his mouth and he felt as if the Universe was being peeled right in front of him. He was torn between listening attentively and wanting to shut him up using very unorthodox methods.

Rodya wasn’t objectively beautiful — he was skinny, lanky even, dressed like a mix of hipster and beggar, and had this perpetual frown that sometimes merged into an I’m-about-to-pass-out expression. Although the affection happened at first sight, the attraction took a while to rise. But when it did, Dima’s pathetic admiration-slash-crush turned into a full-on abyss of, what, feelings and such. Reprehensible.

Rodya would kill him if he found out.

Razumikhin couldn’t help it. He’d run all the way across the campus to have lunch in the cafeteria next to the Philosophy and Social Sciences faculty, just so he could sit next to Rodya for mere forty minutes. He’d cancel plans because Rodya was not in the mood to meet people, and would sit next to him in the library for hours even if he wasn’t that much of reader himself. He started studying quantum physics because once Rodya told him it was more interesting than numbers and calculus, and he could now name four presocratic philosophers (which was more than he ever thought he could do). He’d do and give up anything, if it would make his friend slightly happier.

And that included, apparently, storming out of a party Dmitri had been really excited to attend.

You see, perhaps he shouldn’t have brought Raskolnikov to an event organized by engineering students that was full of, well, engineering students. Rodya never failed to bring up how much he despised ‘number freaks’ and variations, how ignorant they were when it came to anything besides doing maths. He’d said that to Razumikhin’s face many times before and, even if Dima knew he was referring to others and not himself, it had always struck a nerve. Dmitri thought he could make him change his mind, or at least be a bit more open-minded, if he introduced him to his friends. A party had seemed like a very good excuse to do so — Razumikhin had insisted over and over again, and when Rodya finally relented… Let’s just say he smiled throughout the rest of the day.

Now, however, the only thing he felt was guilt. With some sprinkles of annoyance — at his friends, for saying those ridiculous things to Rodya, and at Rodya for taking everything so personally. But mostly at himself: he should have known better than to bring an antisocial to a social environment.

The fact Rodya accepted, though, still reverberated through his whole being — he’d wouldn’t go for himself, but he was willing to swallow his pride and fears to stand next to Razumikhin for a couple of highly stressful hours.

“Rodya, wait!”

Dmitri trailed behind his friend, watching him stomp and run at the same time — which was impressive, how did Rodya manage to do both? The alcohol he had ingested was barely enough to keep the cold at bay, but Raskolnikov’s portion seemed more than enough to make him stagger a bit.

“Please!”

Ok, so Dima’s friends were idiots, and they were the only idiots in the story. He wanted to know what the hell kind of mental gymnastics Rodion had succeeded to make that got him angry at Razumikhin. Unless it was not only— he couldn’t discard the possibility that he had done something that distressed the man, after all, Rodya was… sensitive. And sometimes Dmitri’s actions or words could mean much more to the other than they did to himself.

When he finally got his hands on the man’s upper-arms, Rodion did stop — but kept trying to twist away from grip.

“Stop trying to pull away!,” snapped Dmitri, “I just want to talk!”

Keeping his eyes on the ground, Rodya relented. “Let me go.”

“You won’t run away if I do?”

The man shrugged. Razumikhin figured it would be the closest to a positive answer and let go. “What happened?”

Rodya blushed, out of anger or embarrassment or whatever else he was feeling at that moment. “You saw everything!”

“About the political argument, yes, but what else?”

Still refusing to meet Razumikhin’s gaze, Raskolnikov stuffed his hands inside of his coat’s pockets. “I didn’t like the party, so I left.”

Stormed out, thought Dmitri, but I suppose that’s just semantics.

“If it was just that, you wouldn’t have told me you were leaving.”

He never did. It always hurt a bit, it made him feel… unwanted. Not that he expected Rodya to depend on him to leave whenever he was uncomfortable, but a warning would be very welcome. For friendship’s sake, of course.

“Whatever. Your friends are neanderthals.”

“Sure,” Razumikhin rolled his eyes, “where are you going then if you don’t like the party?”

He shrugged, “The dorms, probably. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

And Dmitri followed him — like he always did.

It was yet to exist a place more empty than Raskolnikov’s bedroom. He lived alone — Razumikhin had the vague impression Rodya would rather live on the streets than have a roommate — which was a revolutionary act of itself, since very few students were granted such privilege. But he seemed to abdicate of all benefits that came with having a room of his own. There were no decorations of any sorts, just four beige walls, and a small window; the bed was always undone and some stacks of books and notes were scattered around the floor. When Dmitri had asked him about bringing people over, Rodya had stared him as if he was an alien.

They hanged out sometimes in here, though. Dima would bring snacks and beers and they would sit and talk, talk, talk. It appeared to be their favorite thing to do — talk, talk, talk.

But today they were silent — there were no drinks or snacks, much less available topics. Dmitri kept throwing glances at Rodya throughout the whole way there, trying to figure out if the man was still irritated or just pensive. In turn, Raskolnikov seemed to not pay him attention at all. Even when their sides brushed as they walked, or when Dima’s glances lingered for too long. He invited Dmitri in, and it was probably more out of habit than wanting to spend more time with a friend. But today things felt different — the alcohol, perhaps? — and Razumikhin caught himself anticipating an implosion — Rodya’s silence would become too much and he would bleed inside, leaving Razumikhin to clean after his hemorrhage.

As soon as the door was closed, he felt the hot-and-cold air around them curl around his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Rodya’s head tilted to the side. “What for?”

“For taking you to a place you obviously didn’t want to go,” Dmitri clarified, “I was being selfish.”

“Don’t apologize for things you don’t need to, it kills all the purpose of an apology and makes you look like an idiot.”

Dmitri had an idea of what he looked like when he was listening to anything Rodya said — mesmerized, impressed, now adding the flush from the alcohol so he was probably looking like an idiot with or without the apology. And he felt like one, when the tension grew so tight it almost took his breath away. Raskolnikov stared at him from under his bangs, brown eyes shining like amber under the sunlight. It was that same sickly gleam he always carried around, as if instability was an inherent aspect of his soul and it reflected on his physical body. Beautiful, Razumikhin thought, just like he always did. Because it truly was.

Razumikhin was the one who did it — because there was no way Raskolnikov would be able to, even with all the random spurts of self-confidence. No, he took the step that closed the distance, he put his lips over Rodya’s, he put a hand on the other’s nape to try to find a better angle.

But it was Rodya who gripped his lapels and turned the kiss into a fight.

The sharp intake of breath came from Dmitri’s surprise, and the groan from the indescribable feel of Rodya’s tongue against his. They stumbled together — thank god, no books were stepped on — and Raskolnikov’s back hit the wall with a thud that reverberated through Dmitri’s ribcage. The angle was wrong again and Rodya was obviously not practiced enough and they were both stinking of alcohol and smoke and it was sublime. Razumikhin was still stuck on oh my god I’m kissing Rodya but nothing stopped him from gripping the other’s hips and shoving a thigh between his parted legs.

