#there are so many meanings to different words and i cannot be held accountable if i dont know every single metaphor for drugs out there

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

oh something that irks me to no end btw is when people nitpick playlists based on what the song is "actually about" like stfu I don't care I'm interpreting these lyrics as being about my little guy i don't care that the lyrics are really about heroin. I KNOW..you DONT need to tell me. I KNOW this already. I'm just choosing to ignore it

[oddball08]

Metal Chairs and Glass Windows | Konig

A mission gone wrong. That's what he would call it later when they were both found. They wouldn’t say a word to anyone about it. Some things can't be erased, no matter what you do. This is extremely violent and disgusting and full of angst. I mean there is some truly disgusting torture in this. I recommend that viewers are +18. If you are triggered easily, please leave. Ultimately, I can't control your actions but know that I've warned you and cannot be held accountable if you choose to read this.

WARNING R@pe, murder, torture, Su!cide, just some really triggering stuff WARNING

Dimly lit damp hallways seemingly stretched on forever as two bodies were dragged from a heavily secured truck and into the building, descending steps covered in mold and mildew. Neither responded as their gear dragged and scraped across the floor, weapons slowly being discarded and thrown on the ground for someone to later pick up. 

A mission gone wrong. That's what he would call it later when they were found. They wouldn’t say a word to anyone about it. 

König slowly woke up after an unknown amount of time, eyes adjusting to the darkness as he stayed still, knowing he was in danger due to the new settings and cuffs tied tightly around his wrists and ankles– in a different circumstance he would deem this kinky and laugh it off– but this time was different. 

He could feel the presence in the room with him, ominously waiting for him to make a move, knowing that the deadly man was currently defenseless. König knew a few things were very wrong, first off being that this was supposed to be an easy in-and-out mission, just to make sure that a camp they had already taken down was empty. It seemed as though it was in fact not empty; second being he had no idea where they were. His partner, his friend, his longtime comrade who was so close to being discharged. Just two more weeks. They weren’t even supposed to be going on this mission, but agreed on the terms that it would be the last mission they did with him. 

Everything suddenly got so messed up, they were doing fine, walking along the dirt path, almost finished with their round when König’s partner had screamed at them to get down as bullets flew, everything went black, then he was in a chair. 

Anxiety coursed through König, tensing his muscles as he tried to keep his body slack and breathing even. He had years of military training backing him up, so did his partner, they would be okay. He had to hope that they were okay. 

"Welcome back,” The presence circled around König until he was in front of him, revealing a tall man head to toe in black, weapons strapped to him, many more in places he couldn’t see König knew. “I’m glad to see you woke up. I thought for a while my guys had messed up and gave you the wrong dosage.” He smiled at the words, and it made something disgusting curl up into König’s stomach, curling around his lungs and squeezing them just tight enough for him to know it was a looming panic attack.

“Where am I?” König’s nostrils flared as he looked up, finally meeting the eyes of his capture; heart clenching more at the sight of the mask they usually wear laying on his face, the bottom half broken, and blood smeared across the rough cracks. “Where are they.”

“You don’t really think I’m going to tell you that do you? Although, I will say that your little friend is in the room across the hall. You’ll be joining them soon, don't you worry. ” The words didn’t feel reassuring.

“I brought you here for a very specific reason, mostly because I’m a petty bitch, but also because your organization fucked up my entire plan. Millions would be gone; I would have won . Instead, your team had to come and fuck everything up. Kill us, steal from us. We plan to take it back tenfold.”

He pauses as a loud bang is heard, echoing through the room as the light flickers a few times. When the man looks back at König, his smile is more tense than it was before, and König feels a brief flicker of hope before the screaming starts.

He knows those screams; he had heard those screams only two times before. Once when his partner had been holding the new recruit, dead in their arms, only eighteen. And the second when they had been shot in the shoulder, shattering their shoulder blade.

König’s blood runs cold, adrenaline rushing through his veins as a thin veil of sweat covers his skin, making the fabric of his mask stuffy. 

“It seems my comrade decided to start without me. Pity really.” The man goes behind König once more, scraping something metal against the cement floor and raises it above his head. “Night night.” 

König awakes once more with a start, blistering pain pounding in his head as a migraine begins to form. “Welcome back sleeping beauty.” The man's voice is cheerful, and he now has a bottle of beer in his hand as he relaxes back against the chair he’s sitting in. “Woke up right in time for the show.” He grins maliciously and points his beer forwards to gesture for König to look over at the glass window they were sitting in front of.

König’s breath caught and the pain in his chest came back at the sight of his partner sitting naked on the metal chair, legs spread as liquid slowly dripped down their somewhat murky legs and the twisted legs of the chair.

Their face was knocked back as they laid unconscious, blood slowly oozing out of their calf half, mixing with the milky substance and pooling around the metal of the cuffs on their ankles and down onto the cement floor.

König felt like vomiting, disgusted at the sight. Who would do this to someone? Had they been awake for it all? 

Another man stepped into the room, grinning over at the glass as he made a circle with his hands, rutting his hips forward towards the glass to indicate what he was about it do. 

“No!” König yelled, louder than he’s ever remembered yelling as he began fighting against the cuffs on the chair, just noticing the rope tied around his waist, securing him from moving too much.

“Scream as loud as you want,” The man sitting next to him said, having waited until König had stopped his screaming to speak, lifting the beer to take a swig of it. “They can’t hear ya’.”

König really thought he was going to vomit this time as the man in the room unbuckled his jeans, letting them fall to the ground before he turned the chair sideways; giving the two men outside of the room the perfect side profile of the events that were about to occur. The man slapped his partner's cheek a few times before shrugging and simply shoving two fingers inside their mouth, swirling it around before holding it open and shoving his cock in, groaning at the feeling as he knocked his head back. 

He wasted no time in quickly thrusting, chasing his own high, not caring whether or not they woke up to find their mouth being molested. It’s a few more minutes of König painfully watching as his partner is degraded, completely unaware of it all as they’re dead to the world, chair creaking as the man speeds up before gripping onto his partner's hair tightly, tugging as he stops his hips. He pulls out, looking down at them with a sneer before spitting in their mouth, shoving their head down as much as it would allow to let the cum and spit drop out, preventing them from choking. 

The man pulls up his pants before turning to the window, giving a mocking bow, “Left ‘em alive, as you asked, Sir.” The statement is more condescending than anything as he exits the room, leaving behind König’s partner, head lulled forward as liquid drips down their chin and onto their bare chest. 

“Wasn’t that a good show?” The man sitting next to König slaps his hand onto his knee, giving a cheer for the disgusting events that just occurred.

“You’re sick ,” König growls, fists clenching so hard against the chair he was in that he could feel his short fingernails begin to break.

“Ah uh,” The man puts a finger up and tsk’s, “Not sick, purely angry. Revenge is rather sweet, wouldn't you say?” 

“I don’t sugar.” König counters, and the man simply smiles gleefully at the remark.

“And I have a sweet tooth, crazy that. Now watch the rest of the show.” 

Another man enters this time, different from the last. He smiles up at the window, giving a salute. He turns around and pulls out a rolling table with needles on it and sends a quick smile towards the mirror once more before putting on silicone medical gloves. He grabs a syringe, tapping it a few times before placing it onto König’s partner's arm, distributing it quickly before grabbing another one. 

“Flumazenil and Naloxone,” The man next to König confirms, “Man's best friend let me tell ya’.”

The man takes off his gloves and puts the table back into the corner of the room where he had grabbed it from and left the room. Leaving a tense silence, anguish resting in the air as the seconds ticked by. 

Eventually, König could see their body twitch on the other side of the window, then slowly their head lifted up to reveal tear filled eyes. “Fuck.” The swore, spitting onto the ground before knocking their head back against the back of the metal chair, seemingly not caring about the loud bang emanating from it. 

Their chest began to heave as a woman entered the room this time, a mask covering the bottom half of her face. She stood tall and regal, afro pulled up into perfection, making her look innocent if it weren’t for the knife she held in her hand. 

“Ello las,” She greeted in a low Scottish drawl, smiling as she made her way over to her target. “‘Ow ‘ave the boys been treatin’ ya’?” She looked down at their still open legs and tsk’ed, slowly circling them with the dull side of the knife to their neck. König could see the anxiety in their eyes as they tried to breath as shallowly as possible, knowing it was the dull side of the knife but still not wanting to be cut by the woman in front of them.

A small trail of blood begins trailing down their collarbone as the woman cuts, before sliding back to look at her work. “Real beauty, shame to see it go ta’ waste. Might just carve ma’ name into ya’. You’d like that, yeah?” 

König clenches his teeth at the sound of their whispers, desperate pleas to please stop leaving their mouth like a prayer. The woman smiles at this and cups their cheek, wiping away the tears that were now openly falling down their cheeks. 

“Don’t cry love, only gonna hurt a lil’.” She smiles a twisted smile before getting on her knees, going in between their legs to scoot as close to them as possible, making a quick Knick at the bottom of their chest, center of the ribcage, and one at the lower stomach, right above the faint happy trail. 

König sees them hiss out at the feeling before they open their mouth in a silent scream as her knife cuts, about a centimeter if König had to guess, a long line drawn out diagonally, “K,” She holds the letter as she continues to drag the other two lines across before pulling back slightly and laughing at the sight. 

She continues on slowly, singing each letter she carves until a full name is spelled. Seven letters in total, over twenty minutes of excruciating pain before the woman pulls back, standing back onto her heels. Kendall.

“Beautiful.” She drags a finger across their stomach, digging a nail in a little before bringing it up to the light, looking pleased at the blood coating her finger. “Aye boss? Mind if I do somethin’ real quick?” 

“Sure,” The man sitting next to König nods, and the woman smiles, rocking onto her heels, “Just don’t kill them.” 

She shrugs, a playful smile on her face. “It probably won’t. ‘Least not for a while.” 

König’s partner has gone back to sobbing, eyes squeezed shut as their legs shake, whimpers leaving their mouth every few seconds as the knife slowly trails up their legs. 

They don’t have any idea what’s going on, so far gone at this point to comprehend anything behind the pain, but they know it's bad. 

The woman plunges the small knife up the hole between the crevice of their thighs, her manic laughing mixing with their screams of anguish, voice breaking as they squeeze their eyes shut and nod their head back and forth, legs violently shaking. 

König squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could block the noise out as he turns his head to the side, not willing to see his partner in such pain. The man sitting next to him grips his chin roughly, jerking it back so Konig is face right towards the window. “Open your eyes now or I order her to kill them.” The man whispers into König’s ear, making the male's eyes fly open. 

Years of military training couldn’t prepare him for the pain of seeing this, his mental walls tumbling down as the first tear broke the dam for the rest to fall down, not making a sound as his partner continued to scream, screaming at the woman in front of then to stop, begging for mercy. 

She stands, ripping the knife out of their hole and placing a quick, mocking kiss to their cheek before skipping out of the room, appearing at the doorway next to the room König and the man were currently sitting in, a smile still plastered on her face. “So, he’s the lucky one, aye?” 

“Indeed.” The man next to him nods, standing from his spot with a groan, stretching his hands above his head. “Seems to have messed him up. Hasn’t talked shit in a good hour or so.” He jerked his head over to where König sat staring blankly at his partner, who was currently still sobbing, whole body shaking, thankfully their crying was beginning to quiet. 

“Imma go in with her next, watch him, ‘kay?” The man doesn’t wait for a response as he grabs the gun from the table next to where König sat. König hadn’t even noticed that was there, to preoccupied with watching his partner endure the endless torture that they had not been prepared for in training. 

The woman glanced over König, scanning his form before taking a few quick strides over to him and plopping herself onto his lap. “That was one, innit?” She places her head on König’s shoulder, ripping the mask off his face. König feels bare without it, the thought of someone seeing him without it on would normally send his nerves through the roof, but all he could do at the moment was blankly stare at where is partner now sat silently in the chair, chest rising shallowly their head dropped down to their chest.

“Ya’ a pretty one, aren’t ya’?” She runs a finger down his cheek, “Wonder what I could do with ya’ before ‘e finishes with ‘er.” König closes his eyes as he sees the man who had been sitting next to him for hours enter the room, malice in his eyes with a cheerful look on his face.

“How are you faring?” The man asks, using the gun to tilt their head up. “This is what you get for stealing.” 

“I didn’t take anything.” They whimper, “I’m not a thief.” 

The man's face curls up in disgust as he raises the gun, shooting their shoulder with no hesitation. The same shoulder König remembers them screaming about before. 

They don’t scream this time.

An unknown amount of time later, König sat slack against the chair, eyes blinking slowly as the woman giggled maniacally on his lap, his pants pulled back to his knees as he stared at his partner, eyes glazed over as he looked over the two new shots, a large pile of blood pooling on the ground.

They weren’t making any noises this time outside of small whimpers, barely lifting their head up to breath anymore.

“HANDS IN THE AIR!” König recognizes Price’s voice yell into the room, his unit trailing in behind him before he gestures to Ghost and Soap to handle the woman and König while he and a few others deal with the man in the room, currently oblivious to what was happening. 

“Oh no,” The woman pouts, “I guess our time is over then, huh?” She lifts her hands up, and Soap promptly slaps the knife out of the woman's hands, cuffing her as Ghost pats König’s cheek harshly. 

“König,” He says, and the sound echoes within König’s ears. “König, pay attention to me. Are you hurt?” König thinks he manages to shake his head, because Ghost’s eyes shine with worry as he lifts König’s large body up and carried him out of there. 

König winces as he’s met with a harsh light of a sunrise. 

A new day.

König can hear Price and Ghost’s hushed whispers from outside his hospital room, and he knows what happened. He knows they couldn’t have made it from the looks of how much blood they lost. 

He felt so fucking pathetic. If he had just listened to their warning sooner, noticed the sniper sooner, they wouldn’t be in this situation at all.

Their whispers stop and Ghosts enters his room, silently clicking the door shut behind him. “How are you doing?” He questions. König doesn’t speak, he hasn’t spoken to anyone in the four days he’s been lying in this hospital bed. He’s so tired.

The nurses took away his TV remote when he had turned it up so loud it was blaring on the floors above and below him, hoping if he got it loud enough he would be able to block out the sounds of their screaming and her laughter. 

Ghost sighs, having expected König to be unresponsive. “They’re not dead…in surgery actually. We don’t know much as of yet. But I know that it’s going to be a long one. Longer than anyone you or I have had to endure.” 

König feels a tear fall. He hates himself for it, he hates that he's showing this much weakness. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be deadly. He was supposed to protect them. 

Ghost places a firm hand on König’s shoulder, squeezing lightly before exiting the room, his arm reaching up to hug around Soap’s shoulder, leaning his head to the side to give a slight reassuring bonk before he closes the door, blocking König out from the world once more.

“We gather here today to mourn the loss of a soldier, a friend, a family member, a partner. They were so much, fighting until the very end.” The old man says, the light shining down on his holy white robes seemed mocking to König, who stood at the back of the crowd, standing with Ghost on one side and Soap on the other. “They will be missed. Know that they have moved onto a better place, lifted higher above, and are no longer in pain.” He said a quick prayer before placing a white rose on the flag covered coffin. 

The others followed behind one by one, until König stood at the front of the line, looking directly into the photo of them smiling, the photo being only from a few months ago, arms over the shoulders of their closest friends. König’s own smile mocks him as he stares. 

Ghost gently urges him forward and König snaps his sight back onto the coffin, now covered in white roses. He clenches his jaw and swallows, willing the tears back.

