#what is gender if not a farce

[eepyghost]

is there a scientific study linking watching ranboo for extended periods of time to questioning your gender

does ranboo turn the kids not cis. is this something they're known for.

[loop-deloo]

ok but yes remus is a soggy man. he’s a pathetic little loser i love it for him but fuck off with this nonsense abt sirius then being the man in the relationship or not saying that but having sirius then exhibit the typically manly traits. fuck off with equating the typically feminine roles with remus when you’re calling him pathetic. we’re not doing that shit anymore. remus will make the worst fucking inedible shit ever but he’s cooking every night. sirius is getting back from his job he’s obsessed with idc what it is. remus is taking the bins out late every time. he’s running to catch the bloody truck down the street every week. sometimes he misses it and they have stinky bins for another week. he drops the groceries he huffs bleach accidentally when he’s cleaning the bathroom he has a 9-5 it’s just a boring office job and he hates his job but he must work he gets self righteous he reads shit books he doesn’t enjoy he doesn’t know anything other than head n shoulders exists he pretends his feet aren’t blocks of ice even though his socks are wet he doesn’t know how to look after himself. fucking STOP with this bullshit and enforcing the goddamn heteronormative gender roles i’m done with it.

[lumalalu]

deleted that rb cause i read it again a little closer but u people r so obsessed with dictating what does and does not happen to trans men. all these stupid little rules.

[monicahar]

“thanks for the flowers!”

“what flowers?”

in which they find out you receive a gift from someone that isn't them.

characters; wanderer, alhaitham, kaveh

; i keep seeing that damn tiktok 😐 gender neutral reader, fluff, crack,

WANDERER eyes you skeptically, suspicion being evident on his pale features as he scans your expression up and down. has he already caught on to your little prank?

“first of all, who in their right mind would court you? and with some sappy flowers as well?”

you return his unamused gaze, finding him very unfunny.

“you do know that you're dating me, right?”

“unfortunately.” he clicks his tongue, further leaning towards your face, brows still furrowed as if he's trying to decipher something, gazing at you with an unreadable expression that has your resolve crumbling. “is this another one of your antics to get a rise out of me? if so, it's not working.”

his lips break out into a grin upon watching your eyes widen. but your shock doesn't last long—him immediately seeing through your silly scheme isn't an unexpected outcome, funnily enough.

“you're too serious sometimes.” you pout at him whilst he scoffs, “just humor me. what would you actually do if i managed to receive flowers from another?”

“it's simple—you can't.” comes his swift and confident reply, offending you as you stare at him incredulously, weighing the implication of his words.

“you speak of me like i'm the most unattractive person in teyvat—what do you mean i can't?”

“you're an idiot. would i have really chosen you if you were unattractive in any way?” he crosses his arms before facing you completely, indigo hues staring directly into yours.

“i already eliminated all those who dare steal you from me.”

...?

you freeze on the spot, processing what you've just heard.

“...excuse me?”

“—just kidding. i'm no longer that type of person, hah.” he huffs out a derisive laugh, yet his humorous farce does not meet his eyes.

not finding any comfort in his supposed testament of it only being a joke, you opt to stare at him confusingly in return. weirdo.

ALHAITHAM, much like the wanderer, catches on to the prank immediately. whether it's intuition, scarily precise deduction or just the way you generally act weird when it comes to lying to his face—he still figured you out in the end like it's nothing.

but unlike the wanderer, he decides to humor you and play along. what a good boyfriend.

“...you mean you didn't give me the flowers?” you flutter your lashes at him, a horrible and terribly inefficient way to convince him that the whole thing with the flowers is actually real. alhaitham suddenly has the rare urge to laugh. since when did you act like this?

alhaitham shifts in his seat. “no. who do you think it's from?”

“hm.” you hum thoughtfully, bringing a finger to your chin as if in deep thought. the scribe briefly wonders how far you're willing to take this joke. but he digresses—the chances of him actually getting mad at you are akin to that of kaveh finally shutting up—

“maybe kaveh? he grew an interest in flowers recently, so i've heard. maybe he sent some as like a sign of friendship or something along those lines...there's no way it means something else, riiiiiight?”

alhaitham pauses his train of thought.

speak of the devil.

momentarily doubting his conclusion that you're just pulling a prank, he quietly glowers at you as if silently telling you to take back your words.

“what about him?”

you immediately cower upon the drop in his tone—raising your arms in defense when alhaitham moves to stalk closer to you. “i was joking! i didn't get any flowers from anyone and last time i conversed with kaveh was when i—”

“let's go.” he grabs the back of your collar and drags you along, a newfound heavy weight in his footsteps as an indescribable and uncomfortable feeling creeps up on his neck.

“i really was just joking, 'haitham! i was bored and i wanted to annoy you for a bit! i swear!”

even if it wasn't true, the thought of kaveh gifting you flowers without his knowledge—

alhaitham's expression subconsciously turns sour. quite unlucky that you couldn't witness the extremely scarce sight of jealousy on your boyfriend as you are comically dragged against your will behind him.

“the nearest flower shop is just around the corner. tell me if anything piques your interest.” he says in way that has no room for argument. he is getting you flowers now.

KAVEH falls for it, obviously. not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed outside his designated profession, you see.

“i don't remember buying any flowers...” he mutters to himself, the gears in his head turning. it's almost laughable when he finally pieces your words together, a look of disbelief painfully present on his faxe but by some miracle, you resisted the urge to burst out in giggles right then and there. “wait...i didn't send any!”

“is that so...then who would send me flowers other than you?” you edge him on, instigating at its finest, much poking a sleeping bear with a stick while you circle it tauntingly.

an actual enraged kaveh is something you've never seen before, just some tantrums and endless ranting about some clients and his roommate. you've always wanted to see it—just not directed at you, hopefully.

“that's...ah, people already know you're dating me though, so it can't be someone hitting on you. maybe it's just from a relative or—”

“really?” you tilt your head, feigning a bit of confusion. “then i suppose i should keep these red roses then. i'll ask tighnari how to keep them alive, i guess.”

“w-wait, wait—could you repeat that?”

“hm?” you face him, “i'll ask tighnari?”

“no, the one before that.”

“...i'll keep the red roses?” you had to hold yourself back from grinning ear to ear when his eyes widen.

it's not unexpected that someone versed in the beauty of art would recognize one of the most common flower's meaning. quite the handy trivia.

he immediately stands up, grabbing your hand in tow as you yelp in surprise at his abruptness.

“kaveh?!”