Despite ego and pride, Raskolnikov whimpered, the hold on Dmitri’s clothes shaking and being quickly substituted by arms tightening around Razumikhin’s shoulders. Rodya rolled his hips, and Razumikhin swallowed all his moans eagerly. Beautiful, he thought once again, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, and Dmitri had a soft spot for pretty things.

Razumikhin interrupted the kiss to fumble with their belts, then the pants’ button, then the zippers, and he could feel Raskolnikov’s startled eyes glued to his face as he did. He almost stopped, but Rodya was reaching to get both his pants and underwear out of the way and that should be enough for consenting, shouldn’t it?

what the fuck is going on what the actual f

And that was it— the kiss became a mess while Rodya seemed frantic to tear Razumikhin’s shirt, fisting and pulling, sobbing between their lips as if he couldn’t breathe. Dmitri was burning, from head to toe and his spirit was probably in flames too, but who cared. It was so fast and twisted, completely unexpected and out of order. Which was exactly what made it right, at least in Razumikhin’s opinion.

Dmitri was too far gone now, and Rodya seemed to be a few steps ahead. Their hips rocked together, their cocks rubbing maddeningly and Razumikhin was drunk on the other’s gasped pleasurable sounds. Realizing his hands could leave the bony hips they rested on, Dmitri sneaked them under Raskolnikov’s shirt, sliding up his ribs — the man squirmed, but didn’t pull away — so he could thumb one of Rodya’s nipples, twist them between his fingers. Rodya moaned, arching up against the touch and tugged at Dmitri’s shirt until the man got the clue.

The seconds they spent apart felt like millenniums.

Without the barrier of cloth, Razumikhin pressed their chests together. Too far gone to care about proper kisses, he dipped to mouth at Raskolnikov’s exposed throat — pale like marble, untarnished, begging to be covered with possessive purple blotches. His hands slid down his friend’s lithe body to cup his ass, then grip to help their exasperated thrusting. Harder, faster, now, now, now—

“D-Dima..!”

Rodya trembled underneath him, scratching at his back desperately, and Razumikhin could feel the warm spurts against his belly. His breath hitched as he saw the man’s features contort beautifully, beautiful, beautiful, and it wasn’t long before he followed suit.

It was only when it was over, when their legs gave away beneath them, that Razumikhin felt the worry creep on him. He looked at Rodya, sitting by his side with his knees pulled against his chest — he was entirely in disarray, and Dmitri probably wasn’t much better. He wanted to pull him closer, but when he put his arms around the other’s bare waist he met stone-cold eyes.

“Don’t ask me to leave,” said Razumikhin. Begged.

“You can’t stay here.”

“Do you really hate me that much?”

Rodya’s cheeks, already pink from their previous activities, turned a few shades darker. “Don’t say that.”

“Let me stay,” he insisted, “let me stay, and we’ll talk things over tomorrow.”

There was a sigh and no more protests, then Rodya’s forehead bumped against Razumikhin’s shoulder.

“Okay, then.”

#crime and punishment #fyodor dostoevsky #raskolnikov x razumikhin #raskolnikov #razumikhin #razumikhin x raskolnikov #fanfic #I AM SO SORRY DOSTOYEVSKY #I HOPE YOUR REST WAS NOT DISTURBED BC I WROTE THIS

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kemeticcalloutsfromthepublic · 6 years ago

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We’d like to begin addressing this thread:

here

We apologize for this post being so long but there is just...so much here.

@thetwistedrope response:

“ Anonymous When your "joking with friends" ends with a transwoman in pain and bullied and in tears, an abuse victim having massive anxiety attacks, and another innocent commentator being *bullied into deleting their blgo and then gaslight off the server as a scapegoat, it's gone too far. Honestly, it would have been better if you and your friends realized you guys went way too far and stopped trying to double down and just admit you went too far and made amends.

None of you can read for shit, I s2g. The screencap of me being “envious” is a completely separate conversation. “

We would like to address that the Anon seems to be referring to a litany of events rather then listing them in chronological order. We’d like to add that they are making a good point, but would have benefited their position by being chronological.

We‘d like to point out Devo begins with an insult, ironically she and her friends are the ones who have reading issues. We’d like to mention that the anon is entirely correct. The events are going to far.

“My part in the situation with Princess Triangle was not bullying. Full stop. “

We’d like to point out that telling a transwoman her fears are “unrealistic”, and she is making excuses, is wrong, but in this mod’s opinion, borders on bullying, and is in fact transphobic. You told a transwoman her fears aren’t real so she has no excuse to not out herself, stand up and be put in a position of danger as she felt she was in.

“I never told PT to out themself. I mean, they already said that they were out as a trans woman, so how tf you can make someone who is already out, out themself again is a complete mystery to me. “

We’d like to mention, you were among the people telling her to sacrifice her support systems to stand up and “rock the boat” (as she put it). Something she was terrified of and didn’t want to be the only person standing up and end up the object of ridicule. Princess Triangle’s position was one of fear of being left alone and the possibility of being ousted, not from “”comfort”” but from a place she felt she was accepted in and she didn’t want to risk that for a fight not really hers. We’d like to remind you, Devo and her friends, alleviated her of that fear by making it a reality. For the record “PT” said she was visibly trans. Princess Triangle stated they felt like they wouldn’t be safe and they would compromise what safety they had in the group. We’d like to state that whether or not the group would have become hostile is irrelevant to the point that she felt like her life was in danger, and Devo and co. told her to risk it anyways. To her present mind, Pricness Triangle made it clear she feared reprisals, she feared danger, she lived in that fear, irregardless of validity, so for her, it was real, and she was still being told to sacrifice herself. To those reading, this should be taken seriously, it is this mods opinion, her following statements and thoughts were in line with this thinking and fear.

“Repeat: All you fuckers are reading inaccurate, edited screen caps in regards to the PT incident. “

We’d like you to prove that the 200+ screengrabs are “edited” and “faked” since you want to now conveniently claim it. We’d also like to mention that Devo’s friends have tried four different defenses to try and escape responsibility and accountability for what they did. We’d like to discount this baseless claim. They are quite genuine. We’d like to add Devo just doesn’t want to admit her own words are against her own defense of innocence. The screencaps are accurate, and speak for themselves. The reality is not pretty.

You have had plenty of time to post the “correct” screencaps. If these were truly wrong, why haven’t you? (oh yes, of course, smarmy did and they were the same ones we had posted) Of course, Smarmy using them to refute things probably doesn’t help your case.

“And I’m sorry, but shezep acting like it was okay to state, quite literally, that we were calling PT a nazi is, frankly, asinine and too far.“

We bring you back to reading comprehension. We’d like to correct Devo’s staggering inability to read, out of convenience, again, Shezep said you and your friends liken everyone who fails to follow your empty moral leftist platitudes are labeled something horrible like a nazis. Shezep was making a comment about how toxic the left-wing is, how someone must be an evil person because they do not conform to your left-wing ideals. A point they are absolutely correct on. We’d like to state that Shezep did not deserve to be shouted down, shit-talked and ridiculed when they left. Isn’t Shezep trans also? We do believe that is two transpeople Devo and co. have bullied, not a very good look for those who ‘champion the downtrodden, discriminated, and totally support LGBTQ+ people...as long as they obey and repeat the correct thoughts and opinions.