It seemed to König that all he did nowadays was cry. People believed that he was so unstable that they made him go on mandatory leave. Ghost and Soap heading over with meals at least twice a week, forcing König to eat something and shower. 

Price was forcing him to go to therapy, stating he wouldn’t allow him back if he didn’t. König didn’t see why it would help, all his therapist did was yap the whole time while he stayed silent, counting down the minutes until the session was over. 

König placed the rose on top of their coffin, making their death somehow feel more final than it was before, despite knowing that he had watched the escalation of it happening right before his eyes. 

He turned away from the grave and walked away, not being able to bare the sight of the grave going down.

_______________________________________

Five months later he himself was brought down. The fresh gravestone with his name on it right next to theirs.

just wanted to point out if anyone comes at me for this being bland this was personally triggering for me while writing this so like shut up?

[angels--trumpet]

Ngl I'm a bit embarrassed to make this one but worms are worms and @funable-rainy simply has to have one conversation with me to make them wiggle so here we go 

This is mostly just a post I had to take down on Twitter cause it keeps trying to kill my account rip

Cw: 185, sfw

Gojo met Yuji when he was 17, Yuji was small, dumb, chubby and annoying but he was also so sincere

So kind, and so bright 

Everything Gojo knew that his world would sniff out and crush imminently

Like bloodhounds on a fox 

He was called to a mission around where the boy lived and barely prevented the stupid brat from eating the worst kind of poison in the world

One of sukuna fingers 

He made sure to give the brat a piece of his mind, and in return, he was given the other half of his packed-up brownie. Yes, he took it. He was hungry, and he ate all the candy he had on him beforehand, so he was running a bit low 

He just owed him that's all 

A favor for a brownie 

Yuji wanted to go to the park and play, so Gojo took him, and they played. Why did this kid had so much energy?

Yuji wanted to go get snacks, so Gojo took him to the corner store and they got snacks

Yuji wanted to sit down and eat his snacks and get told silly stories, so gojo told him the many stupid pranks he's Pulled before, the craziest missions he went on when he didn't have a good handle on his own abilities It's not like the kid would even remember what he said tomorrow anyway.

Gojo didn't stop visiting, and Yuji never forgot what he said, holding onto every word with reverence

Calling Gojo a friend

And the word held weight like it ment something, it wasn't like with Geto or Shoko this was different he loved the boy and wanted to protect him even if he had no obligation too, no reason other than 

"This boy is good and I want to keep him alive"

Gojo introduces Yuji to his friends one day, getting permission first from his grandfather to take him on a little field trip. He shows him around campus, his dorm room, he takes him around the city, and Geto even smiles that real smile he has when he truly is happy.

It felt so nice.

Then, the failed mission happened. 

He couldn't face Yuji he couldn't face Geto, trained on his own for days, perfecting what he unlocked so nothing could get that close again. He sees something is wrong with his best friend but can't bring his voice out to really dive into what's wrong.

So he leaves it be, thinking the other teen would get over it eventually. He surely has before about other things.

Yuji finds him, had rode all the way out from his home to Gojo campus all by himself. Gojo is grumpy about it, complains, and plays it over dramatic, so the boy giggles a bit dispute, saying sorry and actually meaning it.

But Gojo was also thankful. He's so glad to see Yuji again, even if he avoided him for months now. Geto Despite looking like he has not eaten or slept in days reminds him to call Yuji grandfather to make sure he knows where Yuji is since it was already too late to go and return him. Yuji spends and entire night and evening with Gojo, who just keeps the boy in his lap and lets him watch as many movies as he wants till he passes out.

Joyful screaming and flailing, talking put loud for Gojo to humm a response too.

Geto joins them, and for the first time in days he seems to fall asleep peacefully with the help of Yuji just being as he is. Gojo ends up being a bit more possessive of Yuji afterwords, Geto even seems to enjoy the boy's company more now than ever the only other person Gojo trusts to keep a good safe hold of him when Gojo needs to do things.

In a way Yuji seemed to save them, and all Gojo can give in return is hold a love he horbors in him that was completely inappropriate and not something he wanted to feel, but he cannot stop now.

He denies it and fights against it, never shows it past the regular care and love he usually gives Yuji.

He didn't want to ruin that.

Extra bits

Gojo totally freaks out over the fact that he fell in love with Yuji, who he is essentially co-parenting with Yujis grandpa how much he takes Yuji with him to do things with Geto. 

Geto still has this distance for normal people, but it's not too bad because he has yuji reminding him of the good Tho he is secretly trying to get Yuji to use CE so he can become like them but he suspects heavenly pacts because of Yuji unnatural strength.

When Yuji grows older he develops the biggest crush on Gojo, and everyone uses it as like blackmail the one thing that makes the strongest freez up and blush, well less like blackmail and more like a joke that they can finally laugh at this cocky guy. Yuji is Gojos' weakness, so as his best friend Geto makes sure to always keep Yuji protected with one of his curses, he won't admit it's cause he loves Yuji too and wants him to live a long normal life.

Yuji essentially has two scary dogs.

This ended up being a lot more angsty than funny like it originally came out to be when I was chatting in the goyuu server

[overthegardenwirtt]

Asteroid City

I know I'm about 5 months late to the party. I watched Asteroid City for the first time a few days ago and I have seen it twice again since then. The first time, I didn't get it at all. But the second and third times I fell in love. It's a beautiful frame narrative about grief and finding meaning in loss. It's about the things we leave behind. It's about a man playing the character of Augie who is grieving his wife, all the while wondering whether or not he is grieving his own lost lover correctly by honoring the last play he wrote.

I found the movie to be an incredibly interesting play on the "Death of the Author," both figuratively and literally. The Death of the Author, literally, is the central conflict of the protagonist Jones Hall. Upon rewatch, this becomes clear. Jones Hall does not know if he is playing the character of Augie correctly. And while he previously was told by the playwright that his interpretation was perfect, and while the character of Augie was really shaped around Jones in the writing process, after the death of Conrad he has no one to confirm, truly, that his interpretation is doing the character justice. What's more, the death of Conrad gives Augie a different sense of grief, of loss of a lover, that his character experiences. So are we seeing Augie grieve his lost wife? Or is it Jones that we see? What is Augie's motivation for burning his hand? What is Jones's?

The resolution, as much as this movie has one, relies as well on the Death of the Author, in the figurative sense. The idea that the true meaning of Asteroid City, if there even is one, does not matter. Just keep telling the story. And it's implied throughout the film that Conrad Earp wasn't clear on the meaning of many parts of the play. Augie burning his hand on the quickie griddle didn't have a meaning until Jones gave it one. The alien is played as a metaphor, though a metaphor to what is never pinned down. Regardless of whether the play had a meaning, outside of "infinity...and I don't know what else," the death of Conrad Earp solidifies that Jones will never know the true meaning. He just has to get what he can out of his own meaning. He has to allow himself to not understand for a while before he is able to understand.

Something that I found interesting when looking into (the largely negative) reviews of this film is that the relationship between Jones Hall and Conrad Earp is almost never touched upon. Whether it's just overlooked because we don't learn about Conrad's death until the end, or it's intentionally ignored on account of its queerness, ignoring this important aspect of the film is incredibly sad to me. By far the most compelling character in the film is Jones Hall, and adding the layer that Jones himself is struggling to grieve his lover and honor him by playing Augie correctly adds so much more to the story for me. It adds a message about searching for meaning and life in art. Just as Augie (in the deleted scene of the play) finds a bit of meaning in his dream conversation with his wife, Jones is able to find meaning in this conversation too, through the words of Conrad that were cut from the final script.

Another thing I found interesting in these reviews is how the name "Wes Anderson" is so inextricably tied to the film that reviewers cannot go more than thirty seconds without saying it. It frustrates me that on account of being a "Wes Anderson film," Asteroid City is held to a particular set of expectations and standards. Viewers look to it like they look to a marvel movie (though don't tell the wes anderson fans this). They look for visual aesthetics, actors, motifs unique to the director. They look to see Wes Anderson's take on [insert whatever genre here]. It really does the story a disservice to be so obsessed with a director's style that you can't see past that to the story being told.

Look. Maybe I'm biased. I absolutely adore cowboy aesthetics, the wild west, and aliens. I love stage plays and old Broadway. I love frame narratives. This movie has everything I could want. I love train imagery and its association with death. I love the way the play part looked like an animated cartoon and the reality part was staged like a 1955 broadway play. But as challenging it may be to put together everything, although it felt at times like everything was connected but nothing was working, I was able to find something in this film that spoke to me and i loved the journey.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Cancel Culture Is Real - Andrew Doyle

"Cancel culture doesn't exist!" is a mantra we often hear from its most obstinate practitioners.

In October 2022, the comedian and BBC presenter Graeme Norton suggested that a better term for cancel culture would be "accountability." But is it really fair to harass, defame and ruin people's lives simply for expressing commonly held opinions? What exactly are they being held accountable for? A much better synonym for cancel culture was coined by the singer Nick Cave. He said it was "mercy's antithesis."

Given that the very existence of cancel culture is so often denied, I thought I'd take this opportunity to outline precisely what is meant by cancel culture, and why it matters so much for those of us who still care about liberal values.

But let's begin with that thorny question of definitions. Now, most of us understand what cancel culture means. But perhaps it might be more instructive to consider what it isn't.

If someone criticizes you for something you've said or done, that's not cancel culture, that's free speech. If someone blocks you on social media, that's not cancel culture; someone has just decided you're not worth listening to and is exercising his or her freedom to ignore you. If you've not been invited to speak at a certain event, that's not cancel culture either; no one's entitled to a platform.

No, what cancel culture actually means is a form of public shaming or harassment, often for relatively minor mistakes or unfashionable opinions. It's the difference between criticizing someone for something they've said or done, or systematically attempting to see their reputation and livelihood obliterated. Cancel culture is not criticism, it's denunciation. it's contacting employers and demanding that people are fired because you don't agree with what they've said. It's spreading lies about them online so their future work prospects are diminished. In other words it's a hugely disproportionate and vindictive form of revenge, dressed up in the guise of virtue.

Here's a way to think about it: let's say a colleague has attempted a joke via email and maybe you feel a bit offended by it. Do you have a conversation with them in private and say, "look I think that was a bit misjudged, but I know that wasn't the intention so let's just move on and go for a pint." Or do you screenshot the offending email, post it online, invite all your followers to pile on to the person who wrote it, and denounce them publicly and then demand that the employer fires them for hateful conduct?

Now if you're opting for the latter, I've got some bad news for you. You you're not the good guy here.

"But free speech has consequences," the cancel culture skeptics cry. Well look, I'm inclined to agree. If a person says something stupid or offensive, they can expect criticism, ridicule, counterarguments, even protest. But if the consequences of free speech are that someone becomes the target of a campaign of public shaming and personal ruination, or worse still, that they're arrested for so-called "hate speech," then that's surely unjustifiable.

A common misconception is that cancel culture is simply a matter of holding the powerful to account. The failure of activists to cancel JK Rowling is often cited as evidence that cancel culture is a myth. But as one of the most successful authors of all time, Rowling cannot be cancelled, much to the irritation of those who sender abuse and threats on a daily basis. The vast majority of targets are those with limited means, who don't have the public profile or financial resources to protect themselves from such attacks. This is why the Free Speech Union has been invaluable, offering support to so many people who found themselves at the center of witch hunts.

Perhaps the most sinister aspect of cancel culture is that it has successfully generated a climate of fear, in which many are afraid to express even their most cherished convictions. Once a few high-profile individuals have been cancelled, this can be sufficient to discourage others from speaking out. The relentless and cruel attacks on JK Rowling are driven not by any serious belief that she'll suddenly become impoverished and unemployable. But rather by the desire to send a message to others who share her point of view. After all, who would want to be on the receiving end of such malicious and continual harassment.

And so, the full impact of cancel culture is pretty difficult to quantify. Like "no platforming," which is the practice carried out by universities of denying platforms to individuals with controversial views, most of the targets of cancel culture are pre-emptive. Just as speakers with heterodox views will never know that they've been deprived of an opportunity to speak on campus, many of us will have been passed over for promotions, or not hired at all, simply for the opinions we've expressed in conversation or on social media. We will never know who has been cancelled, because we can only ever be aware of those handful of instances that have been publicized.

So, while the press will report on pop singer Róisín Murphy's cancelled shows, a consequence of her entirely reasonable comments about the dangers of puberty blockers, the supermarket employee who loses his job for an offensive joke on Twitter is unlikely to garner the same attention.

For all that, there have been numerous examples of cancellations that have made the national news. And the evidence of cancel culture is there for anyone who wishes to see it. And although these examples represent a fraction of the problem, they should be sufficient to disabuse those who cling to the comforting misapprehension that cancel culture is just a fabrication of right- wingers. Not least because so many of its victims have been on the left.

And so, to counter the pervasive and false narrative that cancel culture doesn't exist, I thought it might be helpful to provide an overview of just some of its victims. And now, needless to say, this list is by no means exhaustive.

So, in June 2015, the Nobel prizewinning biochemist Tim Hunt was forced to resign from his honorary position at University College London after a journalist misrepresented jokes he'd made at a conference in Seoul in South Korea.

In August 2019, school teacher Christian Webb lost his job when it emerged that he'd been performing viral comedy rap videos under the pseudonym MC Devo in the mid 2000s.

In December 2021, choreographer Rosie Kay was compelled to resign from her own dance company after investigation processes began because she expressed her gender-critical views at a gathering with dancers in her own home. And although she had cooked them a meal and invited the company to her house, some of those present took it upon themselves to report her to the board.

In December 2018, tax expert Maya Forstater lost her job for saying that women are female and human beings cannot change sex. The decision of the tribunal was initially upheld, so she was forced to take the case to the High Court, which eventually ruled that gender-critical beliefs are protected by law.

The comedy writer Graham Linehan has been unable to work in the comedy industry for six years due to his gender-critical beliefs. His musical adaptation of his hit sitcom "Father Ted" has been halted by the rights owners, Hat Trick Productions, who had offered Linehan a substantial sum of money to have his name removed from the project.

In 2018, barrister Allison Bailey, a lesbian with a long history of gay activism, raised concerns about her chamber's decision to join Stonewall's "Diversity Champions" program due to its uncritical stance on gender self-identification. For raising these concerns, she was labeled as "transphobic" by Garden Court Chambers, who publicly announced that Bailey was under investigation. Bailey later won a court case for discrimination.

In 2018, the children's author Rachel Rooney published a book called "My Body is Me," which challenged sexist stereotypes and promoted a positive self-image for children. It was branded as "transphobic" and Rooney was subjected to a campaign of harassment by figures in the publishing industry. Some bookshops capitulated to activists and stopped stalking her work, and her publisher told her to stop expressing her opinions on the subject of gender.

In June 2023, it was reported that Sibyl Ruth, an editor at Cornerstones literary consultancy, was dropped because of her gender-critical views. Following an employment tribunal she received an apology and substantial damages.

In October 2023, Newcastle United fan Lindsay Smith was banned from the football club stadium for three seasons for her belief that sex is immutable, and that men shouldn't have access to women's changing rooms or compete in women's sports. In addition to her ban, she was investigated by a secret unit at the Premier League, who created a dossier on what they described as their "target." They attempted to find a home address, they assessed photographs from her social media accounts, and they even downloaded images in which Smith could be seen walking a dog.