“those flowers mean love! like, actual romantic love! i'll burn it for you right now! where'd you put it!?” the intensity of his ruby gaze sends shudders down your spine.

“it's not like i reciprocate it—”

“still, no one other than me should be sending those...!” kaveh tightens his grip on your hands, “i don't like the idea of someone hitting on you. i can't let anyone attempt to take you away from me...”

you blink. “kaveh...”

“—that's why show it to me now! or i'll bite you!”

“okay, okay! jeez...”

now...how are you going to break the news to him that it was actually yellow roses, and most definitely not from an admirer?

the biggest hater of my work is myself. wtf am i writing bruh ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

[becquerel]

i do think there is a lot to say on why homestuck’s fanbase is (to put it bluntly) so transgender in such a specific and interesting way. and i think its mostly to do with homestuck’s treatment of femininity vs masculinity in a way that is not typically done

femininity is presented as both something to save the world (space players and echidna, working with frogs, maids/sylphs presented as The Most Feminine classes and about creation/healing, despite it being said later on class gendering doesn’t matter, because it was written to matter at the beginning), while also being vicious enough to cause longtime and horrifying pain (kanaya and jade wield chainsaws and shotguns. the peixes line being as they are. its implied female trolls are culturally thought to be more cruel/violent on alternia due to condy’s influence via flarp being “for girls” as tavros is told. vriska. aranea’s help hurting everyone she tries it on.)

masculinity in homestuck is... frankly not aggrandized at all. it’s a reverse from the norm. every hypermasculine character we may have had a chance to look at has it ripped away in the end. bro strider dies to a little girl’s dog. lord english is first presented as a hypermasculine musclebound giant, then we meet caliborn and see the farce for what it is, LE is a little boy wearing an adult man’s clothes and screaming for people to take him seriously. and we do. until we notice that the clothes don’t fit quite right, and everything falls apart. grandpa harley was never alive. equius is the most masculine presented of any of the players, and... well. we’ve all seen equius. dad egbert is the only genuine show of masculinity in a truly positive light for john - and by extension the reader - to look up to, and he’s based around loving his own so much he makes cakes daily and tries to bond with him in any way he can, albeit often in ways that don’t really work. 

i don’t know. i think homestuck’s use of gendering is a fascinating aspect of the story. i think it helped me with my own personal experience of gender and the different aspects people can see gender through :] its cool to me

[hayakawalove]

Politely asking for spoiled princess and suguru uwu you would do that saur much justice im shaking at the thought EEEE

🗿

CW: Fluff, Eating, Reader Just Gets Babied, Gender Neutral Reader

W/C: 1,332

“Happy birthday to you,” you wake with a melodic voice filling your ears.

When you open your eyes, the first thing you’re met with is the beauty that is Suguru Geto. His eyes are crinkled as he grins, tone soft as he sings. It fills your stomach with an emotion that’s a bit hard to place. Joy? Gratitude? No, something deeper.

Suguru finishes singing and places a soft kiss on your forehead. Warmth bursts across your skin, trailing across the planes of your face. Suguru loves you. He loves you. He loves you. It was palpable, felt in everything he did.

He’s looking down at you, his fingers adjusting a piece of your hair behind your ear. He smells sweet, like icing and yearly wishes. You think he was probably making your birthday cake, and your-

“I made breakfast, want me to bring it to you or do you want to eat on the couch?”

It’s a tender question, because you know he would offer to bring it to you regardless of it being your birthday. That’s just the kind of man Suguru was.

He loves to spoil, loves to baby, loves to love. It was a bit overbearing at first. Over time you’ve learned to lean into it. In fact, you may lean into it a bit too much. Especially during times like these.

“Will you carry me to the couch?” You bat your lashes, perfectly playing the part of a needy partner.

“What, no ‘please’?” He teases as he stands.

“Suguru, it’s my birthday!”

“Ahh, I suppose you’re right. Manners aren’t required on national holidays, huh?”

“No!”

He grins and pinches your cheek lovingly.

You think he gets off on your defiance more than you do. Freaky bastard.

Suguru spins on his heels to bring your breakfast to the living room while you nuzzle into the blankets. If the promise of food wasn’t imminent, you probably would be drifting back to bed. But it was Suguru’s cooking you were talking about. Not a chance in hell you’d miss that.

He comes back after setting the breakfast down by the couch. Suguru lifts you up, his strong arm holding the back of your knees while your head rests against his chest. It’s a short walk to the living room, with golden light filtering in through your windows. He sits on the couch with you draped across his lap.

You peek an eye open and see the tray full of goodies in front of you. French toast, fruit, and eggs to name a few. It looks wonderful. The aroma floats over to you and makes you stir against him, but you’re so damn comfortable.

“Have you gone back to bed already?” The tone is teasing and it goes straight to your heart.

You grumble and nudge his chest with your head.

“Don’t you want breakfast?” He asks.

“Feed it to me…” you whine as you look up at him.

Suguru lets out a loving sigh. He’s putting on a front as if he may be bothered, but it’s a farce and you know it.

“What am I going to do with you?” He chuckles, looking down to cut your French toast.

You relax in his hold, your body laying across his thighs as he tends to you. He gathers a piece drenched in syrup before holding it up on the fork, looking down at you.

“You have to sit up, I can’t have you choking on your birthday.”

You pout and nuzzle further into him before shuffling into a seated position. Suguru brings the fork next to you, nudging it against your lips. The stickiness spreads across your mouth, dusting your lips with sugar. You open up and grin when the food hits your tastebuds. So good. He never misses.

“You could have me choking on any other day?”

“Don’t be a brat, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip and look up to him. There’s pink growing on his cheeks, and you can’t tell if it’s due to the hard work he’s put in this morning, or if it’s from the sight of you needing his help.

He places another piece in your mouth before setting the fork down to grab the fruit. He’s holding a grape, plump and cold as he brings it up to your mouth. You wrap your lips around the grape and eat it, flicking your tongue against his thumb as you do so. It’s hard to make Suguru flustered, but every once in awhile you’re able to achieve the task. Like now.

Suguru clears his throat and continues to pamper you, feeding you as you drape yourself across his body.

Once you’re finished eating, or more aptly once Suguru’s finished feeding you, you let out a heavy sigh. Your stomach and your heart were full.

“What’s next on the agenda?” You ask, as if you’ve had an arduous day so far.

“You tell me.”

There were so many options. More than anything, you just wanted to spend the day with him.

You also wanted to be babied by him, but that was neither here nor there.