“Again, I wouldn’t have handled it that way, but it’s not my server. I’m sorry (except I’m not), but I have no remorse for calling PT out on their complacency. “

We’d like to express our surprise that “feeling unsafe and like my life is in danger” is now “complacency”. Transpeople need support, they need their support systems, and as Shezep correctly states here, trans people are subject to discrimination. Princess Triangle was unwilling to be put in a position to be discriminated against and you weren’t pleased. We’d like to express our utter shock that her status as a transperson, something the social justice kemetics have stated before is very important (‘listen to transpeople when they tell you their experience because they know it better then you do.’ we paraphrased) An important point Devo and co. conveniently abandon when a transperson doesn’t agree with them.

“Us white folks who are able to stand up should stand up.“

We’d like to ask, are you then saying that you did tell PT to out themselves and be put in danger?

“It hasn’t stopped any of you for coming after me because y’all think I’m not doing enough. Does that make you all transphobic? “

Considering we are correct and haven’t expressed positions such as “listen to trans and poc people when they tell you about their experiences, don’t argue with them, just agree”, toting it as extremely important...No. We are calling out your hypocrisy, when you violate the important positions and moral tenets you espouse to being of import, only to throw them aside like used tissues when they no longer serve you because you can’t use it to brow-beat someone else. We’d like to remind you, you have no place telling a transwoman to expose herself to discrimination and danger to serve your crusade.

“Maybe you should look in the mirror before you toss more bricks at my head. “

We would, but the ample heaps of hypocritical trash you and friends hurl into the mirror, seem to have broken it.

“You can get as mad as you want about how other people talked to PT. Some people went a bit far, yes.“

We must express our utter shock at this statement. Maybe instead of trying to sweep your wrong-doing under the rug you should call ourselves out and lecture each other over why what you did was wrong instead of inventing hollow defenses to try and deflect blame. We’d like to state we are just holding you to your own moral standards you and your friends constantly spew. You seem to not meet the requirements you have set. We’d suggest you stop defending yourselves and stop the mental gymnastics.

“But at the end of the day, you can’t keep acting as if I can magically control what everyone else does or says. “

We’d like to say, no, but they do listen to you and respect your opinion and would fall back and lay off if you told them to.

“And you shouldn’t keep acting like me telling a white trans woman to consider standing up and pushing back in places where its safe to do so is somehow transphobic.“

We’d like to remind you, you participated in beating down a transwoman, told her, her fears aren’t realistic and don’t really matter. She expressed she didn’t feel safe and that really should have ended the discussion right there. You went too far, you know you went to far and you got caught.

“And if it is, you all owe many of us an apology for doing the same goddamn thing to us. I can’t tell you how many times ppl get mad because I’m not out there “fighting the good fight” enough. trans status be damned. “

Considering you tell everyone else they have NO EXCUSE not to ever go out and “fight the good fight”, you’re a hypocrite. You don’t go out and fight the good fight, what gives you the right to demand others do the same when you refuse to?

“Esp because you’re reading edited screencaps. “

We’d like to ask...Does it comfort you to pretend the screengrabs are faked and edited? They are, as we stated, legitimate. Claiming over and over they are edited and fake does not change the reality that they aren’t. You look like a massive transphobic hypocrite. And you are, the only shame here should be yours. We would also like to ask, what proof do you have the images were altered? There is over 200 of them and that is a staggering amount of evidence to edit.

We would address smarmy’s contribution to the post but we will leave that for our cohort if they desire. This mod sees nothing of substance in the addition that merits response.

We will move on to @heofspeckledplumage contribution.

“I remind everyone that the screenshots posted by Kemetic callouts from the public are being posted by two mods with a well-documented dislike of both Smarm and Devo. Honestly, that seems to be the main point of the blog is to throw accusations at Smarm and Devo until something sticks. “

We’d like to congratulate you on your own inability to read. For the record, they all stick. Have you even read our mission statement? Your shimmering ignorance astounds us, it’s right there on the blog, it requires minimum effort to look, but that is probably too much for you to muster. To alleviate your smooth lobes of the strain, we’ve linked it for you, here. We do hope you will be able to understand all the confusing words.

“KCFTP is not a neutral, bias-free entity. They have everything to gain and little to lose by framing the situation on the server as they prefer and by editing screenshots because they post under pseudonyms. There is no connection that anyone is able to draw between them posting there and their Tumblr accounts, and thus no accountability for anything they see on the KCFTP blog. “

We’d like to address that we aren’t, our “bias” is calling out what we see as wrong. Your friends are very loud, and they say alot of stupid things we need to address and dismantle. We have alot to do, and they are the ones who say the most hypocritical and rather foolish sentiments, so we call it out. We’d like to mention the KC blog is anything but impartial and is also run by the same loudmouthed jesters.

We’d like to mention, why should we be held accountable when none of you are either? You don’t police each other when you’re out of line, so it is rather hypocritical of you to pull the victim card and pretend you are sunshine and gumdrops. The point of this blog is to correct the community the social justice kemetics have ravaged and pillaged to the point that it has become a toxic and horrible place. We’d like to point out people leave the community because of the social justice kemetics and not the others you scapegoat.

“It takes about two seconds of thinking before one realizes that this is so they can stir the pot and say whatever baseless things they wish to and enjoy zero repercussions on their main blogs. “

We must say that is beautiful sophistry. We are astounded you are a mind reader and can accurately report on our thoughts and feelings, what an amazing power.

We’d like to state nothing we’ve said is baseless, the proof is there, it’s easy to spot, but continue to shove your head in your ass and pretend it’s a dream. We’d like to state, we never see you address your friends wrong-doing, you never step up and tell them when they go too far. We have to guess you feel they are in the right. Bullying transpeople, scapegoating someone at random on the server to blame for the screengrabs, labeling everyone a bigot and racist when they disagree, sending suicide anons to people. You must be complicit in such thinking that these things are ok.

“They are cowards and everything they say should be viewed through the lens of people who will stop at nothing to twist words to their own advantage. “

We’d like to say, you are confused again. We understand the kool-aid is very disorienting, let us clarify: We don’t need to twist anything, that would be you and your friends. Stop yelling at the strawmen, you’re scaring them.

The advantage is already ours because we don’t lie, we tell you the naked truth and why we disagree with your positions, opinions, and how your bullying isn’t just.

With the number of times you and your comrades have twisted other peoples words to your advantage--to the point where you have created entirely false statements, it is the height of arrogance and hypocrisy to accuse us of doing the same. At least we use your own words against you, instead of lies we made up.