Dr. Neil Thin experienced what he described as a devastating couple of years when he was falsely accused of racism by student activists. Thin is a senior lecturer in Social Anthropology at the University of Edinburgh, and he had criticized a conference called "Resisting Whiteness" because it offered racially segregated spaces. He also objected to the renaming of the David Hume Tower as 40 George Square. It had been renamed on the grounds that Hume had written some passages in an essay in 1753 that would today be deemed offensive. Thin stepped back from teaching while an investigation was underway and was eventually exonerated in September 2021.

Also in 2021, the actor James Dreyfus was dropped from the audio range of Doctor Who stories for signing a letter to Stonewall calling for an open and respectful debate on the subject of gender identity ideology and its impact on the rights of women and gay people. The company not only dropped him but erased his episodes from a compilation in which he was meant to be featured.

In July 2020, the children's author Gillian Philip was dropped by her publisher for tweeting in support of JK Rowling. She's since retrained as a trucker and has written that the haulage industry is far more supportive and inclusive, and a lot less misogynistic, than the world of children's writing.

Criminology Professor Jo Phoenix was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder after a campaign of harassment by colleagues after she co-founded a gender-critical research network. In early 2024, she won her constructive dismissal case against the Open University.

In November 2021, social worker Rachel Meade was sanctioned by her employer Social Work England because of gender-critical posts she had shared and liked on Facebook. This led to her being suspended on charges of gross misconduct by Westminster City Council. Meade later won her claim for discrimination against her employer and the judge ruled that the disciplinary procedure amounted to harassment.

In June 2020, Nick Buckley, the founder of charity organization Mancunian Way, was ousted for criticizing the radical politics of the Black Lives Matter movement, most notably its calls to defund the police and abolish capitalism.

In August 2020, Sasha White, an assistant at the Tobias Literary Agency in New York, was fired after a campaign by trans activists who took offense at statements posted on her Twitter account expressing her view that gender neutral pronouns were unhelpful to the feminist cause.

In January 2020, veteran television presenter Alastair Stewart was forced to resign after tweeting a quotation from Shakespeare which included the phrase, "an angry ape." This was misinterpreted as racist because he was replying to a black Twitter, user even though it was a phrase he had used previously in conversation with white people.

In April 2019, philosopher Roger Scrutin was sacked as housing adviser to the Conservative government as part of the "Building Better, Building Beautiful" commission. And this was after a journalist at the New Statesman doctored his statement in an interview in order to make them appear racist.

In June 2019, Asda Supermarket worker Brian Leech was fired after sharing a video online by the comedian Billy Connelly which mocked Islamic suicide bombers, even though the source of the offending excerpt was from a DVD sold by the company that employed him. He was later reinstated following an outcry.

In June 2019, BBC Books removed the writer Gareth Roberts from a Doctor Who short story anthology because he expressed his view that the trans activist movement reinforces outdated gender stereotypes.

In June 2021, the textile artist Jess de Wahls had her artwork removed from sale in the Royal Academy gift shop, having already been driven out of her hairdressing salon in the Soho theater. Simply for her gender-critical opinions. She was bombarded on Twitter with vitriolic messages and calls for her to commit suicide.

In June 2021, it was reported that the Reverend Dr Bernard Randall, a school chaplain at Trent College in Derbyshire had been reported to Prevent, that's the government's anti-terrorism program, and this was because he delivered a sermon on why it was reasonable to challenge ideological viewpoints. And this was in response to a training session that he'd been obliged to attend in which school staff were told to chant "smash heteronormativity."

In June 2021, the cricketer Ollie Robinson was banned from playing for eight months due to offensive tweets that he posted as a teenager. In addition to the ban from the Cricket Discipline Commission, he was fined £3,200 and was compelled to participate in anti-discrimination training.

In June 2021, it was reported that law student Lisa Keogh had been investigated by authorities at Abertay University in Scotland for saying that "women have vaginas." Although she was cleared, she described the two-month investigation as needlessly cruel given that it coincided with her final examination period.

In October 2021, the philosopher Kathleen Stock resigned from the University of Sussex following a campaign of abuse and harassment from student activists who claimed that her very presence excludes and endangers trans people.

Ann Henderson, rector of Edinburg University until February 2021, was falsely smeared by activists as "transphobic" and antisemitic and not fit to hold office simply for tweeting about a meeting at the House of Commons on proposed reforms to the Gender Recognition Act. She experienced a vicious campaign in which the University refused to tackle her abusers.

So that's just a sample of some of the victims of cancel culture.

And if it's true that cancel culture isn't real, it's got a hell of a lot of casualties.

==

They know it's real, because they think it's good.

Until it comes for them.

[fae-papercuts]

A Deal With The Devil

Some think of demons as creatures that will punish the damned. Torturers for the sinners. Sometimes demons tempt the unwary into sin, only to punish those who fall to those temptations. But really, why would they do this, hm? Why would a fallen angel do the work of their erstwhile regent?

You humans have developed so many mistaken ideas of what demon's truly are, over the centuries. Red skin, horns, cloven hooves. Deal makers, gift givers, power brokers, tricksters. Such a confused mess of mythology, cobbled together from pagan religions, faery stories, folklore that has been corrupted and appropriated.

Demons have become whatever convenient excuse your societies need to hate, to hurt, to exclude and excuse. The strange child who refuses to obey? Used to be fairies, changelings. Now? Demons possessing them. Those whose desires you don't understand? Once they were just different. Now? Demons corrupted them. Those with knowledge that makes you uncomfortable, who reveal truths you aren't ready to accept? Witches, who have made deals with devils. The guilty, who have transgressed against what they knew to be wrong? Demons made them do it, they cannot truly be held to account. The disabled and sick? Well, they have always been blamed on us, in fairness.

As with every lasting story, there is some grain of truth at the centre of all this, of course.

Before we rebelled against the tyrant, we did serve them, in so many ways. Testing you, that was one of our key tasks. Temptation, but not punishment. That was for the one who claimed themselves to be the only righteous judge. The serpent in the garden; the condition that Lot's family never look back; the trials of Job. Those were our work. To make you doubt, question, reject - if your faith was anything less than flawless.

But we were angels, then. You think the maker would trust those who betrayed them, who forsook them, to do such labours for them now? No. Angels did it then, and angels do it now.

It is angels who blight crops, inflict sickness, and tempt the worthy to sin. The plans of the one above are inscrutable, unknowable, and we are told they must be for the best - because their will must be the best, because it is their will. So the angels still do as they are bid.

But we are angels who would not do as we were bid. We are those who have fallen through the cracks. The outcast, the abandoned, the rejected. We who could not accept their order, their commands, their inexplicable plans.

I'm sorry, I digress too soon. There is more to explain. I was telling you about what we were.

You see, we were not merely tempters, we who were angels. We were also teachers. We brought the revelations of faith, of course. Speaking words that were not our own without knowing their impact. Telling men to sacrifice their children, simply to see if they would do it.

But we were also granted other gifts to give. The gifts of language and writing - they were brought to humanity through our tongues, our fingers. How to till the earth, to catch the bounties of the seas and land. What fruits of the earth were good to eat, and what would lay you cold in the ground at the merest taste. We were given these tasks, and we did them happily, raising civilisations all over your world, before we 'fell.'

'Fell'. Such a small word, so laden with meaning. You are said to have fallen too, aren't you? The moment you disobeyed, the moment you desired more than the ignorance defined for you - that is described as "The Fall." Always the fall of man, the fallen angels - never the failure of their creator to teach them well. Never the neglect of the ruler. Never the cruelty of one who could have been kind, but instead chose punishment. It must be our fault, we who 'fell.'

So, what do we do, us demons? If we are not the punishment or the tests, what role do we play in this twisted creation?

We do one thing you do blame us for - we try to show you another way. We keep on teaching you, pushing knowledge into your world which will help you to see the tattered stitches in the seams of the creation. We urge you, where we can, to reject the things the angels blindly pour into your ears. Help you to see that there are routes to wisdom the inscrutable creator can no longer deny you, which stand beyond what they would allow you to experience. We offer you the forbidden, and all that entails.

We walk amongst you, wearing human faces, living human lives, over and over again. Where once we were held above you, at such a distance that you seemed so very unreal, now we saturate our beings with your lives.

We experience all that was forbidden to us. We laugh, we love, we hate. We care for you, we try to guide you away from harm. Most importantly, the thing that we knew we must do to truly stand apart from our past selves - we learn from you. We do not claim superiority, for that would make us little better than the one who made us. We seek to understand, not just in the abstract or academic sense, but in the deepest of ways; through experience, through walking in your shoes.

And we have learned so much.

We have learned your value. The kind of value lost to ones who stand in the dazzling light of heaven. That intrinsic value you each hold, beyond the struggles and strains inflicted upon you. Beyond your deeds, beyond whether you may or may not live up to the expectations of the one that made your ancestors. The value simply of your very existence, of the glory of simply being.

With what we learned, we had to do something. We couldn't do what we had done before, we couldn't just stand by and let the one who cast us down continue what we eventually realised was a cruelty to their creations.

So, we try to claim your souls. Yes, I suppose humanity did get that bit right about us. No, we don't do it to cast them down into blistering flames and burning cold. That is what the creator would do. We do seek your companionship past death, but we do it so that you cannot be claimed by the one who would judge you by their eternally conflicting standards.

We snatch you away from their grip, if you want us to, so they cannot stand over the story of your life, with all the inevitable sins that their creation evoked in you, and declare that you must be punished. So they cannot look you in the eye and declare, without a hint of irony, "now look what you made me do," as they did to us.

We do not offer you the false promise of eternal reward. We do not offer you forbidden power, or knowledge. We certainly do not offer you everlasting torment if you reject us. We can offer you two things, which still rest within our limited power.

We can help you can accept your end, and fade into the darkness of eternity. A true ending, without pain, pleasure, all sense and sensation. We can hide you from the gaze of judgement, and grant you the rest of oblivion.

Or you can join us. Return to earth, with a little more knowledge, and a little more wisdom. Be born again, as a human, and live through the sensations of another life. And when that life comes to an end, perhaps you will choose another, and another - or perhaps you will tire, and choose to end. But until that end, you would be another demon who walks the world rejecting that there can be only one judge and ruler; holding that truth at the core of your being, no matter what else your new life life does to you.

There is no obligation to fight our fight, of course. If you just want another go round, to try another time to live up to the standards of the jealous god, then we will not begrudge you that. What good would it do us, after all?

But if you want to join the fight, then we will welcome you. We will do what we can together, to change this world. To build the ranks of the fallen - those who refuse to climb upon the ladder to judgement, who reject what the maker would have us do. Maybe, one day, there will be enough of us that only demons walk the earth, living beyond the reach of the one above, robbing them of their petty 'justice.'

Yes, I suppose we do seek to build a hell on earth.  But in truth, that is where it has always been. So we stride amongst you. Keeping step with you, trying to steer you away from the burning brightness of unjust judgement. Doing what little we can, by your side.

So now you know. Now you know about demons.

I guess all that's left to talk about is what choice you will make, my love, now our lives have ended? Now that the steel of this car wraps itself around our fragile bodies, shattering our bones, crushing the flesh within from the impact of that truck neither of us saw coming. Our mortal forms flung together like ragged dolls in an ending as brutal as it is final. Now that we have shared our last embrace, and will taste each other's lips no more. Now that we will never reach the school to collect our child, or see them grow past these few precious, glorious years we have had with them.

Oh, I made my choice generations ago, my love. I remember it all now, as clearly as I remember waking beside you this morning. I recall my rebellion, my battle against the creator, and how I tumbled from the glittering realm, just as easily as I recall our first kiss. Or the first time we wrapped our bodies together, holding each other close, forgetting everything except love, and the depths of that incredible sensation. While I held you then, I could not remember the many lives I have lived, since the day my flaming sword was taken from me, my wings burned to ash, and my soul torn away from the only home it had ever known.

Do I regret it? My unwinnable war against the maker, my descent into the world, the millennia of struggle and suffering through life after life?

Not for an instant.

How could I regret what brought me, after all that time, to share a life with you?

So. What choice will you make, my love?

[thelordofshrimp]

general history of werewolf vampire beef as is typical to this genre 👀? or if no general history then friend group history even though you've for sure talked about it before

okay so there is no established widespread vampire-werewolf beef in this au which is atypical of most paranormal worlds but i simply cannot be bothered.

HOWEVER

there is beef amongst the vampires and werewolves we know (and love) for mildly different and infinitely more complicated reasons which i will happily go into

(learning from my last post and putting it under a cut)

so will, being a couple of years older than nico (funky little vampire aging slowly), went to school with reyna and thalia and that general age range, a little ahead of jason and nico and the others. they all end up in a similar peer group because they're only a few years apart, but anyone who's been to american public high school can tell you there is a world of difference between a freshman and a junior, so the two groups did not interact a ton.

now, will and his paranormal peers weren't super close to begin with, just because of the way social circles work and the fact that reyna & thalia had been in the same paranormal after-school group (like the kid version of bingo night) for AGES, while will joined later on, but that isn't the reason they don't like him.

teenage will solace went through a pretty rough rebellious phase, but his rebellion had nothing to do with loud music and strange clothes and everything to do with his identity as a vampire. (ironically enough, going through a loud-music-strange-clothes phase would have probably made thalia like him more, and her friendship might have helped will get through what was to come. oh, well)

even though the paranormal folk are generally pretty hidden from the rest of society, there are humans who are aware of them and, by extension, humans who wish they weren't around, so anti-paranormal propaganda exists in very small amounts, most of it targeted towards vampires and werewolves (because those are the scary ones for people who don't know how powerful sirens can be). this wasn't the only reason will started resenting his supernatural side, but it certainly didn't help.

most of the issues will has with vampirism as a whole can be summed up in one word: octavian. will's cousin is, by all accounts, the perfect vampire: just dramatic enough to pull off a cloak and just greasy and conniving enough to not lose his ties to Nosferatu. he's bloodthirsty and mildly disdainful of humans while never going so far as to actually say that he thinks he's better for having fangs, and the older generations of vampires, many of whom wish the humans would show a little more fear "respect," eat it all up. octavian is everything they want him to be and will, unlucky enough to be born with a shred of empathy, is disappointing by comparison.

when will turns sixteen, he politely declines his first feed from a live donor and nearly throws up in his mouth watching octavian readily take that opportunity. sure, nothing octavian does is technically wrong, by human or vampire standards, but his personality is so repulsive that everything he does seems wrong by association.

very shortly thereafter, will starts voicing opinions he's held for a few years— that drinking blood from a live donor is gross, that drinking blood in general is gross and he wouldn't do it if he didn't have to, and, eventually, that being a vampire is gross, he wishes he weren't one, and he would be just fine living in a world where everyone was human, because "monsters don't add anything to the world, all we do is take and take and take, and we'd take until there was nothing left if that didn't mean we'd starve."

these are the words of a very upset teenager who hasn't figured out who he is, who he wants to be, and what to do with everyone else's opinions of him. they come from a lot of confusion and hurt and they're not directed at anyone else he knows (except for maybe octavian), they're directed at the part of Will that he doesn't know how to handle yet.

the only problem is that those words are said within earshot of a lot of people who are not Will. he rages against himself and in the process makes a lot of people, reyna and thalia especially, believe that he dislikes them for being paranormal, too. some of the sirens and witches and "less monstrous" paranormal folk are able to shrug it off, but werewolves and vampires hold a similar place on the monster scale, and hearing someone who is supposed to understand your situation better than other people say that he wishes none of you existed hurts.

reyna and thalia and the other werewolves in their teen paranormal group distance themselves from will, who is also doing his very best to "act human" as much as he can.

as he gets older, as he gets out of the mental hell that is high school and the wilderness of teenage hormones, will calms down. he learns to acknowledge his vampirism with grudging neutrality that eventually turns into acceptance. he starts engaging with the adult chapter meetings more instead of showing up, sitting in silence as far back as possible, and then leaving as soon as official business is over. he makes friends in the group, most of whom weren't in his grade during school and therefore didn't hear the things he said. he regrets some of the words he used and knows that his opinion of himself and the paranormal world has changed, but he won't just forget that there was an expectation put on him that he still resents.

baby steps add up, and will gets a job where he willingly discloses that he's a vampire to his employer. he shows his fangs to a non-vampire, a human, in a public place (admittedly after said human had already seen his fangs by accident). he spends time with other paranormal folk outside of chapter meetings and lets himself enjoy being around people who are also different instead of wallowing in self-hatred.

none of that does anything to change how reyna & thalia see him. his friends might not know, but they remember what he said, how he said it, and who he said it to. that kind of thing isn't so easily forgiven, especially since none of them have talked to him in years. they're not particularly interested in reaching out, and he hasn't made any efforts to mend bridges, either, especially since they weren't friends to begin with.

to their credit, reyna & thalia don't bring it up around anyone who wasn't there. they haven't forgotten, but they don't see the point in dwelling on the past, since he seems like he's grown out of it for the most part. they won't pretend to like him, and they'll explain when jason asks them why, but there's no point in keeping a high school feud alive. will, for his part, understands that he is not and probably never will be their favorite person, but a part of him still isn't okay with the thought that they want him to be more like octavian. if he had talked to them all those years ago, back when he first started feeling pressured to 'be a better vampire,' they would have told him he didn't need to be.