“Suguru, will you paint my nails and do my hair?”

He looks a bit ruffled at the request. He was ready to offer you the world on a silver platter, and you just wanted to have your nails painted?

“Sure, baby. What color?” He gets up and shuffles around to locate the polish, grabbing all of the supplies he needs.

“Black?”

“Birthday black it is.”

Suguru told you that sadly, you’d have to come to the kitchen table to get your nails painted. He told you that a couch full of paint wouldn’t be very good, and you were inclined to agree. Suguru sits across from you at the table, brush in hand as he maneuvers around your fingers. He treats them as if they’re precious, delicate pieces of art.

It’s a sight to see. Soft locks fall over his shoulders as he analyzes his work, you think he must be biting the inside of his cheek.

Once he’s done, you marvel at the results. Neat, because obviously it was. Your nails shine under the living room lights, honestly it looked so good you almost felt bad not paying for it. He’s watching you, his fist propped up under his chin as he smiles at your enthusiasm.

“It looks so good Suguru!”

“Thank you, I’m happy you like it.”

You take another moment to appreciate your nails before you look back towards him. There’s love in his gaze as he admires you, a soft smile resting on his face.

“Hair?” You ask, wanting to feel his hands on your scalp.

Suguru raises his brows, and looks up towards your eyes as if you brought him back to reality.

“Hair.” He responds, getting up from his seat to gather the supplies.

He works silently while you talk his ear off. At the beginning of your relationship, you were a bit worried you annoyed him with all your talking. But now you know that’s not the case. He loves when you talk. He loves to listen. It’s not really a surprise when his best friend is Gojo, king of loud mouths.

When he’s done, he holds a mirror up in front of you. Suguru was talented in everything he did. Your hair was perfect, no strand out of place. The sight brings a grin to your face as you whip around to face him. He’s standing behind you, brushing a hand against your hair as he looks down.

“Thank you!” You jump up from your seat and throw your arms around his steady figure.

Suguru coos and hugs you tightly, resting his head atop yours.

“Of course, darling.”

Once you’ve had your fill, although you could hug him for much longer if given the opportunity, you pull away. You beam up at him while he lovingly looks back.

“Was that all you wanted to do today?” He questions.

“We’re just getting started!” You respond.

(THANK YOU FOR SAYING I WOULD DO IT GOOD YOU’RE SO KIND. SUGURU LOVES YOU VERY MUCH. I KNOW HE DOES)

[hyenagurl]

youll know that feminism, actual feminism, is as deeply unpopular and thus as important as its ever been when you have people sniffing around Suspicious Women for thought crimes, the way hippie dudes in the 60s and 70s would badger and ostracize their fellow leftist women for being Frigid Prudes. real feminism is intrinsically anti-establishment and counter culture because the establishment and culture are misogynistic, if it were popular then its not doing its job. the fact that this liberal pro prostitution and post modern gender form of feminism is the most popular, and that any woman who speaks against it in the slightest is deplatformed, should clue even the biggest moron in on how this is all an antifeminist farce. what a waste of everyone’s fucking time!

[oswildin]

Loki x Partner!You Halloween Headcannons

A/N: Leans into grumpy x sunshine trope, fluff/humour/lighthearted/not to be taken seriously. Gender neutral.

Loki awoke to you being missing from bed, confused and rather disgruntled that he couldn’t get morning cuddles, before he remembered exactly why you were up before him…

31st October… It was Halloween.

You had been yapping all about it the previous day, and of course he listened, even if he didn’t quite understand why it was such a big deal.

“I thought you would love Halloween!” “Why?” “Because you’re-“ “I’m…?” “Well… y’know… you.” “I’ll try not to take offence.”

And as Loki arose, he began to hear the faint sound of music, a song he didn’t recognise but sounded festive (it was ‘this is Halloween’).

It was then he found you, in the kitchen, still in your pj’s humming and singing along to the song playing gleefully.

Sometimes he envied just how carefree you acted, but he also loved it. It… brought out a different side to him, subtle but definitely there. Not that he would admit that, of course.

“Must you play that racket at such an early hour?” “This is Halloween, Halloween, Halloween!” You continued to sing gleefully, grinning at him in amusement. “And here was me thinking it was Christmas.” He quipped dryly, making you roll your eyes before turning to reveal the ghost shaped pancakes you’d made for breakfast.

Loki had to hold back a small smile from tugging at his lips, it really was quite silly. But… adorable. And so, he raised a brow, looking down at them with a skeptical eye.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

After breakfast, you were very insistent that your typical yearly routine commenced, much to Loki’s dismay. It consisted of going to the supermarket and grabbing as many sweet treats and spooky confectionery as you could.

Of course, knowing Loki didn’t appreciate artificially sweet Midgardian treats, you told him you would allow him to pick his own selection of dried fruits and any other snacks he wanted.

“How thoughtful of you.” He teased wryly at your ‘allowance’. “Shut up, you know what I meant.” Of course he did, he just loved winding you up.

“You do realise this is all a farce? What began as a tradition of the souls of the dead returning to their homes has been turned into a commodity, another way for corporations to make money.” “I didn’t realise you were so concerned about the effects of capitalism.” “Well, I do unfortunately inhabit this planet as well, do I not? It affects me too.” “Loki, did you even pay for that bag of dried fruit?” “No. Why would I?” Of course you sighed, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.

Loki loved teasing you, it was so easy.

Underneath it all, Loki was warmed that you wanted to share your enjoyment of the festivities with him. He loved seeing you excited about it, seeing your eyes light up at the silly decorations the mortals put outside their houses as you drove back home. Although, he did have to grab the steering wheel once or twice as you got distracted by some of them.

“I don’t understand why you mortals watch these ‘scary movies’.” “Why do you stab Thor as a prank?” “Because it’s funny.” “And?” “And because he deserves it.” “And…?” “And because it’s thrilling?” “Ding ding ding.”

“Also don’t you think saying he ‘deserves it’ is a little harsh?” “He’s a God, it basically equates to a paper cut.” “Paper cuts really hurt.” “I know.” He smirked.

It was when you began laughing at the rather gory scene on the TV that Loki raised a brow, slowly turning his head to look at you, watching you shove another handful of sweets into your mouth as if you were watching a children’s film.

“I do hope you’re not getting any ideas.” “What?” “That laugh of yours is almost maniacal.” That earned him a light slap on the arm. “I fear it’s too late.”

In your defence it was a very silly, cheesy, predictable scene. But that’s why you loved it.