“Stop hounding Devo and Smarm. You all need some hobbies. For all some of you talk about piety to the gods you could surely add some shrine time if you did that instead of trying to make Smarm and Devo responsible for everything the Kemetic community does.Quite frankly, y'all need to stop.“

We find this statement hilarious. We have ample hobbies and shrine time, thank you for your concern. The ones who need to stop are”y’all” not us. “Y’all” have chased so many good people out of this community and made it so unsafe this blog became necessary to try and stem the tide of toxic waste you all vomit into the community. We must say, for all the moral tantrums and hollow posturing you and your friends do, you do little else for this community. All you people do is demand everyone be a far leftist, if they don’t you all squeal “BIGOT!!!” like a paniced pig. You preach morality and commit nothing towards it but armchair activism of the vapidly myopic kind. We’re sick of it.

You are quite right, Devo and smarm are responsible...They caused the rifts in the community. They chased people away. They began the drama with their social justice crusades and demands of kow towing to the groupthink. They turned the community into an unwelcoming place. And you helped them.

What was that you said earlier about accountability? You seem to be ok with dismissing any and all accountability when addressed to Devo and smarm, but you want us to be accountable. How hypocritical of you. Clearly you need to spend more time in shrine contemplating Ma’at and treating people well, but wait, none of you really do that do you. We’d like to tell you to close your mouth and try to really take a hard look at your friends antics.

The hostility they have reduced the community to.

We’d like you to spend less time being an apologist for these abusive schoolyard bullies, and more time seriously considering Ma’at.

You all act like moralizing puritanical inquisitors hunting for heretics to crucify, and that’s exactly what you do.

You vilify good people who love the gods, and when an actual racist bigot sauntered into our community...you were all pretty quiet. We found that very interesting.

For all the posts and comments declaring how you loathe nazis and bigots and racists, when a real one showed up you lot barely spoke on it other then “just block kay?”

Then you continue on demeaning and denigrating everyone but them.

You’re a hypocrite and nothing any of you say should ever be listened to.

The evidence piles up, speckled, and your friends weigh heavy on that scale against them. Before you spread more lies about us (which is against ma’at we believe), sit down and consider if all the people chased away, all the people bullied out of the community, inventing fake racist gods to worship, claiming the Netjeru aren’t really that important to the religion, seeking to escape repercussions by spreading lies, brow-beating people down, corrupting others, and harassing others until they delete their blogs, consider if their actions...are just. We did, and we viewed it is not so. So sit. The. FUCK. Down!

We care about this religion, this community and we’ve seen the diarrhea you and your friends have excreted on it, turning it into a hostile and unfriendly place.

We are here to make sure, you are all held accountable. You’re welcome.

--Memphis and Cairo

#transphobia #kemetic fandom #kemetic community #kemeticism #kemetic #community policing

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acabloe · 7 years ago

Text

Soon Goodbye, Now Love: Chapter Three

chapter one

chapter two

tw’s: cursing, religion? kinda? depression, anxiety

still based on this song lol

a/n: psa I have done surprisingly little planning for this fic beyond the synopsis and basic plot-point interactions and ending so if you have some specific fluffy (or non winky face ((JUST KiDDING ⁱˢᴴʰ))) moments in mind for future chapters, my inbox is SO open and welcome also this will pick up pace after this chapter I promise, I just really needed to set up enough emotional stuff to make ur eyes wet later. ok das all read it n sheep.

Chapter Three: Draw the Oceans

Chloe stopped in her tracks and stepped backwards at the sight of such distress on the girl’s face.

“Oh my God, I’m totally invading your privacy! I’m so sorry, I’ll leave you alone.” The girl had stopped as well and after a second of Chloe standing back with her hand over her mouth she reached forward and touched her back gently. Hoping she could add at least a small amount of positive energy into the situation, she quickly added “...Although, um, don’t take this the wrong way, but I can also stay with you if you just need to vent to someone who isn’t gonna judge you and who you’ll probably never see again- if thats what you need. Just let me know okay? It’s kind of my thing to go out of my way to make people feel better.” She smiled and made the kind of eye contact that she hoped would give off the most telepathically generous vibes.

The girl stared at Chloe, taken aback but still in consideration. A small split in the cover overhead had opened up briefly to illuminate the pair of them and Chloe saw her face for the first time. Her lips were sucked in and her eyes spilled shimmering streams down her cheeks . “I’m fine. Really. Thank you. I um...It’s...it’s complicated. It’s Really complicated.” Her voice broke on the word ‘really’ and her quaking hands passed to her face to rub at her eyes. Chloe begrudgingly let her do this contrary to her instincts of taking the girl’s wrists away and hugging her- she didn’t want to violate this stranger’s privacy more than she already had. She waited patiently for the girl to think about the situation while she kept her hand on her shoulder to stabilize her.

Beca’s stomach churned and she chewed her lip as she weighed her options. The three best responses that sprung to mind were not the most reliable ideas she’d ever had, but they would be better in the long run than simply to lay on the ground and give in to a breakdown. Firstly, she could reject Chloe’s help and give no explanation for her current state, but ask her to keep walking with her ‘for comfort’ to hopefully form some kind of closer connection which she would use later to see her again. Secondly, she could, as fast as possible, concoct a story similar to the truth but somehow without mentioning the factors of reincarnation, the confirmation of some kind of legitimate higher power’s existence (or at least a medium power), that Chloe was supposed to die almost two years ago, and the matter that Beca was a fucking guardian angel. Or thirdly she could just tell Chloe the truth. The last one was, she admitted, both the worst idea and the most tempting one. No. She doesn’t know you, remember, she’s going to think you're high or something. (her brain did feel very unprepared for this sudden mental gymnastics, she thought.) Her heart physically ached with want to hold Chloe tightly and sob into her shoulder about how she thought she’d never see her again and how exhausted and lonely she felt. She sighed heavily and tried her best to smile without letting her emotions contort her face (harder than she expected) and prepared herself to express the second biggest lie she had ever told to her best friend.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that. Let’s keep walking...um, I’ll try not to bore you too much.”

“No, no, please! Onward!”

Beca frowned as the comforting warmth in her shoulder from Chloe’s hand left her shoulder blade.

“Well...basically, a few years ago I had this friend. We...cared about each other a lot. We’d been really close since high school and we’d gone through some really tough shit together. She was there for me and I did my best to do the same. We were kinda like each other’s moms in a sense.” Beca chuckled softly. “Then about a year and a half ago...she...my friend was in an accident. She was hit on the highway by a drunk driver and she wasn’t found till a few hours after. When she was, they did their best but...um...she didn’t make it.” Beca paused, to both protect herself from crying again and also to stall for a second to think about what could possibly replace the concept of swapping places with the dying girl you love and returning to earth a guardian angel.

“I was um...My mental health plummeted and I was in a really bad place for a very long time...I developed a bad drug and alcohol problem. I did some horrid, inexcusable things to a lot of people I cared very deeply for, which left me basically without my friends and family...But starting two months ago, I decided to get better for her. I’ve been sober for um...a few months. I was in rehab in Massachusetts up until a few days ago and I came back to New York for the first time in over a year today...honestly, I don’t know why. Closure? A message from her?! Maybe I needed to see you- her. Sorry, I’m just really disoriented. This is the first time I’ve been in the neighborhood where we used to live since...” Her tears were back, this time as equally fake as they were real. “I reached out to a few friends but no one will talk to me. I’m just filled with so much remorse. Like, immeasurable guilt. You have no idea. Fuck, I don’t even have a place to stay, I’ve only been here a few hours.” She hunched her back and hid her face in her hands taking deep shaky breaths. She did pride herself on her woven web, however, especially the bit about her friends.