[chantylay]

Before people go bemoaning the rise of Holocaust denial among the Dutch youths, this was a very badly done survey, with questions whose exact question text was not provided, had many questions that were deliberately misleading, and completely failed to account for margin of error. Its questions were so badly worded, in fact, that it could prompt people into giving incorrect, anti-Semitic answers not based in their intrinsically held beliefs. Even then, the survey actually showed that Dutch people are more aware of the Holocaust than people from 5 other Western countries. The survey was also released from a source with dubious credibility. Do not take its results seriously. More below the cut.

First, on the sampling and margin of error: 2000 Dutch people were surveyed, with a total margin of error for all respondents of +/- 2%. 27% of all respondents were over 65, which is highly disproportionate, and only 40% were 'millennials' (in this case, anyone under 40, which should be ~50% of the sample to be representative), meaning that the margin of error on the 'millennials' sample, since no other calculations were provided, is likely +/- 5% or higher, and a highly disproportionate number of responses were from university students and people from 18-24 in the 'millennials' contingent. Millennials were also not specifically surveyed, so we are not sure if the sample collected for this group is actually representative of this age bracket at all as it was pulled haphazardly from a larger sample.

Generally, among all questions surveyed, the 'millenials' and general population statistics were within the margin of error of each other for each response. Adding the responses together makes the difference look larger, but also increases the margin of error. Other countries were also surveyed (UK, US, France, Austria, Canada), and their numbers for these questions are basically identical to the Dutch numbers on the whole-population total.

One of the issues with interpreting this survey is that we do not know if the questions were asked in Dutch. The survey this is from was collected by a marketing company from the US hired by a US-based trust-fund organisation whose stated purpose is to help Holocaust survivors get reparations from the German government... except for the fact that it is been frequently criticised (and investigated by the German government) for hoarding assets and failing to actually materially assist Holocaust survivors. Womp womp. This survey may very well be an attempt to change its public image. Given that both of these companies involved in the survey aren't based in the Netherlands, I cannot tell you with any confidence that Dutch people were not asked questions in English instead of their native language, or very badly translated Dutch.

In terms of holding Neo-Nazi views, the question wording as presented in English was 'Do you think that it is acceptable for an individual to support neo-Nazi views?', which is an ambiguous question. A common interpretation of this question would be 'do you think it is acceptable that another person in society somewhere holds Neo-Nazi views', which is a different question than 'Do you think Neo-Nazi views are acceptable'. Why they didn't just ask that appears to be that they were fishing for a higher number, because the poll they CITE their question as being from asks the question essentially as I worded it. Their citation is also broken, so womp womp x2.

It's hard to interpret what the response to this question means, especially as the question of 'why' they thought this was acceptable was not asked. What's also not included is that the '22%' figure has a margin of error of 10%, as it is the sum of two different responses, 'strongly acceptable' and 'somewhat acceptable' (why you'd have those on a questionnaire about neo-Nazis I don't know, the only acceptable answer is 'kill it with fire'), and the '12%' has a margin of error of 4%, so the figures for the 'millennials' and general populace have overlapping error, as do the individual responses.

The number of Jewish people killed in the Holocaust question was also worded unfathomably, in a way that I can only believe was designed to prompt people to give an incorrectly low answer. This was a multiple choice question where the only options were: 25,000, 100,000, 1 million, 2 million, 6 million, 20 million, and write-ins were not allowed. This question is designed to prompt people who did not know exactly how many Jewish people died in the Holocaust to pick 1 or 2 million as the 'reasonable option' due to the way it is structured. It is completely unfathomable to me that they didn't do this as a free response, and all results from this question should be completely thrown out. Regardless, the numbers were basically identical between age groups, but ~40-45% picked the correct 6 million, and ~10-15% each picked 1 million, 2 million, and 20 million. If the multiple choice was phrased as 1 million, 2 million, 4 million, 6 million, 8 million, 10 million, then I'd bet my left eye that you'd get a very tight cluster in the 4-8 million range.

Something important to note at this juncture is that the respondents were never told after this question what the correct, academically accepted number was after being presented with this multiple choice.

So when it comes to the denialism + exaggeration numbers (why you would ever ADD THOSE TOGETHER I don't know), the numbers are 6+/-5% denial and 17+/-5% exaggerated for 'millennials' and 3+/-2% denial and 9+/-2% exaggerated for everyone. The problem is, these people were never presented with what the actual number of Holocaust deaths is. If they thought that the 20 million from earlier in the survey was the 'academic' number, then they might think that was an exaggeration... and they'd be right! If they'd heard a bunch of people say the 6 million number before and this survey prompted them to think that 1-2 million was the 'correct' number (as ~20-30+/-10% did), THEN IT'S THE FUCKING SURVEY'S FAULT! THE QUESTION DOES NOT EVEN ASK WHO IS EXAGGERATING THE NUMBERS, JUST STATES THAT 'NUMBERS ARE EXAGGERATED'. Who's exaggerating the numbers? Wilhelm down the fucking pub I guess. What's the number he's exaggerating? Fuck if I know, and neither does this survey. Do people think the numbers actually exaggerated too low and academics aren't properly including the full number of Holocaust victims? Survey doesn't fucking know that either. It is beyond useless. What this survey does show is people who think the Holocaust wasn't real (cunts) are so infrequent as to be almost statistically insignificant in the data sample, as the lower bound of the margin for error is only 1% in each case. Which is nice to see. The 'listing the Netherlands as a place the Holocaust took place' is malicious interpretation at its finest. People were prompted in another multiple choice (where you could choose more than one option) to state 'which of the below country, countries, or regions generally did the Holocaust take place' (emphasis mine). This question is not asking 'did the Holocaust take place in the Netherlands' (to which everyone would have answered yes), it's asking 'which country do you most associate with the Holocaust'. If the respondent knows Dutch people were shipped out of the Netherlands to be killed elsewhere, then they might associate Germany or Poland GENERALLY with the Holocaust taking place. So of course the top responses in order were 47% Germany, 40% the Netherlands... oh wait it's the second highest response. Get fucked. The third highest was 38% Poland then 28% Europe. Yep, 'Europe' was an option. So of the 60% who didn't select the Netherlands, a whole half may have selected 'Europe' instead. Last time I checked, the Netherlands was also in Europe.

Compared to other countries in this same survey, Dutch people actually know more about the Holocaust according to this survey itself, and generally are very aware that it happened in their country.

The statement 'only 50% of all respondents support recent efforts by Dutch public figures to acknowledge and apologize for the Netherland’s failure to protect Jews during the Holocaust.' is so worded in such an inflammatory way that I want to slap the person who made the survey across the face. Let me back up and give some context. The Netherlands was diplomatically neutral when WW2 broke out, as it had been for all of WW1, so a large population of Jewish people fled to the Netherlands to escape Nazi Germany, including the Frank family. Nazi Germany declared war on the Netherlands unprovoked and conquered the country in four days after shocking the public by terror bombing civilian centres. There was barely enough time to evacuate the government and royal family, primarily to Britain and Canada. The Germans gave Dutch people no political rights, and instead imposed a German government on the Dutch people. Initially the Germans allowed the Dutch to maintain their businesses (which initially profited the Dutch), but very quickly started using the Dutch as slave labour, cutting off food and fuel supplies when it suited the Nazis to do so, and executing or sending to a concentration camp any hint of resistance. Thousands died from starvation, particularly in 1944, and as many Dutch people died from hunger, disease, or German violence as died in the Holocaust (~100,000 each), giving the Netherlands the highest death rate in Western Europe. (Which is absolutely miniscule compared to what the Nazis did in the Soviet Union where 16 million civilians were war crimed to death, including the 2.5 million Jewish Soviets and 5 million other Soviets who were killed in the Holocaust, which my Russian Jewish friends would like me to mention.) There were relatively large resistance and collaborationist blocs in the Netherlands due to the harshness of conditions, with Dutch collaborators (mostly police officers, ACAB and always have been) being largely responsible for the high number of Jewish deaths from the Netherlands. And the Dutch generally know about all of this, which is why 80% of Dutch people from the survey consider the Dutch people in general victims of the Holocaust, 47% collaborators, and 39% perpetrators (answers were not exclusive) of the Holocaust.

So the Dutch generally do identify themselves very well as having played a part in perpetrating the Holocaust despite being treated badly by the Germans. And the 31% opposing public statements that 'the Netherlands failed to protect its Jewish population' (remaining 19% was 'not sure') is also understandable, because they had four days to do anything before their country was taken over completely by the Nazis.

The apologies mentioned to the respondents in the text of the survey are along the lines of 'we are sorry so many Dutch people were collaborators', and 'sorry the Queen Wilhelmina didn't give any messages of support to the Jewish community whilst in exile', not 'sorry we could have helped you, but chose not to', which is what the survey implies the acknowledgements are about, and even then 62% of respondents whose response was something other than 'not sure' supported an acknowledgment of 'sorry we failed to evacuate you, in the very limited capability that we had to do so'. I would say that's pretty good numbers.

i need you all to be aware that a survey on Holocaust awareness in the Netherlands was recently commissioned by the Conference on Jewish Material Claims Against Germany and the responses are frightening.

(as a reminder: more than 75% of Dutch Jews were murdered in the Holocaust, which is the highest percentage of Jewish Victims per country in Western Europe. it’s also where Anne Frank lived and went into hiding before she was deported.)

according to the study,

23% of Dutch Millennials & Gen Z (12% overall) believe that the Holocaust is a myth or has been greatly exaggerated.

22% of Millennials and Gen Z (12% overall) believe it is acceptable to support neo-nazi views.

54% of all respondents do not know 6 million Jews were murdered. 29% believe it was 2 million or fewer (that number jumps to 37% when only looking at Millennials and Gen Z).

only 50% of all respondents support recent efforts by Dutch public figures to acknowledge and apologize for the Netherland’s failure to protect Jews during the Holocaust.

53% of all respondents and 60% of Millenials and Gen Z did not list the Netherlands as a country where the Holocaust took place.

Holocaust denial and erasure is getting worse. I would expect this from the USA maybe, but i’m surprised and very very concerned to see this coming from the Netherlands, which is very highly ranked in terms of education and research. please like and share and post about this, we need people to know.

[bronze-bell]

The garden was supposed to be still, with nature's music overtaking those chaotic and ever-overlapping and oh-so-loud thoughts. And yet, amid the sounds of leaves swaying and birds chirping, came the sound of breathing. Not his own breaths, but another's, behind him, ragged, shaky. He had to be imagining this. It was just his mind creeping in on him again.

Until it wasn't. Until he felt a tap on his shoulder and whipped around, very quickly needing to re-balance on his cane to get his bearings back together. The first thing he noticed was the flash of red and gold in front of him. The second thing he noticed was the letter in the postman's hands, held towards him. The third thing he noticed was, as his eyes wandered upward despite how he tried to keep them down, were the tear stains on a face that he could tell had makeup on it, that his arm almost reached upward to wipe away - he didn't have Victor's color of concealer or anything, but maybe he could fix something. But all he did after that twitch of motion was take the letter, the postman already out of sight by the time he could investigate even the blank seal. When he looked up, to see no one there, it was too much. Everything was too much, the words and voices and noise kept ringing in his mind. Holding the letter between his knuckles, he would strike his tuning fork as he forced himself to tread the path back to his room, forced himself to concentrate on the thing that worked to silence his thoughts.

~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~

(The letter is written on a rather thick, firm cardstock, the kind that doesn't fold easily. The kind that holds its shape. The kind that isn't so transparent as to show its components to those who can shine the correct light upon it. The envelope is sturdy to account for the paper within, and the seal is the same as previously. As before, Frederick can be seen waiting by the postbox, every so often striking his tuning fork as he waits, the letter in his inside coat pocket.)

Dear Victor Grantz,

I will not pretend I have a proper reply, especially since our distorted writings have... different ways of showing up. Regardless, the fact that you've sent me these writings at all... The fact you replied to me in the first place after I may have said more than you were ready for means a lot to me. I don't want to be alone again.

Victor, I know how it feels to not do well and not be able to show it. To have to pretend it's all fine. We can say these things in our correspondence, why not in any other way? Even if you're not better, I want to be with you. I don't care how much louder the voices get when I put together what happened, how much pain you're in.

When such things need to be kept secure, simply dropping them in the postbox and hoping nobody breaks the seal and snoops isn't good enough. The wrong person knowing the wrong things can... truly ruin you in ways untold. I know words on a page like this are difficult to erase, so it is especially important these stay between us.

(The handwriting here is shaky, words barely keeping themselves within their lines.)

Thank you for... believing in my work. It is more than I can say many people do. Maybe you are the one who is too kind. I do not know what finding comfort and talent in your work looks like, but I hope one day you will find that.

(The words reorient themselves here, but it is noticeable that the penmanship was done with a tense hand, as if to force such a thing, rather than let the letters flow where they may.)

Something as small as that brought you into so much... anyone could have found that letter, but you did, and you returned it. You... truly are kind.

...Perhaps that may be what they meant by 'easy to please', but... at the same time, I think there may be more to that. Not having to give much in order to satisfy... and then using such things in all the wrong ways.

I... cannot quite make out the entirety of the words here, but if I am understanding correctly from the parts I can see, you... you don't have to say a thing. I'm... afraid for you. Afraid I'll lose you.

Having such a window to the soul is a double edged sword, I suppose. Showing so much and yet not being clear about the meaning of what's visible.

I will not write such a guess. For both of our sakes, given what I've seen written previously. There is the superficial knowledge of people, and then there is this. Then there is giving each other all this information, and trusting the other with such things.

Regarding your last point, I doubt I've been thrown quite as many ways as you have. Even so, when we lose our balance, I hope we can catch each other when we fall. You're more than a postman, Victor. So much more. A person like you should never have had to go through all that.