Half way through the film, Loki conjured a blanket, putting it over you both as you continued to tuck into the sweets. He didn’t know how you could eat so many without being sick. It was… impressive.

Your pumpkins you’d carved earlier sat on the coffee table, the tea candles flames dancing within them both. You had carved yours into a classic spooky face and Loki had… simply stabbed one of his daggers into his and carved his own name. Yes, the dagger was still in the side of the pumpkin.

Loki now was deciding that he needed cuddles to make up for the lack of them that morning, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as you nestled against him, your head resting on his chest.

There was a jumpscare, which managed to actually make the God of Mischief jump.

“Oh my god, did that get you?!” “No-“ “It did!” “No, I was simply… readjusting my position-“ “You jumped! Ha! Who knew you were jumpy, you always act like-“

It was then Loki swiftly decided he could not have his fearsome reputation tarnished by such slander. His hand moving from its place on your arm, sliding up to cover your mouth, silencing you. He smirked as you glared at him, although you couldn’t hide your own amusement.

“You were saying?”

As the night went on, the excitement of the day and the early start crept up on you, making you grow sleepy, especially being nestled against Loki, safe and warm in his embrace - somehow you were always warm in his arms despite his cooler skin. He just… made you feel warm. Just as you did him.

It didn’t take long for Loki to sense you had drifted off, feeling your breaths slow into peacefulness - which was quite the contradiction to the chaos unfolding on the TV screen. But, you had always been able to sleep around chaos… Finding some sense of peace in it, in him.

He readjusted the blanket around you, shifting himself to ensure you were comfortable.

Whilst Loki may have not been the most vocal when it came to his feelings, he showed it in other ways. The subtle ways, like this moment. He let himself smile softly at your sleeping form, before he let out a content breath, resting his cheek against the top of your head.

Maybe Halloween wasn’t so bad after all.

[paper-mario-wiki]

transfems can be women but you are not, you're an agp

(i actually blocked the original person who sent this and then resent it to myself on anon to keep the presentation fitting since i would like to share my perspective on this anyhow. here's what i would have said to this straw-man argument-haver if they weren't already blocked!)

TL;DR: you're wrong with both of the things you asserted in your statement. 1) i am not an AGP which is because 2) AGP's are exactly as much of a woman as i am.

what meaningful categorization could you put on someone to fit the description of "autogynophile" that precludes them from womanhood without inherently being contradictorily transphobic? "it turns them on to think about being vaginally penetrated" yeah i bet a lot of cishet woman fantasize about that too. "they only changed their identity because they like being a lady so much it helps them get off" okay? and? this is not a categorization which is inherently predatory, so who cares? gender is, irrevocably, an invention. it's a farce. it's nothing, we made it up, that's the whole point of agreeing that people can change it if they say they want to.

drawing a social line by the physical distinctions of "do they have penis or the other one" is as arbitrary as separating people by right handedness and left handedness or the eye color they were born with. the social expectations, behaviors, and woes are a consequence of the fact that everyone has been taught "this is just how it is, and it makes you different in every way, and this is how it's always been, and this is how it'll always be", same as the way people keep using fiat currencies (the US dollar for example), despite them being backed up by no singular tangible thing in any way that matters, aside from the word of the person who controls it.

and sometimes going along with that stuff is fine! i mean not the money, but the other one. the gender one. i like to be called a woman, while also knowing that "woman" is an invention. "pretty" is also an invention, and i love to be called that. "sonic the hedgehog" is an invention that people talk about using the same verbiage they use when describing real, tangible, breathing creatures, despite the fact that sonic the hedgehog exists conceptually and not physically (not including physical representations, which are not the same thing).

i think agp's are also women. if i could read someone's mind and they said "hi im a woman" but i knew they were thinking "im actually a man" i would still say "hello woman" because they might as well have given me their name for all the difference it makes in how we interact moving forward. if someone has no intention or probability to harm themselves or anyone else, i couldn't care less.

all that being said, you're wrong with both of the things you asserted in your statement. 1) i am not an AGP because 2) AGP are exactly as much of a woman as i am. it is a meaningless category coined by bigots and only given credibility by people with bigoted views.

[skrunksthatwunk]

sorry just watched all of lacey's games (thru rabbit hole at time of writing) and i wanna talk about laceys diner can we talk about lacey's diner? we're talking about it now

tl;dr lacey's games is about the presentation and consumption of girls.

cw suicide, csa, incest, cannibalism. if you've seen the series, you know. i only speak of them vaguely here though

in lacey's diner her livelihood depends on how well people like her food, how it looks, how it tastes, how quickly she gets it to them on time. if any of these things falter, they reject her and reinforce her desperation (trauma around failure and acceptance + threat of extreme poverty via the restaurant closing).

eating her food is accepting her, choosing to be with her in some way. lacey gets eaten in the prior episode so her stalker can be with her forever, out of an obsession with her (/her body) that leads him to destroy her to better possess and consume her (like her uncle). she can't be late serving them herself, because that's not good presentation—her inability to get food out on time is a reflection of her flaws, and a cause to reject her. she must be available for others, punctual. she can't put the wrong ingredients in—elements of herself, her life—she must exclude them entirely from the part they eat, the part she gives away. she keeps the part that is filled with the disgusting, ugly, painful things in her life, about her.

and when she gets fed up and feeds those raw, authentic parts of herself to them (out of spite, tired of trying her best to no avail, to give them a taste of their own medicine), she is punished, not allowed to serve anyone again bc it's too gross and dangerous. she is punished for lashing out, for not keeping it all bottled up, and in her helplessness, resigns herself to death.

as seen in rabbit hole, jay was too boyish to be consumed happily by the audience (the mothers in the emails), so she was killed off and effectively haunts lacey. if she is not presentable enough, she too will be destroyed and discarded. if she is too presentable, she will be consumed too completely. she has no control, no say (as we know from lacey's wardrobe), no agency outside of pretending she's in a sparkly dreamy world. and jay—who said she would rather die than wear makeup—is forced by lacey to wear makeup in death. she's fixing her by making her conform to the same gender standards she's strangled by, saying that if she was less boyish she wouldn't have died. again, femininity and conformity (and thus being pleasant to others, presenting oneself to be admired and consumed) is safe to lacey, something she must perform to survive. yet, of course, lacey is hurt immensely for her being a girl, for her being a woman, and for her trauma resulting from those events.