Chloe had been quiet and patient with Beca through her whole story and finally when Beca had made it clear she had finished Chloe placed her hand on her shoulder again. She then spoke such soft and warm words that made Beca’s stomach tighten even further with emotion and nerves.

“Wow. I am so sorry. You’ve gone through so much, I really appreciate you sharing your story with me. You are such a strong human being and...I really admire how far you’ve come after everything you went through. Can I...Do you want a hug? I don’t want to invade your personal space.” Chloe’s voice grew somehow even kinder as she said those last few words and Beca nodded, not wanting to seem too eager.

Chloe enveloped Beca in her arms and tightly held her to her chest as Beca’s sobs became involuntary and incessant. She had not felt so many emotions at once since...well, since as long as she could remember. Her knees were week and she almost clung to Chloe to stay upright. Chloe rubbed slow circles on her back and murmured comforting words to her.

“Shh. It’s okay, everything’s gonna be fine. You’re okay.”

Her familiar soft and sweet scent was painful with lost memories and Beca fit just so in Chloe’s arms as if Chloe had retained the experience of hugging her even through Chloe’s memory-obliteration.

Finally after three or four minutes, Beca’s sobs became sniffs and she staggered gingerly away from her, afraid of making Chloe uncomfortable.

Chloe had such a curiously strong impulse to take this stranger in and help her restart her life and make amends with her friends. She knew how potentially dangerous it would be to let someone she had only spoken to for about fifteen minutes into her home but the girl’s story was pretty believable and she had a lot of spare time. The nearest police station was less than a four minute walk away from her home and she was confident that she was safe and unafraid to call if anything happened. She was surprised at herself for how much pity she harbored for this girl, but for some reason her tale struck an empathetic chord that Chloe had not heard before and was unaware had even existed. As their embrace broke, her impulsive thoughts got the better of her and she acted quickly as to not change her mind or overthink.

“Okay, you know what, hear me through. How would you feel if you came back to my house and you can sleep on my couch for the night? I have to stay up anyways. I can drive you in to the city on my way to work tomorrow and you can look at places to stay or job ops, if thats what you need. I have a friend at a café that could use an extra hand! Do you have anyone in New York you can talk to or trust?”

Even though it was still dark out, Chloe could tell the girl was stunned by her sudden advance.

“I...uh...thank you, that’s really generous of you. I...guess? Wow, I feel like such a creep right now, I promise I’m telling the truth. If that’s really okay with you, I would so appreciate the help. Also, no I don’t think so. I mean, there might be someone, but I’m gonna need a couple days to figure out how to even get in touch with her.” She combed her hands through her knotted hair in a fluster.

“Yeah dude of course! Here, come with me. Do you have any bags or anything?”

“Um, no. Most of my stuff is in a storage unit in town. I didn’t really bring anything with me when I left. Thank you so much, I don't think I’ll ever be able to repay you.” Chloe found that odd and questions of how the girl had even come from New York without possessions filled her mind but she pushed them aside.

Half an hour later of Chloe walking the weak girl back to her house in a comfortable silence (Chloe wanted to overwhelm her as little as possible with questions or conversation in her fragile state), they came through the door and she went to the tap to get the girl some water. When she checked the little yellow clock above her sink she was surprised to see that she’d been out for almost two hours and it was nearly 1:00 in the morning. The lights were dim coming from her living room but just bright enough for her to finally see what the girl looked like as she handed her the glass. She was small and frail with long, mousy brown hair and deep set blue eyes that were again cascading tears down pale blanched cheeks. Her minimal tank top and sweatpants were a little grassy but otherwise free of stain or dirt, Chloe supposed she had sat or perhaps lain in the field earlier. When she looked down, Chloe realized the girl’s feet were bare and bruised but said nothing.

“Drink all of that. The bathroom and shower is just through that door behind you. I’m going to run upstairs get you some spare clothes, and sheets for the couch, will you be alright down here?” The girl gave a small nod as she chugged down the water with huge gulps.

Beca shut the bathroom door behind her and immediately slid to the floor, breathing rapidly with her hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

The house was exactly as she had left it. All her belongings were gone, but most everything else was the same. Same couch, same photographs covering the stairwell, the same colored walls. Even the odd yellow clock Aubrey had bought them as a housewarming gift was still in the kitchen. She managed to push herself upright and turned on the faucet to the temperature she had grown so familiar using. She leant over the sink and forced herself to breathe evenly as steam rose to the ceiling and filled her lungs.

She was here though and everything was going to smoothly. Everything that she had planned (or rather hoped without depth or consideration) was happening! She was home with Chloe and Chloe was taking care of her! She felt the corners of her mouth twitch as her thoughts grew more hopeful.

An instantly recognizable sensation reached her fingertips and she was no-longer concentrating on her good fortune. Her palms grew hot and it quickly spread to her wrists. Shit.

Her hands were glowing bright white and her veins were accentuated by visible electric currents racing down her arms under her skin. This isn’t supposed to happen, you’re not supposed to glow on earth, it’s literally impossible. Her heart beat faster. This was a regular behavior in the Higher City. It was completely random with no rhyme or reason and it was also another phenomenon that the head-angels refused to digress. But they had strictly told everyone that it wasn’t supposed to happen after they had left to earth. It’s gotta be a glitch or a kink in the system when I changed my fucking assignment. You bitch! Beca Mitchel, you have fucked up so royally. The light had spread down almost the entire length of her arms and she felt her knees grow hot as it climbed up her legs as well. She threw off her clothes and rushed to the shower, desperate that the water could somehow stifle the course of electricity running through her bloodstream. It did nothing but scald her skin and she yelped in shock.

five or six seconds later a knock came to the door which startled Beca to jump.

“Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah, um, I turned it too hot haha,” She laughed nervously.

“Okay, I’ll leave these clothes by the door. There’s fresh towels under the sink.”

“Great, thank you!” She groaned quietly in frustration, but when she looked back down to her hands, they were back to her own pale skin. She sighed heavily in relief. Usually it lasted longer; around five to ten minutes, but she guessed because it was only a glitch it would affect her to a much lesser extent.

Twenty minutes later she sat on her made-up bed in Chloe’s pajamas waiting for Chloe to bring her tea she hadn’t asked for. She had been considering maybe telling Chloe the truth after all. The level of gullibility involved with people she cared about was something that the two of them had been working to correct before everything was shoved at them left and right. Beca had begun to worry that one day in the future she would not be immediately accessible to force Chloe to see every angle of the situation and to hold herself over others when the circumstances required. A significantly large piece of Beca’s mind suggested that Chloe would swallow the whole story with complete belief and acceptance. However Beca had not seen her in so long and she had romanticized their friendship so laboriously during their time apart. There was a chance that the more stripped down version of Chloe that Beca remembered was not as surface-level innocent and credulous as was reality. There was too much of a risk that Beca’s tale would turn her out onto the streets and she would definitely never see Chloe again after that. She was woken from her musings by a warm mug of lavender-smelling steam being gently placed between her palms.