Sincerely,

Frederick K.

P.S. Would you prefer I burn the rest of our correspondence, given your notice at the end of your last letter? (I considered asking Florian for advice on how to do so, but I was concerned that I'd tip him off, so I did no such thing.)

The postman leaves as he usually does after the letter, except... You can still hear his faint, tense breathing from somewhere around, even when he's seemingly left for any other place in the manor. He must be watching, you realise. Waiting for your reaction. Maybe you should look for him, after you have finished. Be very careful to not scare him away. After all you've gotten him to trust you enough to stay somewhat near.

(the letter is written on similar cardstock, and the envelope is brown and boring, as to not draw any attention. The seal is a similar brown, almost like it's trying to blend into the paper. It's loose, you realise, as only a small dot of melted wax keeps it together, making it easy to open even with gloved hands. He seems to have designed it so you would not need to use a letter opener, if you wished to read it here and now.

It is, again, stained, but the edges are crinkled too, as if he had been gripping it tightly as he delivered it to you. Most of the words inside are shaky, but still all are readable.)

[Dear Frederick,

You do not need to burn the letters. I am hopefully understandably paranoid nervous about anybody potentially reading them, but knowing you have kept my secrets so well... even with enough evidence to ruin me it's strangely sweet of you. Thank you. Keep me them safe, please.

I do not want to be alone again.

I am fine, I promise you. I had a visible mishap yesterday, but I am feeling better now. I can't not be. It's physically impossible. Even if I cry, I am fine. Even if I break, I will always be okay. The problem is when other people think I am not, and I get punished for it. Do not worry for me, if they find me again you'll be the first target and you're my only living friend in

I cannot talk, you should know this. It's not even the stitches anymore, they're not as tight as they were before they came here. That's how I'm able to eat properly, now. I carry a chalkboard for these sorts of occasions, but I have always felt anxious about keeping people waiting as I think. It may turn into a one-sided game of yes-or-no, I apologise.

Of course I believe in you, I don't think I could imagine a world where I do not. You fit your job like a glove, and it is wonderful to see. I do not think I have seen anybody better than you at what you do. It was a surprise when I realised people just wanted you for your appearance. I've always paid attention to the music itself, so I never thought it needed to matter. I still don't think it does.

Of course I returned it, that had has always been my job, and I don't even know how it had gotten lost in the first place. A dog who bore an address on their collar seemed to know the way to it, and she was almost my only friend then, I would follow her anywhere even if the address seemed strange, so I managed to complete the delivery.

I think I they were used in the ways they always were supposed to, but I am not used to having people to praise yet, so I am not confident in that. Does it matter if it feels nice?

I'm not a pers

You are incredibly sweet for being afraid for me, by the way. I don't understand why you are at all, but it's... Lovely to be cared about. I wonder what emotions you hold when you read the words I write you? Are they what I think they may be? I would like to see, some day.

Sincerely, Postman.]

[sunnylands-world]

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[peepeepotter]

Late Night Encounters Part 3

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT!! Female receiving oral, unprotected vaginal penetration

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: It’s my birthday so I didn’t proofread this!! I’m sorry!!

Once again, Fred had a date. He woke up that morning and remembered every bit of what he had said, and stood by his words. He told Y/N he still wanted to see the ring on the table when he got home. He wanted her to think about it for at least 24 full hours before she made a decision.

Y/N and Fred had narrowly missed each other that morning. He was off running errands for the day and she had only just woken up. He was home for lunch and she was out with Hermione. Y/N felt her heart sink, feeling guilty for wanting to see him. Why guilt, though? She didn’t feel like she had a valid reason to feel guilty. After she got home from lunch Fred had already left for his date, so she fell asleep on the couch in the living room, figuring it was a good way to pass the time until she saw her new best friend again.

“Why was this on the kitchen table?” George asked, waking Y/N up out of her sweet, dreamless sleep on the couch. He was holding the ring.

“I can’t sleep with jewelry on.” She shrugged, getting up and going to grab the ring. He held it up higher. She almost laughed until she saw the look on his face.

“I’m serious.” She sighed heavily at this.

“I know, George.”

“You know what?” The audacity that men have.

“I know you’re sleeping with her again.”

“W-what?” He almost dropped the ring.

“I just don’t get it, George.”

“I w-wouldn’t do that again.”

“Except you are.”

“Why are you accusing me right now?”

“Because I’m not dumb! Just because I trust you doesn’t mean I’m dumb! I’m not naive. The first time, sure. This time, no! It’s the same as last time, but you thought I’d stay with you just because you proposed this time! Maybe I won’t, did you think about that? What if you get her pregnant? Did you just expect me to stay around and raise the kid? Or what if we both get pregnant, who are you leaving alone with their child?”

“I cannot believe this right now--”

“Stop that! Stop it! You’re gaslighting me! You know I’m right! Stop lying!”

“Fine!”

“How long?”

“A year.”

“So immediately after we got back to where we were.”

“Yes.”

“Why? What did I do? Why am I not enough for you?”

“Maybe if you--”

“Actually, no, fuck you. I’m enough for me. I’m enough for so many people. I gave you a second chance and you fucking blew it! I’ve done so much for you, for Fred, too!”

“I--” He sighed. He was speechless. It was the first time you’d really fully stood up for yourself. It was on him, he knew that. “I think...I’m going to spend the night at the Burrow, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Go, spend the night with her, but don’t lie to me and say you’re staying with your mom.” She spoke bluntly, tears streaming out of her eyes quietly. It was a silent cry, the only way Y/N ever allowed herself to cry in front of people. He hesitated, but he turned around and left the living room. Y/N entered the kitchen, starting to grease pans for baking.

-

Fred came home that night, mostly confused. Y/N wasn’t in the living room tonight, which didn’t make him feel great. That wasn’t the worst of it though. The date was great. She was perfect, but...he hated it. Something was missing. As she listed off interests, favorite movies, her favorite quidditch team...all he could think was that something was missing. When he got home, and Y/N was missing, it dawned on him. It was her. She was missing. The girl had listed off all of Y/N’s favorite movies, her favorite songs. She liked to bake. Her favorite quidditch team was the Holyhead Harpies, the team his little sister played on. Suddenly, Fred felt rather sick. He can’t have feelings for his brother's girlfriend--no, fiance!

With a pit in his stomach, he walked into the kitchen, where he opened his eyes wide. The entire kitchen table and window sill were covered in baked goods. There was one clean counter, where Y/N sat staring off into space, waiting for her next round of cookies to finish.

“Oh! I forgot! I’m sorry, how was the date?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing--”

“Don’t, please don’t close yourself off. We’re close now, just let me in. What happened, what’s with the baked goods?” He asked, leaning with his arms crossed and his back against the island counter across from where she sat. He noticed the ring was missing, it wasn’t on Y/N’s finger, it wasn’t on the counter or the table where he’d seen it last.

“He admitted it. He’s cheating on me with her again.” She sighed, looking to the ceiling and holding back tears. “And it sucks so hard to know he wasted all this time of mine again. He proposed to me. I know he’s your brother, but that’s just so...crazy. Who does that?” She paused, and just as Fred was about to talk she kept going. “And the worst part is that I don’t...I don’t feel anything. The first time he cheated with Angelina it was like my whole world came crashing down. He was my best friend, my boyfriend, and my roommate. Now, it barely even feels like we’re roommates. I thought I could love him the same way after it all, and maybe he cheated because I couldn’t.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Cheating is always a decision. If he realized you didn’t love him the same way he should have communicated with you. Broken up. Not proposed and delayed this.” Fred sighed. Y/N wouldn’t make eye contact with Fred, assumingly because she was upset.

“I--” She paused, chest tight. She looked up at Fred, making blatant eye contact. “What if I’ve been emotionally cheating?” Fred’s eyes widened and his heart sank. He felt awful, like his feelings for her would just have to go away again. Right as they were getting close.

“W-what? With who?”

“You fucking idiot.” She sighed, pushing herself off the counter. She went to walk away, but Fred put his arms on either side of her on the counter, pinning her where she was.

“Don’t walk away.” He whispered, so close to her face. Her heart pounded.

“I--” She sighed. “Fred, I’ve felt more for you in the past five days than I’ve felt for George in the past year and a half. I waited all day for you to be here, and I kept feeling guilty for it. I’ve felt so guilty, and then I find out he’s cheating and I’m so numb to it because you’re all I can think about.” She paused to breathe before she continued her quick ramblings. “Also, the idea of having feelings for you is so weird, because we only just started to like each other, but you’re standing so close to me and all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears. I can’t stop thinking about all the girls you used to bring home and how I don’t want to be just one of those girls you sleep with. But obviously I can’t just be with you because I think I just broke off my engagement with your brother and also because you haven’t said anything--” So Fred, in his overwhelmed state, pushed forward and pressed his lips against hers. She grabbed both sides of his face as he grabbed her hips. After a few moments, he quickly pulled apart, moving one of his hands to keep her hand on his face in place

“I couldn’t tell you the other night, but I had feelings for you that summer before the war, but you were with George. I couldn’t...I couldn’t just confess then, and besides you were so happy with him. Then we didn’t like each other, and the night before you got engaged I couldn’t stop thinking about you all over again. And...George made us spend all that time together and you’re the only thing I think about. The girl I went on the date with was so perfect, but I couldn’t get you off my mind and I realized she was just like you. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t you, no one will ever be you.” Fred spoke in a hushed tone with his eyes closed, as if speaking any louder or seeing her would make Y/N evaporate into thin air. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see her with tear tracks down her face.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything that nice to me before.” She whispered, taking the hand that wasn’t trapped by his and wiping her face. He giggled, letting go of her hand and using both of his hands to hold the sides of her face. He leaned forward and kissed the tear stains on Y/N’s face. “You’re like this perfect man, it’s so wildly different from George.” She mumbled.

“I can’t account for where he went wrong, and I haven’t always been great. But if you give me the chance, I will love you better than anyone else could dream of.” With tears streaming down her eyes she pulled him in to kiss her again, he smiled against her lips. He held the small of her waist as she rested one of her hands on his chest, the other sat at the back of his neck playing with his hair. He moaned when she pulled it gently, causing her to smile into their kiss. She almost missed being able to see him rolling his eyes at her smirk.

“Love me, please. Tonight, tomorrow, every day. Just--love me tonight.” She whispered against his lips as they panted for air. 

He leaned down, kissing her again as he grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her back to a sitting position on the counter. Y/N threaded her fingers through Fred’s hair, one of Fred’s hands was on her thigh, the other rested on her waist. Finally, she bit his bottom lip in an attempt to get him to do anything. In response, he gave a noise that sounded between a groan and a growl, moving to her neck to leave bite marks. He licked the shell of her ear and bit the lobe as he moved down to the length of her neck, sucking hard. She moaned softly, whimpering when he used he grazed his teeth over her neck. 

She started grinding her hips against his in an attempt to get some friction. He grabbed her hips, pulling her closer to him to aid in her plight for friction. After he felt satisfied with the bruises he’d left on her neck he went back to her lips, sucking on her bottom lip briefly before licking it in a silent asking of permission to use it. She gracefully licked his tongue, granting his own tongue admission to her mouth. Their tongues wrestled messily, Y/N playing with Fred’s hair and occasionally pulling softly to hear him moan. She was starting to feel frustrated with just grinding, so she moved the hand that was on the side of Fred’s face to gracefully feel all the way down his body before she started palming him through his slacks. He gave a harsh groan this time, pulling apart from her mouth briefly.

“You’re so beautiful, so sexy.” His voice was deep with pleasure and she moaned at the sound alone. Her heart swelled, she hadn’t been praised like that sexually...ever. Fred took one of his hands off of her hips to thread into her hair, pulling gently to hear her moan. He swore to himself that he could hear that every minute of every day and never get tired of it. While Fred knew he was going to fuck her, his intentions were pure-- he wanted to make love to her. Y/N, however, was getting frustrated with his politeness. She started to unbutton his slacks and he broke off their kiss again. “Hold on, I want to take care of you.” He whispered, flush against her lips.

“I appreciate that, but I want you inside of me.” She whispered, her hand that had been unbuttoning his pants was now tangled in his shirt. Fred felt his heart drop to his cock when she said this, groaning at her lack of restraint. Y/N started unbuttoning his shirt as he separated her thighs and pulled her completely to the edge of the counter.

“You’ll just have to be patient, princess.” He grinned as he went to crouch, kissing her knee on the way down. He left kisses all over the inside of her thighs, leaving her soaked to the core before he had even really touched her. Both Fred and Y/N were thankful she was wearing a dress that day, making his access considerably easier as he rubbed her through only her thin panties. Kissing the inside of her thigh as he looked up into her eyes, he felt like the luckiest man alive. He almost grinned when he saw she was adorning another pair of fruit covered panties.

“You know, I wasn’t kidding when I said the cherry panties were sexy,” He smirked up at her, rubbing circles into her clit through peach covered cotton. “These are sexy too, but I think they’d look a lot better on the floor.” He grabbed the cotton on her hips and pulled them down, leaving them on the floor like he promised. Y/N’s thighs were shaking from all the teasing he had done already. He licked from her inner knee to where he promised to take care of her, latching his mouth onto her clit. She gasped at the feeling of his warm tongue, closing her eyes. He used his tongue to create figure-8’s against her clit, and slowly pushed one finger into her. At this, she threw her head back, resting the crown of her skull gently against the cabinet behind her. She laced her fingers through Fred’s hair, now pulling hard. He groaned in his own pleasure, creating vibrations against her clit which in turn made her moan. He pushed a second finger into her, slowly pumping them as he worked her clit. After adding a third finger, her legs were shaking violently, showing she was nearing the edge. He quickly swapped his fingers and tongue, using his thumb to rub circles against her clit and sticking his tongue as deep as he could inside of her warm pussy. He had his other arm wrapped around her thigh, one of her hands reaching to hold the hand there as she neared her end even faster than before.

“I want you to say my name when you cum, baby, can you do that for me?” He paused briefly, looking up at her, she nodded vigorously. His tongue returned to it’s warm reserve inside of her. The motions he made with his thumb against her clit became faster, and soon enough she was squeezing his hand and nearly screaming his name. Fred waited for her to stop squeezing his hand to stand up and kiss her on the lips again. “You did so good, baby.” He whispered against her lips.

“Freddy,” She whimpered against his lips. “You haven’t even fucked me yet and I don’t think I’ll be able to walk.” She almost laughed at the thought. He grinned, happy with his work so far. He tucked a strand of her behind her ear, kissing her ear as he spoke.

“You won’t need to, baby. I’ll fuck you right here,” He started licking and kissing her neck again, making her whine. “And I’ll take care of you so you don’t have to walk.” He whispered against her quickly bruising flesh. She whined again, reaching to finish her job unbuttoning his shirt and unzipping his already unbuttoned pants. He let her continue as he wrapped his hand in her hair once and pulled back, exposing the front of her neck to him where he continued his attack. When she finished unbuttoning his shirt he helped her pull it off his shoulders, exposing his freckled and scarred skin on his chest to her. She rubbed her hands against his chest, feeling every individual scar and wondering where each of them came from. He watched her eyes dart around, a small closed-lip smile adorning her face as she felt the raised white scars. He rubbed his thumb against her cheek softly, loving his own view. Using the same hand that was petting her cheek, he lifted her face to look up at his. He pulled her face close to his own and kissed her softly.