all her talk of being ugly when she's grieving, of almost crying in front of him (her uncle iirc), of needing to be pretty even for the people who abuse and hurt her... and how she wished the world was ugly and grotesque when jay died because that was how it felt, but it was just sunny and oblivious. she was the one standing out for being upset, and the world was pretending and consumable and she couldn't anymore. she had to scrape herself together though because what else is there? when her job and stability and life is at stake, how can she afford to be traumatized? to not pretend, even when she's alone? augh. ough. look i just like lacey. i want her to be ok

i don't know that lacey herself is supposed to have a linear, consistent story. i kind of think she's an avatar for like,, girlhood suffering and trauma, and the traumatized people who come from that (hence her dying in multiple ways and coming back). perhaps as rocio's way of warning or comforting girls who went through similar things to her, or to vent her own issues because the thought of making something that's such a farce, such a forced, gussied up version of what it's like to be a girl, bothers her. the audience comes to the website to consume lacey at her best, at her most presentable, and are instead met with the harsh reality of cockroaches and used condoms. and yet, the audience of lacey games the video series consumes her too, only they are seeking out her trauma, trying to invade her mind and pick it apart. we're all consuming what we want, whatever we find appetizing, of lacey. and for rocio, you get the sense that she is also a tool, a way for rocio to express her inner distress. in that, lacey is put through all this unfortunate shit by rocio to make her more presentable and consumable to her. we are all using lacey, we all see her and eat her and destroy her. and she comes back to us and her cage because the pain's comforting in its familiarity.

in short, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. 👍

[vivacissimx]

roose bolton as a father figure to theon

the theon's disturbing relationship to paternalism beam is still shining bright. obviously the ned and balon and balon and ned Thing is happening but if we are going to embrace the horror of ADWD, let's lean all the way in.

the role of the father is molded as such to manufacture obedience from his children—generally speaking but also daughters in a specific way, sons in a specific way. filial duty is considered a virtue in westerosi society (even when your father fails to be virtuous himself) and it's the mode by which the father holds power over his children when they come of age. the father reproduces himself by claiming a son under his name & castle, the father reproduces his values by shaping behavior, the father punishes unsanctioned behavior not (merely) by criticizing the contents of the actions of the son, but by virtue of it being disobedient i.e. obedience to my instructions has within it an inherent Rightness / my instructions are Right because they are mine (circular i know!). this is probably doubled for those who follow the Faith of the Seven where the image of the father is a reflection of the Father aka disobedience flirts with blasphemy. sorry for the monologue—this is gonna be important later.

one of the reasons ned & balon come across as such supreme assholes in theon's ACOK storyline is because even outside the emotional reality of theon being a hostage from 10 years of age, he also pretty much does obey what they have to say. there is a time where he plays by their rules and they still don't approve of him or claim him fully. it's a social contract where ned and balon don't really fulfill their ends of the bargain, so it feels unfair. it feels willfully blind because ned and balon SURELY see the benefits they've accrued at theon's expense—ned lives in peacetime having experienced war, and balon keeps his life/lordship which if he were to have been executed for treason, would have all seemingly gone to a boy lord theon—yet they don't recognize the "theon's expense" part.

see how that works? "you are virtuous and right for following my commands" but theon follows their commands and doesn't get his Virtuous and Right headpats. and that rankles him deeply.

okay, now onto roose as theon's father figure in ADWD:

theon is part and parcel of roose's son ramsay. Reek belongs to Ramsay, and Ramsay belongs to Reek. in fact the original reek was a servant who roose gave to ramsay's mother as the first act of acknowledgement. it's through reek that ramsay became roose's bastard. we see that when roose demands ramsay give theon up (briefly), ramsay must oblige... hence, reek is still a form of reward/acknowledgement from roose to ramsay. theon is entangled in them and for roose to kill theon could very well be construed as killing off (ramsay as) his son

roose thanks theon for giving him the north via taking winterfell & (inadvertently) ruining robb's situation. roose is thanking theon for the ability to reproduce himself as lord of winterfell and warden of the north—a duty that a son owes his father

i wrote a post about theon's gender troubles that delves into his parallels with barbrey ryswell dustin—how roose treats them both with certain cares to insure their good behavior, and how they both see through the farce. however the difference in roose bolton's world of easy replacement (he replaces multiple wives, domeric with ramsay, reek with reek II) is that barbrey is warned of her fate via the example of bethany ryswell bolton, her sister and roose's dead wife, while theon is warned of his by the example of domeric bolton, roose's dead son.

barbrey steps into the role of domeric's caretaker and main maternal figure because her sister is dead. then ramsay kills domeric. roose allows it. barbrey puts it as: “The widow of Barrowton… and yes, if I so choose, I could be an inconvenience. Of course, Roose sees that too, so he takes care to keep me sweet.” sweet is not the best word for our barb but she plays along with roose's game despite there being no real endgame beyond a petty revenge against the starks. the writing is on the wall though. not to put too fine a point on it but: ramsay will kill any children walda frey has from roose, and barbrey will know precisely who did it

in theon's case, roose's manipulations go like this: “Serve us in this, and when Stannis is defeated we will discuss how best to restore you to your father’s seat,” his lordship had said in that soft voice of his, a voice made for lies and whispers. Theon never believed a word of it. He would dance this dance for them because he had no choice, but afterward… he will give me back to Ramsay then

roose actually tells theon the story of domeric. he describes domeric's relative capability and desire for brothers. he confesses that ramsay killed domeric and that he did nothing about it, that he fully anticipates ramsay to kill any children he has with walda. later, when theon is thinking about how roose will give theon back to ramsay, the conclusion is clear: ramsay is going to torture and abuse you, and i will do nothing—just like i will do nothing for any other sons i might have

theon co-victimhood with jeyne. does that make theon roose's sort-of daughter-in-law?

that last point was a haha joke... unless? after all, theon did canonically desire for ned to adopt him via marriage to sansa. so roose adopting him via "marriage" to ramsay, theon's use to roose being dependent on his subservience to ramsay, or more specifically, his role as legitimizing ramsay/reproducing roose in a similar way to marrying arya stark and having bolton children with her will... that is to say, haha

starks and boltons are foils, ned and roose are foils, ramsay's dogs and starkling direwolves are foils: if ned was a quasi-father figure AND simultaneously warden to theon then why would roose not be as well considering the stark/bolton relationship?

remember when i said that theon is intensely bothered by the fact that he "obeys" ned/balon but gets nothing for it? if you agree with that then consider this passage: Theon wondered if he might be allowed to fight. Then at least he might die a man’s death, sword in hand. That was a gift Ramsay would never give him, but Lord Roose might. If I beg him. I did all he asked of me, I played my part, I gave the girl away.