“Here you are! It’s hot, careful. So, I’m leaving around 8:00 tomorrow and I’ll drop you off wherever you need to be?”

“Um, yeah that would be great. Thank you so much for all of this. You have no idea how much it means to me.” No really, she had No. Idea.

“Yeah, no worries! I totally got your back! Um, I’ll just be right here in the kitchen finishing up some work. If you need anything just holler.” Chloe patted Bec’s leg affectionately and stood, still facing Beca. Her eyes suddenly somehow grew wider than her already enormous size and she exclaimed. “Wait, oh my God! I’m such an awful person! I don’t even know your name! And you don’t know mine! What the hell is your name, dude?” Beca laughed and looked down sheepishly.

“It’s Beca. Mitchel.”

“Well, nice to meet you Beca, my name is Chloe. I think we’re gonna be really fast friends.”

A/N: Hey friends just wanna say thank u sm for all these positive responses I’m really enjoying this process n it’s my first proper fic since my 2014 doctor who days. if you can’t tell I've been trying really hard to write different pov’s in styles closer to how I think the characters think idk we’ll see how it goes ::,,))) ps. if someone wants to make me a fic cover I will love you forever and ever I would do it myself but I can’t edit for S H I T :// woohoo what a ride this is gonna be I really hope y’all keep reading !!

#bechloe #Anna kendrick #Brittany snow #pitch perfect #pitch perfect 3 #pitch perfect 2 #beca x chloe #Chloe x beca #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fic #bechloe ship #gay lol #fics #soon goodbye now love

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kingofthewilderwest · 7 years ago

Note

Hey, for the Canon meme? Hiccup. Astrid. And the two together. (take your time sir no rush)

Canon Meme

ASTRID HOFFERSON

Canon: Astrid can do handsprings and flips on the back of a flying dragon. She can do gymnastics stunts on the back of a flying dragon.

Headcanon: Astrid started training to fight dragons at a young age. We know, from a deleted scene, that the axe she wields in the first movie was once her mother’s. She takes great pride in wielding her mother’s axe, understands that the war between humans and dragons will soon become her war to fight, and does her best to become an adept fighter. As a child, she is very ferocious and understand moreso than others her age how important it is to fight dragons. This knowledge was instilled to her because her uncle Fearless Finn Hofferson was frozen by the Flightmare. Upon seeing her family’s name disgraced because they didn’t fight dragons “well enough,” she became serious very young about fighting dragons. She was already ready to fight them before Finn Hofferson was frozen… but after that, she really worked the axe. The tumbling stunts she can do (handsprings, etc.) are mostly skills she picked up and learned on her own… her mother and father didn’t do things like that in battle.

Heartcanon: My heart says that Astrid’s feelings for Hiccup developed more gradually over time than the first movie leads us to believe. We see her go from antagonistic to timidly interested in Hiccup over the course of one “Romantic Flight” evening. I think that, even though she started giving Hiccup those sudden, spurious kisses in HTTYD, it was only through more time that she really started to love him. The flighty, unpredictable, impulsive teenage love was what we first saw. But as she and Hiccup came to know one another well, came to befriend one another well, and came to spend so much time with one another… that early teenage “crush” morphed into real, solid, and deep feelings for Hiccup. What she felt for Hiccup at the end of HTTYD was simple attraction and interest, but it was only later that the love became deep and Really Really Real.

Soulcanon: Hiccup was Astrid’s first and only crush. And Astrid was Hiccup’s first and only major crush, too.

HICCUP HORRENDOUS HADDOCK THE THIRD

Canon: Hiccup takes on an enormous, four hundred foot long dragon by himself and Toothless. He fights the Red Death by himself and Toothless in the skies. And he wins. When he’s fourteen years old. Damn.

Headcanon: Like many other Viking chiefs we have seen (ex: Stoick, Dagur), Hiccup grows his hair out long and has it braided in one thick braid. Oh. And there’s a beard. Definitely adult Beardcup.

Heartcanon: It takes a long time for Hiccup to be able to walk on his new prosthetic. He might be able to stagger out the door with Toothless’ support upon waking up, but he is in excruciating pain. It is quite a long and tedious ordeal for him to learn how to walk, then run, on his own. Even by the time of Gift of the Night Fury, he’s still more prone to slips and falls (regardless of the presence of ice) than he was before the amputation.

Soulcanon: No one’s telling me that Hiccup is ambidextrious. He’s a natural lefty. He is.

HICCSTRID

Canon: Hiccup and Astrid have a great relationship that is more than physical attraction. They have a strong, deep relationship that allows them to have romantic times together, serious times together, silly times together - anything. They can laugh with one another over silly nothings or speak heart-to-heart about things that bother them. We see this occur, for instance, at the start of HTTYD 2.

Headcanon: Hiccup and Astrid aren’t betrothed by HTTYD 2 times. Hiccup is still struggling about who he is, who he should become, and many other concerns that plague people as they are entering adulthood. Hiccup isn’t mentally comfortable in the world of being an adult yet, so he has not yet made the very adult step of becoming engaged with Astrid.

Heartcanon: Astrid saves Hiccup’s butt far more times than Hiccup saves Astrid’s butt. Although Hiccup is typically strategic with his choices in dangerous situations, Astrid is the one with the greatest amount of formal combat training. She’s talented, dexterous, and always able to save her boyfriend in time. Way before the events of How to Train Your Dragon 2, Astrid has saved Hiccup’s life triple the times that he has caught her, say, falling from her dragon. Toothless of course saves Hiccup his fair share of times, too, but he’s getting very sick of his rider being in dangerous circumstances. Astrid and Toothless working together to keep this daredevil dragon rider’s heart beating is one reason that Toothless adores Astrid by HTTYD 2 times.

Soulcanon: Hiccup and Astrid marry and live long, happy lives together as a couple. They have a decently large family, probably about four kids. Astrid doesn’t let Hiccup name the kids. Because here’s the thing: if Hiccup named the kids, he’d probably ask Toothless for advice. But “Slobbering Tongue” is not an appropriate name for a Viking girl. True, the hideous name would scare off the gnomes and trolls, but “Slobbering Tongue” is STILL not an appropriate name for a Viking girl.

#canon meme #meme #httyd #How to Train Your Dragon #Hiccup #Astrid #Hiccstrid #ask #ask me #thefuriousnightfury

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cesium-sheep · 5 years ago

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in order to be comfortable with getting more money less than weekly (maaaybe biweekly after some practice being a person), I’d need to be getting. a lot more money. so I wouldn’t have to actively track and micromanage the amount I spend.

if I get paid weekly for stuff for me, and as-needed (roughly monthly) for bills, despite being two separate things to keep track of, it means that I always know exactly how much I have to spend on myself in a given week/day (however much I have above imaginary zero is free game), but I also always know how much work I have left to do in order to cover my bills (because the total of what I have so far is sitting isolated in the working space).

my brain is full of holes and if I’m only getting double digits each week and nothing else it requires a lot of careful managing to make sure I save enough for my monthly payments which may trigger a perception of famine for random strings of time, but if I’m only getting $100-200 each month and nothing else it requires a lot of careful managing and mental gymnastics to actually stagger it out over time and keep myself out of feast-or-famine patterns which probably won’t be manageable.