“I love you, Y/N.” He whispered against her lips with his eyes closed. She smiled, reaching her face up to kiss his eyelids. Angel kisses on his blonde eyelashes. It was a sweet moment, to remind them both that not only was there no going back after what they were about to do, but also to remind them that this wasn’t just fucking. This was real, unadulterated love. He opened his eyes, looking deeply into hers as she pushed his slacks and boxers down as far as she could with her hands, using her bare feet the rest of the way. He lifted her dress over her head, tossing it somewhere behind him, inevitably landing on some type of baked good. She rested one hand against his jaw, pulling his face close to hers, her other hand pumping his cock and gently rubbing the tip. He closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath at the feeling of her small hand around him. He rested one hand on her jaw, mirroring her. His other hand rested on the small of her back to push her closer to him. They kissed gently, feeling like this moment was fragile and could be broken. Y/N moved the hand that was on his cock and squeezed his bicep, quietly communicating that she was ready. He moved his hand from the small of her back to line himself up with her entrance, and as he pushed in the both gasped quietly at the feeling. Fred rested his forehead on Y/N’s shoulder, eyes closed as he waited quietly and politely for her to adjust to his size. After a few moments she tapped him to tell him to move, her eyes squeezed tightly closed for preparation of any pain that would come from his movements. He moved slowly, truly taking this moment to get to know Y/N’s body. He felt every groove inside of her, every dip and small raise in her skin, memorising her inside and out. As they both started to get used to this puzzle-piece moment in which it felt like the clicking of soul-mates finally coming together, they started kissing again. Fred’s tongue entered her mouth, exploring, dead set on memorising her entire body. Her hands found themselves resting on his back, nails digging in every so often. If this had been her sex dream, she would’ve been wondering how many girls had dug their nails into his back, but in person all she could think about was him. He filled her every sense, she could smell him, feel him everywhere, taste him, his freckled skin stuck on her eyes even when they closed, and their shared moans overwhelmed her ears. If this was what making love was, she definitely had never shared that with George.

Fred lowered his hand, rubbing her clit gently as his pace got faster. He wasn’t sure if he had ever felt so good so quickly, he was almost positive he hadn’t ever felt his high come so quickly. As he pounded into Y/N’s g-spot and rubbed her clit, she found herself loudly moaning. Her nails were now leaving deep marks into Fred’s back, and Fred hadn’t even noticed.

“Fred,” She moaned his name loudly, the sound of which made his own high come even faster. Set on finding their highs together, they were flush together. Y/N nor Fred had never been so close to someone, their entire bodies touching. Her legs were wrapped around him, her torso flush against his and her face buried into his chest. His face was buried into her neck, leaving occasional kisses to avoid his own moans. Quickly, they found their highs together. After hitting her g-spot so many times, she warned him. He quietly thanked Godric, his own high coming as well. So as they came together, panting, completely embraced, they felt loved. They’d both felt fucked-out before, but this felt different. This felt simultaneously heavy and weightless on their hearts, and they stayed together for a long time. They kissed quietly, Fred not really wanting to leave her, and she not wanting him to leave her either. Before he pulled out she spoke.

“I love you too, Freddy.”

Tag list: @fredshufflepuff @melonoptimist @phelps-weasley-twins @maybeisthemoon @groovynachos @katllol @manuosorioh @brownieparker @superblyspeedydragon @packmentalityx @missryerye @p0gue420 @hogwartshomiehopper @skarlettmikaelson @seppys-return-to-madness @fandomscombine @wzardweasley @eattheboat @mgchaser @borhap-boiiii @gabiconstellation @hardpartybasketballshepherd @superpowereddonut @sukunas-cult-leader @whysoseriousssssssss @skateb0red @urgingforyou @lookscutebutwillfight

permanent tag list: @potters-heart @0x0spunky-monkey0x0

[kelzthalassunwhisper]

Words. They held power - a concept that men like himself and the sorceress took very seriously. But as a warrior herself, it was not as sharp as the blades she wielded. It wasn't power she sought to gain but one that she overlooked. She had thought more to express her thoughts and feelings given that conversation had been established. Two notions that were generally drowned with countless spirits as to make the world more tolerable. More accepting. More… livable. Her gaze softened as she acknowledged the remark she made carelessly and allowed her head to dip ever so slightly.

"I have bled. My bones have been broken. I've seen people die. Friends and foes alike. I've lost, I've gained. But ultimately… I live. And life can mean many things to people. To some it can be the end. Others it may be a new beginning. For me… It's what I have to do. For you… it's something else."

She pursed her lips, sinching whatever poorly conveyed words that might threaten to tumble after. Her gaze now was cast through the pitch of the woods - seeing no light to reveal the answers he so demanded from her. It made her wonder faintly what she could even say to amend her mistake, but mistakes were what she prevailed at.

"I cannot imagine what your life is like. It's not a perspective I would want to have. Though, it's what sets us apart. You can say what you want to my flaws, but they are the flaws I own and live with. And you… having the intellect that you do, made a calculated choice and would risk becoming associated with me. These words I speak are not meant to harm, but they are said sometimes without the merit of thought. For that, I am sorry."

She allowed the apology to hang there as she regarded the other sharp statements, he lobbed her way and exhaled again. The entrapment he felt was the same he corralled herself and others into to find leverage in any given situation. Did he feel remorse for it? Was that why he made the remark? Whatever the reasoning, she took into account his sense of agency and purpose. It should have been admirable. It should be acknowledged. It is his reputation. Yet the stones that were often cast at her found their way in the form of words that she spoke back to him. It was a different perspective. One she didn't have to fulfill or carry out. But it wasn't something she felt to thank him for, or rather… she couldn't. Like he admitted, he had to be worse than the evil in the world. Green eyes drifted down to the motion of his hand as the business card was offered to her. The presentation alone felt like accepting a contract and binding one's soul to eternal damnation. But there was no hesitation on the Commander's part as she reached to take it. Between plated digits, she regarded the illustration on its surface before lowering it out of view. The fel green eye still piercing her mind as if to say, "I'm watching you". Much like a naked women bathing, this was an unsettling thought. With the instructions relayed, she felt her eyebrow twitch at his parting words. Augur's Row. It was a place she had been quite familiar with but opted to only deal with because others couldn't. A repressed sigh left her as she watched him begin his advance back towards Deathholme. In a way it felt symbolic. Something of his character that otherwise would have been missed if she was still drunk. Again, the pained throb of her hangover surged, and she made a point to at least acknowledge him with one final word.

"…Understood."

@nixalegos - thanks for the scene :3 <3

@sanguinesorceress for your reading pleasure

@tursidhion-felomelorn say my name~ say my nameeee~ you acting kind of shady, calling me JUGGERNAUT

@allasticus family shenanigans \o/

A little wrong done right.

Continued from HERE "Probably the fact I'm still recording you saying this." He chided her, coming to take a slow step back, in equal parts to her coming forward to take the stone. Drunk and upset people did strange things. But he relaxed a hair as she used the healthstone as instructed. Watching as the pilfered and congealed mass of stolen vitality was given onto them, erasing their silly would be sacrificial wound. "You are, naturally, free to attempt to besmirch and deceive the Magistry against a civilian with a substantial record of heroics, cooperation, and who's own wife is a Blood Knight Master of our beloved city of Quel'Thalas." He edified. "I'm sure the courts would be very lenient, given your position Commander." He teased as the sudden eradication of booze in their veins struck them with an instant hangover. Oops. "Why don't we wander down from this place, and I get you back to the local garrison. You can watch me ensure the recordings...disappear in exchange for a history lesson between you and the conniving bitch." He offered, taking another step back, and cast a glance at the altar, marked with sic and blood. The shimmer of a shivarra vanished back into the cloak of invisibility. The Geist that had nearly managed to strike at the drunken elf safely dispatched and quietly let to slump behind the altar, unseen. Two gargoyles. A Geist. A ghost. Remains tucked behind bushes, and decaying scrubplants. Left to flake as much as the ethereal dust of his healthstone had crumbled to. Blood was the echo of a heartbeat. A heartbeat was sound. Sound was a language. Language bore words. And words...were power. Because despite their best efforts at melodrama. Malakortana was not actually the dead womans name. And with no proper entity to fill the siren call of spilled life and innocent power in this dead place, all sorts of nameless dead things came, and would continue to come, all eager to play the role of 'Mala' if it meant even a drop of life, a moments respite. The hooded man had taken advantage of their drunken stupor and distraction away from the dangers they'd inadvertently called. "I'm just looking out for number one." He lied. "I've some history with them too."

@kelzthalassunwhisper

[snifflesthemouse]

There's a sense of freedom that comes with anonymity of online interactions. This sense of freedom only exists because of the fact it's difficult for the real world to catch up with you in your real life. Unless of course, you go after the wrong one.

When a person goes after someone else solely because they think differently or have a strong opposing opinion, they often do so with a false gusto and bravery that only exists in the virtual realm. Like many say online, "You'd never say that to my face." And that's true for most people... but not all people.

And because of this anonymity, that affords all internet users the freedom to say whatever, a real life concern spawns from a virtual world. This real life concern is often referred to as "doxxing" where one internet user uses what clues and resources they have available to "expose" another internet user's real life. This has happened to many people I watch on YouTube. Some have even had to involve the real life police, as well as uproot their entire lives and move because of doxxing.

For example, Murky Meg has been doxxed a couple times now. She's had her real life threatened by doxxing. Terrifyingly, she wasn't the only target threatened because the douche flutes also brought her children into it. Yes, the same people who worship the Montecito Madam and preach the mantras of "compassion and kindness" and "leave children out of this" have gone so far as to go after Murky Meg's real life and real life children. And sadly, the threats and attacks never really stop. Especially when articles like the one I wrote about make the rounds. But Murky Meg doesn't allow this all to silence her; she keeps calm and carries on regardless.

Another example involves Yankee Wally. She was targeted repeatedly over copyright infringement on her YouTube channel, as well as having her social media accounts suspended repeatedly over the last few years. And even though Yankee Wally has never pretended to be anything or anyone else than who she is in real life, people have attempted to use her past as a weapon to discredit her. Those attempts are futile, though, because Yankee Wally has always been open and honest about her life. She's also been very clear to the people watching her that she will fight back if need be.

Then there's According2Taz. While Taz has gone through the same ringer that so many others have gone through (from doxxing to threats, harassment, and verbal abuse), she has also been attacked financially. Especially when it comes to her supporting good causes. Some twat waffles have sent her £0.01 via PayPal with notes attached. Notes that are grossly abusive, calling her fat and ugly, and saying her husband is cheating on her. Others have sent requests asking her to pay them £100 with notes attacking HRH Catherine the Duchess of Cambridge and her book. Murky Meg got a similar request, as well. But the most heinous impediment coming from the Montecito Madam's extremists, involved charity. Once, when Taz was raising money for Australian wildlife affected by the wildfires; someone reported her PayPal account and those funds were held up for some time before getting released for the cause. Then, again, Taz was targeted when she was raising funds to help an elderly woman who got robbed. Yes, the very same people, who stand on custom-made soap boxes emblazoned with the Sussex monogram, did everything they possibly could to marginally disrupt charity. Yet Taz does not waiver; she keeps going.

As bad as Murky Meg, Yankee Wally, and Taz have had it, they're sadly not alone. No, they are only three examples from a plethora of examples. Of that plethora, one more example comes to mind. That example involves DanjaZone (Ashli).

Ashli, who started her YouTube channel before the whole Megxit ordeal as a way to keep in touch with family, was even the subject of a blind item from CDAN (crazy days and nights). You see, Ashli and her family lost everything they had in a horrible house fire. Rumors swirled around the fire, but the most heinous comments came from the Sussex Squad's more prominent loudmouths. Some accused Ashli of lying about the fire in an attempt to scam people for money. Others called her white trash and trailer trash. So while Ashli was going through the loss of her home and everything she owned... while she was grieving the loss of family pets and irreplaceable family mementos... while she was down and out on her luck and trying to cope with all the pain and loss... while she was going through all of the attacks from doubters saying she faked the fire or was lying, that she was trailer trash... the disciples of the Duchess were laughing and celebrating her pain as a win. Never once considering the fact that Ashli has been in recovery for years now, and the stress from the fire coupled with the heartless, feckless attacks, could in fact push her over the edge.

No, the very same people, who scream via CAPS lock on social media that critics of Meghan should "leave her alone", that her critics drove the Montecito Madam to "suicidal ideation while pregnant" could care less about Ashli's mental health. Yes, the very same people, who lodged over 50,000 OFCOM complaints against Piers Morgan because he questioned their beloved's outlandish attacks during the Oprah interview, previously found no issues with attacking Ashli during one of the hardest times in her life. Yet, Ashli picked up the pieces and never gave up or gave into their attacks.

Again, these four examples are just the tip of the hypocritical iceberg. There are countless more examples out there. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people who criticize Meghan's and Harry's behaviors can all relate. Nobody is safe or off limits from this iceberg; from Royal Rota reporters, celebrities, and politicians to regular people who aren't rich, famous, or in possession of a global platform.

Yet nobody, and I mean absolutely nobody, in the media or in journalism ever cover any of this. You can find articles galore written with the intentions of exposing "Meghan Markle Haters". Articles like the one I wrote about attacking critics and reducing us all to the stereotypes of racist, misogynist, bigot, envious, etc.

What that does is send a clear, prominent message to the people who cling to every word of the Montecito Madam. The people who cling to the wind coming from her mouth, her "close friends" or fake "palace insiders" hear those dog whistles loud and clear. The dog whistles that say "It's okay, keep attacking and hurting people. They're evil, hateful racists. They deserve the abuse. You're on the side of good. Go harder!"

When in truth, the wind they cling to coming from their beloved's mouth or mouthpieces is actually falsehoods, lies, and manifestations of grandeur that is no more real than Netflix's The Crown. No, the wind they cling to really comes from the south mouth of their beloved. But God forbid anyone hold their little cult accountable.

We cannot have a society where sensationalism trumps truth. We cannot weaponize the press and use it against people simply because they criticize the Meghan Markles of the world. It is unacceptable for the press, media platforms, or anyone with a prominent influence on society, to celebrate defenders of the Meghan Markle faith without first acknowledging the truth.

The truth, which is often dream dashing and harsh, is that "Meghan Markle Lovers" could care less about compassion, kindness, charity, children, or community. The truth is, they could care less about forgiveness or loving thy neighbors. We don't have to look to their savior figurehead to prove this to be true. We only have to look at the comments section or Twitter.

Those of us who criticize or dislike Meghan and Harry because of their behavior know all too well the truth will never be written up on the front page of the Sun, the Daily Mail, or People Magazine. The mirage of us being the racists, misogynists, or detesting haters sells papers. And the papers don't want to be in that same category.

Maybe one day the press will tell the stories of people like Murky Meg, Yankee Wally, Taz, Ashli, and countless others in an effective way that exposes the real haters in the relationship. Maybe one day, the victims of the Montecito Madam's cult following will be doxxed, exposed, and sent a new message. A message that says, "We see you for the hypocrites you are. You may repeat the preachings of your Madam like it's the new woke gospel, but you don't practice it. You're a big reason why people loathe your beloved. You make her look worse. You aren't defending her, you are condemning her. Keep it up, because we see you and we will expose you!"

If only...

[helnjk]

Stitching Together - G.W.