there's likely much more i could say here but those are a few points that i think are interesting as part of the larger discussion on theon as well as the social critique in ADWD theon POVs. i mean it really pulls the curtain back—stripped of all romanticism and in the dead of winter where nothing grows, what is a wife truly? a whore, jeyne says. what is a hostage? mine own face on their lie, not [even] a man, theon says.

what is a father? well in theon's decidedly horrifying case, it's the man who has use for you or else what's the point of you being alive

[saintsenara]

During the Harry Potter series, we meet many fathers. So my question is how do they wish to be called? Do they want to be a father, a Dad or a Daddy? Or something else? Like their first name or a Papa. Would someone be upset if their child called them by their first name or daddy? For example, I think Arthur would have accepted any father title from his children. But what about Lucius, Riddle Sr, Crouch Sr, Vernon,James,Riddle Jr, Tobias Snape, Orion Black, Amos Diggory and Xenophilius Lovegood.

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and the answer - as it is when it comes to literally everything in britain - is that it all comes down to social class...

straight off the bat, though, it would be extremely rare for a school-aged child of any class-background to refer to their parents [or grandparents] using their first names - this just isn't a cultural norm in britain and ireland, and so a family which made it their standard practice [especially with children who were younger than eleven] would definitely have a counter-cultural [and probably quite crunchy] vibe.

[so an author could feasibly write luna referring to her parents as "xenophilius" and "pandora" - even though, in the books, she doesn't - without losing the lovegoods' canonical oddness. but none of the weasley children would dare.]

adult children broadly stick to whichever version of "mum" and "dad" they used as children when speaking to their parents - as bill and charlie do - although it wouldn't be thought of as rude for an adult child to use their parents' first names, so much as it would be thought of as unusual.

and so what has probably emerged from the above is that - by far - the most common scenario nowadays is for children of all social classes [and i really do mean all social classes - prince william calls the king "dad"...] to call their parents "mum" and "dad".

this would not always have been the case historically - which we'll come to - but it has been the case since at least the 1980s, and so it makes sense for the vast majority of characters in the series to use "dad" when talking to their fathers.

although of course it's never entirely that simple...

firstly, there's an age-related aspect to be aware of. most children - again of all social classes - will begin, once they have a reasonable grasp of language and have moved beyond just sounding out "mama" and "dada", by calling their parents "mummy" and "daddy". they will then switch to "mum" and "dad" [or regional equivalents - which we'll come to] at some point in primary school [the school children attend between the ages of five and eleven], especially when speaking about their parents to their peers. generally, it would be thought of as a bit cringe [regardless of gender] to still be calling your parents "mummy" and "daddy" after starting secondary school [if not before], because it would be understood as childish.

there are a few canon examples which illustrate this.

petunia dursley refers to herself as "mummy" when speaking to the teenage dudley in the opening chapters of order of the phoenix:

“Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Diddy, darling, speak to Mummy! What did they do to you?”

during the build-up to this, the reader has learned that dudley [fifteen at this point] lies to his parents about doing childish activities - like having his tea at a friend's house - as a cover for roaming around beating up other children, hanging out at his friends' houses while their parents are away, and [presumably] drinking, smoking, and taking drugs. petunia's language choice, then, underscores the fact that one of her main character flaws is her refusal to accept what dudley is actually like, because admitting that he's not the perfect child she believes him to be would mean acknowledging that her perfect, non-magical, middle-class life is a farce.

harry, similarly, uses the word in order to - deliberately, in his case - underscore that he thinks the person he's talking to is [behaving like] a child when speaking to seamus in order of the phoenix and ron in deathly hallows:

“I’ll talk to you how I want,” said Harry, his temper rising so fast he snatched his wand back from his bedside table. “If you’ve got a problem sharing a dormitory with me, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved, stop your mummy worrying - ” “So what part of it isn’t living up to your expectations?” asked Harry. Anger was coming to his defense now. “Did you think we’d be staying in five- star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you’d be back to Mummy by Christmas?”

we can also see the hidden meaning of this language choice in a character's use of it with their own parents. in order of the phoenix, for example, luna switches between calling xenophilius "dad" and "daddy" based on how credulous and strange the text wants to make her seem.

compare:

“My dad thinks it’s an awful paper,” said Luna, chipping into the conversation unexpectedly. Sucking on her cocktail onion, she gazed at Rita with her enormous, protuberant, slightly mad eyes. “He publishes important stories that he thinks the public needs to know. He doesn’t care about making money.”

with this, from the same scene:

“I don’t think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine,” said Luna dreamily. “They do it because it’s an honor, and, of course, to see their names in print.” 

luna and xenophilius are both completely right that the daily prophet is an "awful paper" - and so he's "dad" - but they're both completely naive to think that journalists would consider it an honour to write for the quibbler for free - and so he's "daddy".

and so, of your list, amos diggory, vernon dursley, james potter, and arthur weasley - all of whom are normal fathers, as far as fathers go in the series - would be "daddy" when their children were very young and then "dad". xenophilius lovegood is canonically both. draco malfoy uses "dad" to refer to lucius once, at the end of order of the phoenix, so make of that what you will. the rest, we will come to...

firstly, though, there are two major exceptions to the "daddy-to-dad-pipeline" rule.

the first is regional. in ireland [both northern ireland and the republic] it is entirely standard to refer to your parents as "mammy" [note the spelling - although you will see "mummy" in the north] and "daddy" regardless of your age. unlearning this is one of the first things you do if you're irish and move abroad, lest everyone think you're deranged [ask me how i know], and so seamus was definitely working hard to code-switch properly for the first few weeks of school...

the second is class-based. in mainland britain - especially in england - referring to your parents as "mummy" and "daddy" over the age of about eleven is generally an indicator that you are incredibly posh - but, specifically, that you're posh and your relationship with your parents is close, supportive, and genial.