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winterisakiller · 4 years ago

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Sweet Jesus the amount of mental gymnastics to even make that idea a remote possibility are staggering in their sheer amount of incredulity.

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noahromeroarchives · 8 years ago

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But even if we won't admit it to ourselves, We'll walk upon these streets and think of little else. [x]

Noah realized he hadn’t actually had a destination in mind when he and Lia had parted ways. His classes were over, and he was here with his knapsack, still in uniform. The chances of him visiting the common room in the next few hours were extremely slim-- Lia had been headed in that general direction, and he was hardly about to take the chance of appearing in the midst of whatever she was going through. His nerves were too shot to even consider starting on his class work, so he adjusted course from the library, which was across the castle from the Gryffindor Tower and made for the outdoors. Stuffing his robes into the bag, Noah found an empty courtyard and settled onto the stone steps there. He gave himself a moment to listen to the burbling of the fountain as he packed his cigarettes absently against his palm. This wasn’t sitting right with him. He hadn’t expected it to, but today’s wordless farewell had left him with a sense of apprehension he was unfamiliar with. The cigarette hung unlit from his lips for almost a full minute of mute reflection before he could be bothered to light it.

By the time Noah made his way into his dormitory after a few hours in solitude at the library, nearly all of Gryffindor was silent. Whatever was looming at the bottom of his bed gave him a moment’s pause, and he drew close to find a neat stack of sweaters. His sweaters. The quiet seemed to ring in Noah’s ears. Too-quiet. There was no note, no indication that she had even returned the clothing herself, but the finality of it seemed to hit Noah like a bludger to the chest. That was that, accounts were settled, there wasn’t a reason for him to contact her. He placed the sweaters into his trunk, unusually finicky about keeping them as pristine as he’d found them. Figuring it was too late now to put any real thought into it, he tried to get some sleep. Noah stared awake for hours instead, mind unhelpfully flashing through scenario after scenario. Himself apologizing as they stood outside Politics, time turning back in order to do so. Apologizing when he saw her next, or pointedly waiting for her in the common room tomorrow morning so they would have a chance to talk. Even have a blowout fight if they had to, just to clarify precisely what the return of his sweaters meant. He’d known even when he had pretended even to himself that this was just another squabble that would blow over. He knew what it meant when every breath seemed to ache.

Noah would have had to be blind in order to not notice the way his classmates had taken to watching his every move. The abrupt end of Noah and Lia was apparently far more interesting than anything else a fully-restored magical castle and surrounding grounds could possibly offer. There were one or two brave souls who attempted to coerce information out of Noah, though even he couldn’t see why. He had never been a conversationalist, and the fact that he stonewalled each and every question or wayward comment about Lia-- however indirect-- meant that people were quick to keep their inquiries and their opinions to themselves. Even after his own staunch refusal before, Noah found himself disturbing the unspoken seating chart of Politics. Lewis had moved to sit beside him next class, and Noah silently packed up his things and relocated. That sense of guilt last class had become some grim sense of deja vu, and Noah would be damned if he felt it ever again. Lewis seemed to pick up on his intentions, and although she still worked with him in class, didn’t attempt to sit with him again. No one had to ask why Noah felt the need to be left alone. He wasn’t entirely sure that he had an opinion on the matter to voice in the first place, only really identifying a restless sort of curiosity that had him taking note of everyone who was in a room when he entered it. It was partially hopeful, but another part really seemed to want to be miserable. The biggest change he noticed was how much quieter things were. He had time to study and even get in some extra play with the chess club. He tried to pretend it didn’t make him feel lonely. Grace had reached out once, businesslike. The brief conversation left Noah feeling simultaneously better and worse, which he figured sounded about right. His birthday was uneventful, but Noah wouldn’t have had it any other way. Rowan Goode had rather tartly informed him over breakfast one day that Lia was having a party for her birthday, and he could come if he so chose-- Lia certainly didn’t care. Noah had no choice but to accept that as a gracious invitation, but found himself staying in that night. His roommates stumbled home from the party, drunker than skunks. He told himself he’d made a good decision because of how much studying he was able to get done, but the reality that seeing Lia and being drunk seemed like such a lethal combination he was not yet ready to face. He was apparently not yet ready to face her at all, right up until their Defense exam. Halfway through his essay about the Patronus charm, he’d been letting his gaze wander throughout the hall as his mind groped desperately for some word when he settled on Lia. Her shoulders were hunched and she was scribbling furiously away at her own exam. They were seated a few desks apart, with Lia staggered forward. Her hair was up and it caught the sunshine that fell from the high windows. It was an unfortunate time to be reminded that he missed the way she smelled. She was angled just right, so that Noah’s eyes could follow the slope of her nose, the way her lips twisted thoughtfully to the side. The proctor cleared his throat and gave Noah a mistrustful look. Small favor that it wasn’t her who’d seen him just staring like an idiot. Feeling his neck generate enough heat to warm a muggle home all winter, Noah’s chin ducked and he returned to his own essay. He tried very hard not to make any sort of eye contact right up until he arrived at Kings Cross, although being home wasn’t exactly a reprieve.

He had been dreading coming home. Taking a chance on something that had been so uncertain really wasn’t his style and even mentioning a girlfriend to his parents didn’t seem like something Noah would ever do. Now there wasn’t a girlfriend in the picture, Noah still suspected that would be a conversation, too. He shouldn’t have worried. Noah had a new sister to meet, after all. There was a literal precious infant to draw attention from the fact that he was more reserved than usual. He had to suppose Piper was even cute in her own terrifying way. It took Noah nearly a full week to even attempt to hold her. The experience was one he considered on par with defusing a bomb-- you seemed to get used to it.He was convinced he’d given his parents the slip, until, of course, his father cornered him days before Noah was due at his mother’s. “You shouldn’t keep everything all tucked away inside you,” his father advised, guessing rather than being told just what had gone wrong. “Having someone around to open up to can’t be all bad, can it?” Noah, unsurprisingly, didn’t offer any sort of answer to that. By the time he got to his mother’s house, Noah sorely wished for something to do. Half the summer was over, and it really looked like no one was looking to hire seasonal workers mid-season. His was convinced the remainder of the holiday would be spent being largely bored out of his mind, until he was rather forcibly recruited by a cherubic librarian to shelve books at the library. The quiet suited him, and the Dewey Decimal System was straightforward, but didn’t leave him a lot of time to let his mind wander. No Head Boy badge arrived, just his supply list for seventh year, and the fact of it didn’t bother Noah as much as it would have a few months ago. His drive in that line of his life had tapered off significantly. It really wasn’t worth how much he would have had to give in order to show up Cheshire, and even now Noah wasn’t sure they were even still friends.