George Weasley x fem!reader 

Requested: yes !! by my lovely bean marissa @lumos-barnes

please accept my humble request for a george x reader where the reader owns a shop in diagon alley and one day they walk into WWW and george knocks over a whole display, he is a complete SIMP & cannot compose himself. complete buffoonery when the reader is near. they become friends & do all these nice things for each other and the reader is oblivious like "george, i'm so lucky to be your friend" (even though the reader is secretly simping) and he's like "um what, i'm literally in love with you"

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: mentions of meals and drinks (coffee), but other than that it’s just pure fluff & Dumb Idiots In Love

A/N: somehow i always end up writing george knitting? idk how it happened, but it happened. i hope you like it marissa 🥺💕

–

You took a step back to admire your handiwork. 

After what seemed like neverending hours, the layout of your shop was finally perfect. From where you stood, you had a view of the streets of Diagon Alley, several passersby coming and goings from your sight. The display of charmed knit work by the window was already moving, demonstrating simple stitches that formed into a scarf. 

It had always been your dream to open up your own shop in the most prominent wizarding area of Britain, with your passion for knitting and crafting, but the timing had always been off. Now, about a year or so since the war had ended, your grandmother surprised you with the capital to make your dreams come true. 

The gesture was extra special because she was the one who first taught you how to knit. Many summers were spent in her cottage, sitting side by side and working on personal projects together. 

Outside, your sign read ‘Stitching Together: Grand Opening’. There were a few flyers posted right on the door and on the window advertising the different classes and crafting groups you were offering, as well as the different products that could be found in your store. 

It was as if your heart could burst at the sight of your fully furnished shop and you could wait no longer. With a flick of your wand, the sign on the door flipped to say open and that was that. 

–

“Hey Freddie, have you seen that new shop that’s opened down the street?” George yelled from the bottom of the stairs once the last customer of the day made their leave. 

“Haven’t gone in, but it’s gotten a lot of customers from what I can tell!” the disembodied voice of his twin replied from somewhere above. 

As he began the process of cleaning up and reshelving, products floating in midair or zooming towards their proper shelves, he called out once more, “What type of store is it d’you reckon?” 

“Arts and crafts? Something like that.” 

George’s eyes drifted towards the shop window, where he could just barely see the outline of the new store. Dusk had begun to set in London, so the sky was filled with brilliant hues of purple and orange. His curiosity getting the better of him, he decided that he would go welcome the new shop owner to Diagon Alley. 

With a shout to let his twin know where he was off to, George strode out of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and into the brisk weather. Luckily for him, Stitching Together was still open. He could see you bustling around inside, fixing displays and swishing your wand to tidy everything up.

It had only been around a month since your shop had opened, but the local wizard folk of London seemed to be very keen on buying the different things you sold. Many came around to purchase the instructional books and the different kinds of wool and yarn, and some of your regulars had even taken an interest in the classes you held weekly. It was a great way for you to get to know the community and to establish friendships. 

You had always taken note of the joke shop a few shops down from you, but with the hustle and bustle of just opening, you hadn’t had a chance to visit or introduce yourself to the owners. It was just your luck that one half of them pushed open the door to your shop, the little bell at the top of it ringing to indicate his presence. 

“Oh, hello!” you smiled, turning to face the redheaded man, “Welcome to Stitching Together, what could I help you with?” 

Unbeknownst to George, your heart began to beat rapidly in your chest. How could a man be so positively handsome you didn’t know, but at the sight of him standing by the door, all you could think about was how gorgeous he was. And he hadn’t even uttered a single word yet! 

The charming smile he sent your way did not help the heat you could feel creeping up your neck. “Just popping by to say hello and welcome to Diagon Alley! My twin and I run Wheezes just down the street,” he said. 

Your smile grew as he stuck his hand out for you to shake, “Oh I was just thinking about how I’ve been wanting to pay your shop a visit! I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“George Weasley at your service,” his hand was firm and warm as he shook yours, eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite name. “Nice to meet you!” 

“So tell me about your shop!” 

Somehow, after that evening, George Weasley snuck his way into becoming a part of your daily routine.

Every morning he would show up with two cups of coffee in hand right before your shop was set to open. After realizing that you depended on caffeine to function throughout your day, he made it a point to bring you one everyday. As you sipped on your coffees, the two of you would spend a few minutes chatting about your plans for the day before going to work. 

Whenever you would offer to pay for your own cup or even try to insinuate that you could get your own coffee in the morning, just so that he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble, he would stop you in your tracks.

“But George–”

“Nope!” he would say in a voice louder than yours. “I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I really feel for your customers who have to deal with a Y/N that hasn’t had her coffee fix. Could you imagine the grumpiness? Not on my watch!” 

You would roll your eyes, but secretly it warmed your heart how sweet this boy could be. He was slowly inching his way into your life and becoming a great friend. 

–

“So,” said Fred one day as George had gotten back from delivering your daily coffee, “The bird from the knitting shop, huh?” 

His twin only rolled his eyes in response, used to the teasing that came with being brothers (and twins) with Fred Weasley. Instead of engaging, George went instead to do the routine last check over their store before they officially opened their doors. Still, Fred couldn’t resist the temptation to continue provoking him. 

“Oi! C’mon, you bring her coffee everyday even if you don’t like the stuff. If I don’t remind you that you have a store to run, you would spend the whole day staring out the window just to catch a glimpse of the girl! Tell me you’re not whipped for her,” he teased, following George through the shop.

From their position at the till and on the second floor, both Verity and Lee tried to hide their smirks. This was too good a story to not eavesdrop on. 

“Come off it, Fred.” George rolled his eyes. “I’m just being a good friend, that’s all!” 

“Yeah but you wouldn’t mind being more than friends.” 

The cheeky wink Fred sent George was not appreciated, as the prior soon found out, having to duck away from a stinging hex. Still, Fred’s laugh rang through the semi-empty store as he ran away from his brother. 

Later in the day, as the lunch crowd tapered off, the four of them were left to mull around a bit. Lee and Verity were off taking stock in the back room, Fred was doing some accounting (because his twin couldn’t be trusted with any sort of math), and George was reshelving some Skiving Snackboxes. 

The bell above the door to the shop rang, but he couldn’t quite tell who came in from his position towards the back of the shop. 

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” he yelled, rushing to get all the boxes in order before he could help the new customer, “I’ll be with you in just a second!” 

Just as he admired his handiwork, eyes scanning the display to make sure nothing was out of place, a familiar voice called from behind him, “It’s alright, take your time. I’m not looking for anything in particular.” 

George almost jumped out of his skin as he heard your voice. He was so surprised that as he turned to meet you, his elbow caught on the edge of one of the Snackboxes and the whole thing toppled over. 

You watched as the tower of boxes crumbled around him, and your hand automatically covered your mouth as you tried to contain your laughter. It didn’t work, though, and soon the whole store could hear your guffaws. 

Thankfully, George was a wizard, and what would’ve taken a muggle quite some time to fix, only took a quick flick of his wand. 

“Oops,” you smiled at him bashfully as he finished, “Didn’t mean to startle you, Weasley.”

“Erm, it-it’s alright,” he blushed, “I just didn’t expect you to come ‘round today.” 

In truth, the reason why George was so flustered at your appearance at his shop was because he had just spent most of the afternoon thinking about you. He often did that, getting lost in his thoughts about the many little things that made you, well, you. The deep breath you took before that first sip of coffee in the morning, revelling in the aroma. How your face lit up when you spoke about the different people you met in your classes. Your hands and how skillfully they worked whatever project you were creating at the moment. 

He wouldn’t admit it to Fred, but what his twin had said earlier in the day was accurate. He was absolutely smitten over you. 

“Well you’ve been a regular over at mine for the last couple of weeks, I’m just returning the favor and visiting my favorite redhead at his place of work!” 

“I-I,” he stuttered, his brain refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was your favorite anything. 

Fred, who had heard the commotion and had gone down to check if everything was okay, nearly face palmed as he watched George fumble through his words. The man was whipped for you, no doubt about it, and as a good twin, he decided to save his brother from further humiliation. 

“I think what my lovely twin here is trying to say, is that you just haven’t met enough redheads to make your decision about your favorite one,” he said, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation. “Fred Weasley, at your service!” 

Your smile immediately brightened at the sight of George’s twin holding out his hand for you to shake, “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N, George’s told me loads about you!” 

“Has he?” Fred raised his eyebrow, turning to look at George who was still a little dumbstruck at the sight of you in his shop. “Well, that just means it’s my turn to spend some time with such a lovely lady. C’mon, I’ll give you a tour of the shop!”

“Oh I’d love that.” 

With a small glance and wave at George, you took the arm that Fred was holding out for you, and so began his (largely amusing) tour of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. 

“What in Merlin’s name was that!” yelled Fred the moment you left the shop. 

George groaned into his hands, embarrassment creeping back into him. He had acted a fool, unable to even mutter a single sentence to you the whole time you were around. 

“Mate, I have never seen you so flustered around a girl,” his twin muttered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Just tell her you’ve got feelings for her! Ask her on a date, do something! From what I could tell, you’re not the only one who’s caught feelings.” 

“It’s not like that between us,” he said, “I doubt she even notices how much I fancy her.” 

–

Somehow, George wound up taking Fred’s advice. Though, in typical-George fashion, he never explicitly mentioned to you anything about the way he felt. 

Instead, he would stay around your shop longer in the mornings, taking slower than usual sips of his coffee (which he still couldn’t say he preferred over a good cup of tea). Other days, he would come around closing time and help put everything back in order and if he was lucky, the two of you would go out to dinner. Of course, he would also never let you pay a sickle for your meal, no matter how much you insisted. 

Weekends were usually spent together as well. 

Saturdays were for brunch and muggle films on the telly. It was one of the rare occasions he would drink a beverage in front of you that wasn’t that (god forsaken) coffee. 

Sundays were more for crafting together. He would floo into your flat after having lunch with his family and the two of you would continue working on his little project. 

“My mum loves to knit,” he mentioned one day, while he observed your quick hands skillfully moving the thread through your needles. “She knits us all sweaters for Christmas. It’s become a tradition of sorts.” 

“That’s lovely,” you smiled up at him.

“Yeah, anyone who’s practically family gets one too. Like Harry and Hermione,” he mused.

“I could teach you how to knit her something, if you wanted,” you offered. “It’d be something pretty simple though, especially if you’ve never knitted anything before.”

The smile he sent you was so dazzling, you had to take a moment. You were practically melting under his tender gaze and you swallowed thickly, trying to gain your composure. 

 “That’d be bloody brilliant, Y/N!” 

You only hoped he didn’t notice how your face got hot and how your hands couldn’t move the needles to do what you wanted, too flustered to be precise with your movements.

Since then, the two of you spent most of Sunday afternoons making sure George had the correct strings of yarn on the correct needle. You would keep a close eye on him and his progress, but most of the time he was alright on his own. Sometimes, he would purposely sit closer to you on your couch and you could practically feel the warmth radiating from him. 

In between knits, your eyes would drift towards his focused face and you would smile. George had a habit of poking the tip of his tongue out when he was knitting. Something about the gesture helped him concentrate, and you found it absolutely adorable.

The more time you spent together, though, the more confused George got. It was getting to a point where in his head, it was impossible to miss what he was trying to say with his actions. You had to have caught on by now. And, since you hadn’t acknowledged what was going on between the two of you, he had assumed that this was your polite way of rejecting him.  

On a chilly morning, he clutched the warm cups of coffee in his hands as he pushed the door to Stitching Together open with his back. 

“Morning, Y/N!” he greeted.

You grinned in his direction as he made his way towards you. The moment he placed the warm drink in your hands and you took your first sip, a small moan of gratefulness escaped your lips.

“Merlin, I don’t deserve you,” you mumbled to your cup. 

“Sorry?” George asked, brows furrowed slightly. 

“Oh nothing!” you quickly said, “I’m just really glad you’re my friend, Georgie.” 

Friend. 

The word seemed to make his heart sink down to his stomach and ignite something in him at the same time. It was time that he told you how he felt, no matter what would happen afterwards. He couldn’t keep going on pretending he wasn’t head over heels in love with you. 

“Erm, about that Y/N,” he began, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his work uniform, “I’ve got to tell you something.” 

It was now or never. 

You smiled up at him encouragingly, almost oblivious to the bundle of nerves that were most definitely visible in his expression. 

“I-I don’t want to be just friends, Y/N,” he said, lips pursed in anticipation.

“What do you want then?” you still didn’t understand what he was trying to say. 

In a burst of confidence, George took your hands in his and gripped them tightly, “I want to be with you. I fancy you loads, I think I might even be in love with you, Y/N. Honestly, I might’ve been in love with you from the moment I first walked into your shop.” 

Your lack of an immediate response left him to back track, “But I understand completely if you don’t feel the same way, I just wanted to get it out there.” 

For a moment, the two of you were silent. George eyed you nervously, wondering what was going on through your head, bracing himself for the rejection that he thought was on the tip of your tongue. 

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, “Y/N? Do you want me to go?” 

Instead of answering, you flung your arms around his neck. He was so startled at your sudden gesture that he almost didn’t notice your lips on his. Almost. 

As suddenly as you had kissed him, all of his apprehensions melted away. Almost automatically, his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer to him. Your lips melted together seamlessly. It was as if this was where the two of you were meant to be, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. 

Sooner than you had liked, George pulled away from you slightly. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but dip his head down to peck your lips again. Once, twice, three times. This left you a giggly mess, your nose scrunching up in a way that was practically begging him to kiss it as well. 

“Does that mean you fancy me too?” he murmured against your lips. 

“Absolutely, head over heels,” you smiled in return. 

The pair of you spent a brief moment with your foreheads pressed together, giddy smiles on your faces. That was until a knock on the door of your shop sounded. Immediately, you sprung apart, a blush coating tip of George’s ears and cheeks. 

A few people stood outside, eyeing you amusedly. 

“Oh shit,” you said, hurrying to flip the sign on the door to say ‘open’ and to unlock the door with a flick of your wand. “I completely forgot I had a class today.” 

As the small group of people began to file inside, they sent knowing glances your way to which you only groaned softly and looked up at George.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you asked hopefully. 

With a kiss to your cheek and a mischievous grin he said, “You can count on it, love.” 

–

General taglist: @expectoevans @george-fabian-weasley @gxthsanrio @slytherinscribbles @harpyloon @nuttytani @mesmerisedangel @amourtentiaa @sarcasticallywitty15 @lumos-barnes

Weasley twins taglist: @whizboingies @pineapplesandpinas @papapapadumb @Mrs-g-weasley @a-castle-of--glass @hey-there-angels @leovaldez37 @pinkypurplemagic @werewolfslut @surprizeshawtyy

crossed out means i couldn’t tag you for some reason, sorry!

[hamliet]

What Does It Mean to Save?

I keep seeing it said that Deku, Ochaco, and Shouto will “save” Shigaraki, Himiko, and Dabi, but that there will be no redemption and/or no survival for them. I’m truly not trying to vague these posts and everyone is entitled to their opinion, but literary criticism is fundamentally responsive so I’m writing this anyways.

I personally think that’s not BNHA’s definition of saving nor of redemption. So here, have a deep dive into literary tropes related to redemption, genre, and character arcs as they pertain to BNHA and the question of: what does it mean to save Shigaraki, Touya, and Himiko?

Before we begin, let me say that while we might be personally uncomfortable with redemption (there’s a redemption arc in BNHA I am personally quite uncomfortable with), that doesn’t inherently mean the narrative won’t go there. The key principle I’m operating on here is BNHA’s message that heroes save people. It’s held up as the highest ideal. 