[although this doesn't stop it being seen as a bit odd to those outside your class-bracket - the best illustration of which can be found in the entirety of the peep show episode "sophie's parents"...]

justin finch-fletchley - for example - would almost certainly call his parents "mummy" and "daddy", based on his canon vibe. and while he doesn't do this in canon, the malfoys' family dynamic - which, whatever else you can say about it, is sincerely loving - especially when combined with draco's slight childishness, would justify the idea that he used "mummy" and "daddy" to refer to lucius and [especially] narcissa.

but here comes a detour into history.

the association of teen and adult children using "mummy" and "daddy" with being upper-middle-class or upper-class is because several other terms with similar class-based coding have fallen out of fashion since - roughly - the middle of the twentieth century.

the first of these are "mama" and "papa" - pronounced with the stress on the second syllable: ma-mahhh, pa-pahhh - which would have been taught to all posh children in early childhood [in the same way "mummy" and "daddy" are now], and then retained in their teenage years by those who were close to their parents.

the second are the latin words for mother and father, "mater" and "pater" - pronounced may-tah and pay-tah - which would only be used by teenagers upward and which have a cheerful, slightly irreverent vibe [à la bertie wooster].

you will find both of these used - especially in material either written or set prior to c. 1960 - to signify the same thing that a teen or adult using "mummy" or "daddy" would today: a posh, but nonetheless genial, parent-child relationship.

[although it's worth saying that "papa" signifies something slightly different when merope gaunt uses it in her one line in half-blood prince. in this case, when paired with her appearance and what we can reasonably imagine is a very unusual accent when speaking english, it contributes to mrs cole's belief that she came "from the circus" - that is, that she was of gypsy (on the reclamation of which term in britain and ireland, see here), roma, or traveller heritage - by making her sound "foreign".]

given the wizarding world's archaic vibes, then, lucius malfoy might very well be "papa" rather than "daddy". orion black also seems very likely to have gone by "papa" when his children were little - even if this would only have been retained by regulus as the boys entered their teens.

a tom riddle sr. who raises his son would - in the 1920s - definitely be "papa" while tom jr. was small. what he then becomes would depend on how close their relationship was.

which brings us, of course, to "mother" and "father".

the use of "mother" and "father" as nouns is completely standard in written british english. which is to say that the narrative using "mother" and "father" for james and lily outside of dialogue doesn't signify anything about what harry would have called them, what their relationship would have been like, or what they mean to him as people who are dead. these words are chosen because they're correct for the register of language used by the text.

the use of "mother" and "father" as both nouns and titles in spoken british english - on the other hand - is a bit more complicated...

it has a class element in that the concept of manners and social class are profoundly entwined - and so knowing when and to whom to say "mother" and "father is, therefore, an indicator of class-background - but what it primarily indicates is that the register of the conversation is formal.

[so, historically, even a child who called their parents "mama" and "papa" in private would switch to "mother" and "father" in company, unless they were very young.]

we see, for example, that percy weasley tends to refer to arthur and molly as "mother" and "father", even when he's in spaces [like the burrow] and company [like his siblings and harry] which wouldn't normally warrant any formality in conversation.

for example:

“Well, Father feels he’s got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn’t he?” said Percy. “If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first." “Don’t you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!” said Mrs. Weasley, flaring up at once.  “If Dad hadn’t said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented,” said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. “Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts’ Charm Breakers once, and called me ‘a long-haired pillock’?”

percy's language choice is a way for the text to underscore that he's a character the reader is supposed to interpret as boring, stuffy, and pretentious [and as someone harry likes much less than the other weasleys] - as well as to emphasise specific notes about his personality, such as the fact that he's someone who values manners and social convention more than his siblings.

[molly uses "your father" as a way of emphasising that percy's criticism of arthur is ridiculous. bill is the one speaking sense.]

this doesn't mean that the text is suggesting that arthur and molly love percy any less than his siblings - nor that they treat him cruelly, nor that percy's affection for them [at least prior to order of the phoenix] isn't sincere. it just means that he's someone the doylist text wants the reader to think is a bit of a prig.

in other cases, the formality implied by "mother" and "father" lends a certain impersonality to the dialogue in which it's used. for example, draco malfoy tending to refer to lucius malfoy - especially when lucius isn't there - as "[my] father" is a way for the text to hammer home that draco sees his father as a figurehead [an imagined, constructed lucius, who's so important and respected and impressive that he can do literally anything] whom he longs to emulate, and that he wants to convince his peers of this fact.

[luna does something similar - in half-blood prince she uses "father" when telling harry that xenophilius has proven that rufus scrimgeour is a vampire. the language choice here is an appeal to authority.]

hence why the only time in the series that draco calls lucius "dad" comes after his father is sent to azkaban at the end of order of the phoenix - and, indeed, is the beginning of the journey towards understanding his family with more nuance that he goes through in the final two books of the series:

“You’re going to pay,” said Malfoy in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done to my father...” “Well, I’m terrified now,” said Harry sarcastically. “I s’pose Lord Voldemort’s just a warm-up act compared to you three - what’s the matter?” he said, for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had all looked stricken at the sound of the name. “He’s your dad’s mate, isn’t he? Not scared of him, are you?” “You think you’re such a big man, Potter,” said Malfoy, advancing now, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. “You wait. I’ll have you. You can’t land my father in prison - ” “I thought I just had,” said Harry.  “The dementors have left Azkaban,” said Malfoy quietly. “Dad and the others’ll be out in no time...”

draco's scared and vulnerable - he's trying to threaten harry, to do what the figurehead-lucius of his imagination would, but his heart's not in it. he wants his actual dad, and the mask slips.

the formality behind "mother" and "father" in spoken english can obviously indicate that the speaker is being polite. it can also, however, indicate that they're very much not - and that the speaker doesn't like the person they're speaking to enough to use more colloquial language.

luna comes in clutch for us here once again:

“Of course not,” said Hermione scathingly, before Harry could answer, “The Quibbler’s rubbish, everyone knows that.” “Excuse me,” said Luna; her voice had suddenly lost its dreamy quality. “My father’s the editor.”

[hermione refers to xenophilius as "luna's father" throughout the last three books - which demonstrates what sort of esteem she holds him in...]

and, of course, the formality of this language can also imply distance.

sirius using "my mother" and "my father" - for example - is the way that the text shows, even before he's said a word to harry about his complicated family history, that he and his parents weren't close - and not only that they weren't close, but that their relationship was formal, mannered, surface-level, disinterested, dependent on convention, and so on. which him using "your dad" when speaking to harry about james then really hammers home.

and so, if an author wants to write orion black, lucius malfoy, or tom riddle sr. as having relationships with their children which have that flavour, then these men would be addressed as "father" no matter the context. similarly, barty crouch sr. - whose fatal flaw is a total failure to understand his son - was definitely "father" [while his wife, who barty crouch jr. was canonically much closer to, was probably not "mother" in private - really emphasising the discordance in that household...].

when it comes to our last two daddies...

what severus snape would have called his parents depends on two things: where cokeworth is and where both tobias and eileen snape were from.

which is to say, it seems to be pretty common in fics for him to call them "ma" and "da". and my understanding of this is that it happens because authors want to communicate that severus comes from a working-class background and that he evidently grows up speaking with a regional accent.

and it's certainly true that what you call your parents - especially your mother - varies by region, and that using dialect terms communicates the complicated tangle of regional- and class-identity which brits outside of southern england are mixed up in.