Noah couldn’t remember a time where he wasn’t excited to go back to school. This year packing his trunk did feel more like a chore than anything else. He told himself there were a multitude of factors involved. He had almost no new materials for his classes. Being halfway through his NEWTs, his classes had been finalized last year and most of the work was just continuing from where they’d stopped. He was already dreading both the courseload and the work that would be waiting for him as a prefect. The student body had quadrupled over the summer, meaning he’d be responsible for that many more patrols. There was nostalgia, too, since it would be his final year. It was hard to get excited about something drawing to an end, wasn’t it? His mother took him to Kings Cross, but only after a breakfast in town in lieu of walking him all the way to the train platform. Neither one of them was big on dramatic goodbyes, so this arrangement suited them both admirably. “Noah! Hi!” His head turned reflexively to the redhead who seemed to appear at his elbow. Dangerously close to it, Noah reflected absently as he thanked himself for not elbowing Lewis full in the face. That’d be a scene he didn’t need, no matter how many passersby were capable of a quick episkey. “Hey, Lewis. What’s up?” Noah asked, taking a step to the side to put the preferred amount of space between himself and the Ravenclaw. He scanned the teeming crowd as she answered, knowing exactly who he was looking for though he was hard-pressed to say why. “...Did you have a nice holiday? I wouldn’t know, since you didn’t call me.” Noah’s brows knit for a moment, focusing on Lewis only to find she had inched a bit closer again. Lia hadn’t been so far off the mark after all. That really sucked. He took another step back, starting the appropriate mental gymnastics to explain why he’d never bothered to call someone he had no interest in. And then his gaze hooked on that familiar face. A deep breath in didn’t do much to remedy the fact that the entire train station felt airless. Noah’s hand lifted to rub absently against his solar plexus. Not a physical ache, he knew, but he could try. Lia drew closer and he felt rather than saw his unwanted companion’s head tilt to assess Lia, and then him, and Lia again. Lewis began to address Lia with the confidence of someone who clearly didn’t care if they lived or died, only to be interrupted mid-greeting. “Piss off.” Noah stared impassively back as Lia strode past. Not surprising in the slightest, but still more subdued than he’d been expecting. He took the opportunity to offer a weak ‘what can you do?’ shrug as a farewell and put some distance between himself and Lewis. He was on the train for want of something to do, managing to direct a few startled looking first years before stowing his belongings in the Prefects’ car. It was fairly deserted-- everyone had people to see before being stowed away for a whole ride’s worth of meetings. Noah didn’t mind the quiet, having discovered he wasn’t in a sociable mood.

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uncheckedtomfoolery · 8 years ago

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EDIT: @rabbiteclair has provided some much-needed insight and correction on the post. SoPM confirms that Miko has eased up on “I need to fix this place by running it”, and has also taken not needing to do this as something of a relief. This means the post is mostly accurate for immediately post-TD Miko. She’s probably still really into politics and the like since she hasn’t exactly gone into scholarly seclusion and turned herself into some sort of Taoist Patchouli... but on the other hand, it’s nice not having an obligation per se. And now, onto the original post. Since that Miko-Byakuren post is suddenly picking up some attention, I’m going to take that as incentive to talk about Miko some more, and also Kanako. Specifically, the idea that they are two relentlessly power-hungry people. I disagree, to a point. I agree with the idea that they’re both constantly in search of more power and control. I dispute the idea that this is how they see it in their own eyes. Let’s unpack that a bit, shall we? I might go on a bit, so it’ll be below the cut. Don’t want to make a mess of anyone’s dashboard.

There’s a common thread for the two that I’ll go over in time. First, though, I’ll go over the parts that differ. Let’s begin with Miko. Miko is in her element with politics, and what does that mean, ultimately? Manipulating public opinion and to a degree, private opinion; that is, the thoughts and emotions of people around her. Not out of malice, no. It’s a sort of craftsman’s pride, in the end. It’s difficult, engaging work which you happen to enjoy and take pride in. Dealing with people and what they think of her, working through a complicated web of connections and negotiations day in and day out... sure, it sounds exhausting, but this is what she lives for. That’s why she doesn’t ever really stop. Someone’s plotting against her? Hey, cool, free speed chess. Unexpected complications? Well, that’ll keep things interesting. Waking up after over a thousand years, to an unfamiliar world that takes away everything she knows, and most of her old power? Not a problem, she likes a challenge. None of it is arduous, because this is what she does for fun.

Kanako, on the other hand, has had close brushes with non-existence a couple times in the outside world. I’d wager that getting beaten up by an approximately normal human (let’s face it, ‘normal’ for Reimu is stretching things) was a nasty shock too, and not the best first impression of how things are going to be in Gensokyo going forward. It’s easy to view her goals as egotistical, and I mean, sure. Ego the size of Jupiter, just look at her. I’ll leave you to decide whether I mean the planet or the god, neither is a bad choice here. Regardless. Worship is not a matter of power or pride alone; it’s synonymous with survival for her. Stop, and you fade away; something that seems all too real after how close she’s come to exactly that. In the end, she might not admit it to anyone, and she might not even know it consciously, but Kanako is scared. Failure is not an option. Now, the common thread. Altruism. I know, it sounds crazy! They’re not good people, frankly. Mental gymnastics are something else, though. It’s a bit like that old idea that royalty is a terrible burden, a grave responsibility that’s not to be envied. Given how most kings, queens and the like conducted themselves in the distant past, it’s pretty clearly a philosophy concocted to help some people feel good about themselves: “Look at me lording over these peasants, oh, the things I do for these people” is kind of a hard sell. Still, the idea exists. And so we arrive at Kanako and Miko. Most of all, why do they want to be in charge? At least in their minds, it’s because being a leader is a matter of personal responsibility. Gensokyo is better off in their hands, and under their leadership. With that in mind, don’t they owe it to everyone to be in charge? It’s just the moral thing to do. Sure, some others will complain, but when did other people ever know better, or even know what’s good for them? So there you have it: Approximate altruism, through staggering amounts of hubris. ...But that’s enough of playing devil’s advocate for one day, I think.

#Touhou #Long post #Toyosatomimi no Miko #Kanako Yasaka #Analysis

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trendingnewsb · 7 years ago

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5 Ways Disney Can’t Stop Screwing Up Star Wars

Star Wars. You love it! You think it’s great. But what if Star Wars stopped being great? That would be bad, right? And bad things aren’t great! Everybody knows that! Seeing as how we’re all in agreement here, let’s talk about the possibility that Disney’s entire strategy for Star Wars might be, as a whole, actually madly deeply verifiably bad. I know it’s painful to fathom such a terrible possibility — I mean, The Last Jedi looks just bonkers — but I can’t help to notice a few glaring red flags. Bad flags. So without further ado …

So Far, The New Movies Seem Afraid To Take Chances

For staunch Star Wars nerds burnt out by years of jackass Expanded Universe stories, adding to the Star Wars canon sometimes feels like writing new chapters to the Bible wherein Jesus comes back to fight ISIS with the aid of a talking car. And seeing as how the folks in charge of Star Wars are the ones who grew up on it, the new films feel a smidge unadventurous at times.