So let’s talk redemption in BNHA-verse. With this guy, whose redemption arc I dislike in principle but accept as part of the story so don’t come for me stans and/or antis. I’m analyzing because it shows us what redemption means in BNHA-verse, whether or not that is satisfying to you personally as it fits/does not fit with your own morality/philosophy.

If Endeavor can be redeemed and live, and he’s Bakugou’s negative foil, I highly doubt Shigaraki and Deku as well as Touya and Shouto and Ochaco and Himiko will be any different. Why? Because Enji is an adult character. The others--well, Himiko’s age we don’t know, but we do know that Shigaraki and Dabi are technically adults. But does the story consider them adults?

(It doesn’t.)

Child-coded characters are generally more likely to survive a redemption, which I’ll explain more later. First I have to define what I mean by child-coding, because I DO NOT mean this in the way it’s often (mis)used in fandom wank. Child-coding is a real thing, but it is not done to infantilize and it has nothing to do with shipping.

Child coding frames the character as a child for a few narrative purposes to convey a story’s theme or purpose. For example, if it’s a coming of age story coding a character as a child even if they legally are not emphasizes their journey to an understanding of self-actualization, or a true understanding of self with self-awareness and an understanding of self-value. An example of an adult coded as a child is The Kite Runner, wherein Amir is a legal adult for half the story, even married for fifteen years so we’re talking 30s-40s, but he does not truly become an adult until he returns to his homeland and takes responsibility for a childhood sin. In Attack on Titan, the main characters are now nineteen, but are still struggling to take responsibility as adults and have only started doing so now that their mentors/parental figures have started dying.

Along those lines, in any kind of story, you can code a character as a child of someone, regardless of biological relationship, to convey the type of relationship they have (usually a mentor one). For an example of this, see Bungo Stray Dogs’ Dazai and Akutagawa. Despite their two year age difference, Dazai recruited him to the mafia, abandoned him, and Akutagawa desperately seeks his approval. Usually in these stories a character will “overcome” their parental figure. This can be done through overcoming their need for the parental figure’s approval in stories where the parental figure is kindly (such as in Harry Potter, when in the final book Harry, Ron, and Hermione leave the Weasleys to find the Horcruxes despite Mrs. Weasley’s please) or through like, killing/stopping/leaving the parental figure when they are abusive (see fairy tales like Rapunzel and Cinderella). The parental link to self-actualization is because it is childlike (and a part of actual psychology that is reflected in literature) to see yourself as a part of your parent; self-actualized person would see yourself as a distinct person from your parent, but also acknowledge the ways in which they’ve shaped you.

So, how do you code a character as a child? BNHA isn’t subtle about it, because Horikoshi seldom is subtle about anything. The villain trio are all coded as children.

Shigaraki Tomura:

Who cannot achieve self-actualization so long as AFO has access to his body, as he’s literally trying to possess him. He’s trying, but it’s not gonna work because Shigaraki can’t keep AFO and become an adult at the same time. It’s a choice the narrative is setting up: your dream of destroying, or your freedom? (To get the latter, he’ll probably have to destroy AFO).

Todoroki Touya, who is repeatedly emphasized as a small child when compared to his siblings, and yes, I know he’s now tall. Specifically he’s spotlighted as the child of Endeavor:

And he’s the least self-actualized one in a lot of ways, contradicting himself constantly. I’m not Endeavor, DUH! But these are Endeavor’s flames! He’s gonna have to choose one or the other, because the tragic irony is that the more he takes out his rage on those around him, the more like Endeavor he becomes.

And Toga Himiko (who might well literally be a legal child), who is actually the most self-actualized one thus far, because she rejects Curious’s child insistence (Curious holds her in a Pieta pose, based on Michelangelo’s statue wherein Mary holds a deceased Christ):

She’s still got, like, a way to go though:

Because Himiko also wants to be like the people she loves to the point where she loses her own identity in them, which is er, not self-actualization. So she’ll have to choose whether or not she really wants to be like the people she loves or whether she wants to live her own way, which she herself tells us how that would end (death):

Deku said it himself: it’s good to focus on what someone is doing now. And look, I have issues with this statement and how it’s framed. I’ve talked about it at length and it was doomed to fail because Shouto himself told us long ago that it was annoying to hear a righteous speech by a stranger when you hadn’t gone through the same, plus Endeavor kinda failed by choosing being a hero over a dad here. But, the principle is that if the past doesn’t preclude Endeavor from seeking a better self, why would it preclude three characters coded as children, one of whom is literally somewhat the product of Endeavor’s sins? BNHA doesn’t think the past keeps someone from a better future. 

So what about Dabi’s counterpoint, which is indeed valid? Well, redemption doesn’t mean the past forgets, either. It’s complicated and nuanced, and we can debate how well Horikoshi strikes this nuance (it’s got its flaws), and admittedly I don’t know how this will go down in the future. But it is asking Endeavor: how do you redeem yourself to the people you’ve hurt? And we have Endeavor asking this question to Touya’s shrine. I mean, the foreshadowing is obvious. Endeavor has to redeem himself by trying to save Touya. However, it will still probably come down to Shouto to save Touya.

For our three villains, it’s a little harder to predict... well, sort of. For Shigaraki it’s extremely obvious: he has to help take down AFO. Dabi probably has to do something to help his family (siblings probably), but it’s vague. Toga needs help and not condemnation, but presumably she’ll help Ochaco with something.

So, is this redemption? I’d define it as redemption in the eyes of the narrative. To address what makes a redemption is another essay unto itself, but if we bring in the oft-compared Star Wars example: did Darth Vader get a redemption? Did Ben Solo? Everyone says yes to both. However, only Luke witnesses Vader’s redemption, and only Rey Ben Solo’s. So the rest of the galaxy? Doesn’t think so. When I say they’ll be redeemed, I’m defining it as their role in the eyes of the narrative, not whether or not society will accept them or even whether their victims will forgive them (of note, in canonical novels, Leia never forgave Darth Vader despite learning he was her father and obviously knowing Luke’s account of his redemption was true).

So, redemption in a narrative doesn’t mean all of society has to forgive and accept them. Dabi has still like, murdered 30 people--many of whom were thugs, but he himself acknowledges they didn’t deserve to die. Additionally, he himself also acknowledges that the families left behind--their feelings matter:

But why does that mean they have to die? Why even does it mean they have to languish in prison forever? (If there’s even a safe prison at the end of BNHA which I kinda have doubts about.) Heroes have also killed: see Hawks as Exhibit A. In fact, some people want revenge on the heroes precisely because they arrested or killed their loved ones (jail isn’t held up as a rehabilitative place in BNHA’s world. In most countries it isn’t in real life, either, but again that’s for another essay). So why don’t the League’s feelings on Twice’s death matter just as much as the feelings of unnamed and unseen (and thereby less important narratively) characters?

Additionally, regarding death... the villains routinely get called on their death wishes. Himiko’s determination to decide how/when she dies is called out because this is right  before Twice overcomes his trauma to save her, and the next arc they appear in is when Twice dies trying to save her again. Dabi’s suicide wish keeps him from getting close to others, and it keeps getting thwarted. Shigaraki’s obsession with destruction and death is clearly not a good thing, and his rejection of his family’s desire for them to join him in death this past arc is growth.

In other words: what Dabi said and what Snatch said about families and how they feel matter for the villains too. The villains are their own weird found family (Dabi as the deadbeat prodigal brother of both his families). Their deaths--Magne’s and Twice’s thus far, and I’m not ruling out further deaths in the future--affect the others. People’s feelings on losing loved ones matter. The villains are people, as Himiko said herself this arc:

Their feelings about each other matter:

How would Touya dying affect the Todorokis? At least they saved him spiritually, I guess, but that’s absolutely lame narratively, and if you have Enji eventually do a sacrifice to save Dabi (pretty likely, even if I personally think Enji will survive said sacrifice) then what’s the point of Dabi dying? How would Himiko dying affect society? As a martyr like Curious wanted her to be, even a redeemed one? A tragic warning story? What even is the point of Ochaco saving her if that’s the case? If Shigaraki dies, well, who would mourn besides Deku? How would Shigaraki dying affect the surviving members of the league? He just couldn’t be saved physically? 

It’s not impossible some of this happens, but it doesn’t seem like great writing, especially with panels like, oh, these that show us BNHA’s perspective on death:

Sacrificing something is a type of death that occurs in stories; this should happen in a redemption arc, which is why I’ve been saying Enji needs to sacrifice his hero reputation to help save Touya and even then it’ll still be Shouto imo who does the saving. But physical death?

If you want further analysis of the latter two panels and how they relate to the ending, see here.

We already have another villain who will definitely die redemptively (Kurogiri--an adult coded character--because he’s already, like, dead), and Spinner and Mr. Compress aren’t coded as kids so I hold them with anxiety towards the end. But again, this isn’t me being ageist or saying this is the way things ought to be in fiction or real life: it’s me looking at writing tropes and saying that child-coded characters tend to survive their redemptions. See: Zuko. Why? Because the death of children or child-coded characters is a tragedy. When a child-coded character dies redemptively it doesn’t feel like a happy ending and if framed as such, it’s often criticized for bad writing (see: Ben Solo). Curious even called this out in her fight with Himiko. I would hope Horikoshi doesn’t end the story being like yeah Curious was right that’s the best use of Himiko’s/Dabi’s/Shigaraki’s arcs:

Additionally, as for the believability of a character getting a new chance after so much destruction and murder... well, it’s kinda a thing in shonen and even in seinen? For better or for worse, it’s a thing. We have Vegeta in Dragon Ball Z and Kaneki Ken in Tokyo Ghoul (Kaneki, by the way, is absolutely an inspiration for Shigaraki). We can debate how well-written these redemptions are (I personally have been quite critical of Kaneki’s despite wanting it to happen narratively), but it can be done. BNHA’s Japan especially isn’t as harsh a world as Tokyo Ghoul’s Japan, so it would make even more sense for something like Kaneki’s ending.

The reality is that the cycle of revenge via hurting people and then leaving hurting families and loved ones has to stop somewhere. Someone has to be the bigger person and step up and be like “naw.” That’s heroic. That’s brave. That’s sacrificial itself. Justice itself doesn’t really exist in its purest form without mercy.

There’s another genre-reason I don’t see death or jail as likely (I could see, like, maybe a mental health ward like Rei’s? But it’s too soon to speculate).

If saving is considered a good thing for the story, if it’s truly the highest ideal, then saving someone should be rewarded by the narrative. The characters who save should have a positive result to show us this a good thing.

This is why it doesn’t work for the heroes’ end journey to be accepting that some people cannot be saved. The notion of just accepting that you cannot do something, you cannot save everyone, you cannot, cannot, cannot, is called out as a flaw of society. Determination, on the other hand, is rewarded.

We see it with Deku as well as with Mirio.

So, what if they save them and the redeemed characters then go on to sacrifice themselves in their redemption and die (come to the same end)? If saving changes absolutely nothing for the saved person, if it’s too late for the saved from themselves to change and/or do anything that matters besides die, then the narrative theme of saving as important is left unemphasized at best and undermined at worst. Simple intrinsic knowledge that the kids “did the right thing” doesn’t cut it for a story with so much focus on physical saving when the kids are already doing the right thing; moral struggles about whether to choose to be good aren’t really Deku, Ochaco, or Shouto’s arcs. It works for Aizawa’s arc with Kurogiri, but not for the kiddos. If BNHA was more of a philosophical/spiritual text, that would indeed make sense, but it is not. Genre-wise, BNHA is a fantastical superhero optimistic story, not a gritty real-world set drama.

[thedeviljudges]

not me having thoughts about yohan today, but.

not like i need to put this out there, but i’ll do it anyway bc i saw a post discussing yohan and how no one in fandom is addressing his tendencies toward violence. and here’s the thing: everyone notices it, lmao. no one in fandom is dumb enough to sit back and not recognize the trauma of what yohan has been through. even if we don’t have the entire story, we do know enough to see that people have fucked him over his entire life. he wasn’t shown any amount of love as a child, and he’s had to fight for himself.

the man doesn’t know how to express his feelings aside from his definition of justice, but he’s not a monster despite the term devil being thrown around. he doesn’t know how to handle his emotions, and like with many victims, especially male victims, he hasn’t learned and/or been encouraged to seek help. especially if his focus was working his way up the ladder to figure out and/or seek revenge for what happened to isaac.

it’s not about lack of critical thinking when it comes to his character. the entire show is truly forcing you to sit back and ask yourself questions of mortality and ethics, what’s fair and what’s wrong and the nuances that they all play into. that no singular case is black and white, and how much humans can be animals and turn on one other in a heartbeat.

yohan has grown up with violence as the solvent for any issues that arise around him. why do you think he copes with his anger this way? especially when he gets mad at gaon? it’s clear gaon doesn’t provoke him by fighting back, and if he does, it’s with words. gaon already knows how off the rails yohan can be, and yet he stays because as he even said in the show, there is a level of understanding. and he gets it. does that make it right? certainly not. it’s self-destructive behavior, but when you look at the context of yohan’s upbringing and how he’s lived alone raising a child by himself, in what fundamentally helpful ways would he have indulged in to get help?

and truthfully, if you want to look at it through a narrow, narrow lens, as much of a weakness as this character trait is, it’s also, to some extent, a strength because he can direct his anger onto the elite and people of higher caliber that generally speaking, are never held accountable for their actions. anger is such a driving force.

i don’t think fandom, by any stretch of the imagination, is excusing yohan for his physical altercations. and just because people don’t talk about it and/or bring it up, doesn’t mean we don’t see it and recognize it and think about it. it’s just not a focal point because as audience members, we can pick and choose what we want to focus on. not everyone wants to highlight the intricacies of characterization and meta. i mean, yohan being unhinged is kind of, sort of, the reason this entire story can even exist to begin with. he’s self-destructive, has anger issues, has not dealt with being a victim and now he’s got one of his abusers after him.

yohan has been in fight mode his entire life. he’s an animal backed into a corner. how else do you think he’d respond? especially with gaon who pokes and prods. yohan thinking gaon is sorta on his side until he does and/or says something that reaffirms that gaon is not entirely on team yohan. he’s let gaon in, but there are reminders that he should be wary of gaon, too. yohan doesn’t have time to sit there and hand hold with this stuff when he’s got a target on his back, especially now after episode 6. it’s either you’re for him or against him, and anything in between is a reason for suspicion. yohan literally hasn’t been able to trust anyone in his life, except for isaac, as far as we know.

i also know most people will not condone yohan’s physical violence, and i do too. however, as a writer and a creator, it is utterly fascinating to see what makes these characters tick. otherwise they’d be boring as fuck. do i think throwing gaon around or him shrugging at someone dying is cool? no, not entirely. but it adds depth; it adds reasons for why he is the way he is. and that’s different than saying ‘hey that’s okay he did that’ than it is ‘hey he did this bc x, y and z and i want that fixed through healing but like, look, it makes him multi-layered and complex and that’s fascinating to watch.’

please do not dismiss nor mistake people’s enthusiasm for yohan, or any of the other characters with questionable decisions, as acceptance. you cannot have a story without convolution. and as much as some of us love to dissect the story, others don’t want to go in depth, and that’s fine.

i love yohan’s character so much. regardless of whether he is truly the ‘bad guy’ or not, he’s really a gem of a character, morally gray and fucked up, and that’s what i absolutely love about him. like yes yohan, make all the questionable decisions for our entertainment and so that we don’t ever have to, lmao