[for example, i am northern irish - which is not a sophisticated thing to be in britain - and i refer to my mother as my mam when speaking to anyone in mainland britain for the same reasons that i play up my accent in these circumstances. it's refusing to code-switch.]

so petunia - in snape's memories - uses "mummy" when speaking to lily as an early indicator of her social-climbing tendencies - she doesn't want to sound working-class. severus would obviously not give a shit about this.

but "ma" and "da" are not words which you'd expect to find in common use in the bit of north-west england which is above birmingham but below manchester, which is where cokeworth seems to be.

an author could choose to shift the town further north - "ma" and "da" are both used in liverpool and the surrounding area, for example [and scouse snape would be iconic, i fear] - or could assume that they entered severus' vocabulary in other ways - if his parents are from the north-east [especially around newcastle], if they're scottish, or if they're welsh - but the most likely explanation if an author wishes to use them would be that one or both of tobias and eileen [like many people in this part of the world] was an irish immigrant.

i am wedded to the headcanon that tobias snape is northern irish [and catholic, which "others" the snapes in the eyes of people like the evanses long before they know about the magic] - even though there's no evidence for this in the text - and so i can accept fics using "ma" and "da" in this context.

but it's much more likely that the terms severus uses are "mam" and "dad" [if you're locating cokeworth closer to manchester], "mom" and "dad" [if you're locating cokeworth in the black country], or "mum" and "dad". any of these would indicate his working-class background, when paired with the rest of his speech patterns, appearance, and behaviour.

in a world where tom riddle jr. is left holding the baby after bellatrix dies and is something other than a total deadbeat when confronted with this scenario, what's he's going to insist on being called will depend on which of his various personal idiosyncrasies he's indulging that day.

if the orphanage jumps out, he's "dad" - which would be the word he grew up hearing [but never being able to use, poor angel] among the working-classes in whichever bit of london he was raised in. if he's willing to acknowledge paternity, but doesn't want to give his progeny the impression that he cares about her, he's "father". if he's a doting dad [lmao] and wants to play at being an aristocrat, he's probably "papa".

if we're being realistic... wee delphini, like everyone else, is calling him "my lord".

[naboman]

Synopis: In which Chifuyu reunites with the one he shattered countless school years ago, seeking redemption, but perhaps it's just too late to apologize." Pairing: Chifuyu Matsuno + Fem!Reader. Genders: Angst, Drama and Tragedy, Farce. Content Warnings: mentions of tryte of suicide, bullying and autodepressed.

Chapter One: little liar

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He woke up in anguish, feeling something poke his arm like a pin. When he lifted his chin and pulled the book away from his face, he had the (un)pleasure of meeting the familiar, iconic figure. He clucked his tongue in protest. That girl had already become a pain in his ass, not to mention the fact that she didn't bother to bother him so often, it seemed like she had no idea who she was messing with.

And that made him too angry.

Was she a phony or was she just playing around?

"You again…" he hissed, annoyed.

He turned his face sideways, resting it on the school desk.

"The rep asked me to wake you up before I left," she explained, looking pleased, linking her arms to hold the box she was holding in front of her hips, "or you could get a warning."

"You've already woken me up, so get going," she hid her face under the book once more.

"We need to leave first, I'll deliver the key to the teachers' lounge," he warned.

Chifuyu took a deep breath, then got up from his chair.

"Why you don't leave me alone just one time? You are fucking boring, damn!"

He asked acidly.

"Oh, sorry," she replied genuinely, not noticing the blond's tone of voice, "I didn't think you'd feel this way, I could ask the teachers for another 10 minutes before we close the room, what do you think?"

"Fuck…" he woke up to the taste of sour memories.

This time she wasn't there to wake him up. And that left him alone with his own thoughts. He had the whole classroom to himself, and that scared him. Soon he would be swallowed up by the immensity that only accumulated in his mind.

Outside, the racing team was already putting things away, and he could see it when he stared at the window with a twinge of curiosity. But he wasn't there to keep an eye on other people's lives.

Matsuno finally got up from his chair, his body feeling heavier than usual - containing what he called 'anxiety' - and left, out of the room.

He felt he urgently needed some fresh air, blaming himself like this would only hurt him even more. After all, it was all right, he tried to apologize. If she didn't accept it, it was because it was meant to be. There was no point in blaming himself for what happened in the past. At least he could tell his inner self that he had tried and that it was enough, but he couldn't even convince himself when his altruism was severely drowned out by his wave of destructive thoughts.

Everyone makes mistakes, don't they? He thought.

Are you joking? Serious? Do you really believe that the past can be overcome with just a few words of fool afirmations? And his mind fights back.

He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, trying to wipe away the cold sweat that insisted on dripping. Try as he might, he still couldn't touch his own soul with the shallow words he spoke to himself.

He sighed loudly, trying to calm his heartbeat.

But he remembered [Name]'s broken arm as he passed in front of the infirmary, and immediately her image materialized completely in his consciousness.

He wondered if she was all right.

He shrugged, turning into the corridor. He bumped into someone as he was passing, and that made him completely disconnect from his own mind and return to the real world. What was worse, the corridor ended at the staircase, but luckily only the papers flew down the stairs, scattering completely on the cold floor to the touch.

Matsuno, who was still standing, bent down to see who he had knocked to the floor.

"Sorry, I just…" he was lost for words when he saw the girl's face.

It was as if he was reliving the worst moments of his life, live. Making the same stupid mistakes, however absent-mindedly, on automatic, they were still mistakes.

[Name] couldn't help but show her surprise, and even tensed up a little at the impact.

"I'm sorry…!" Chifuyu hurried to gather up the papers on the floor.

Without reacting, [Name] just watched as the blond walked down the stairs, quickly and dexterously putting everything together. Until he stopped in the middle of the steps, staring intently at a particular piece of paper. Too much attention for the girl's taste. And the next thing she knew, it was her medical report in the boy's hands.

She got up from the floor with the strength of a single arm, ran to the stairs and snatched the document out of his hands. He was unsettled. Somehow, Chifuyu thought he saw the look on her face become harsh, disappointed.

"Don't go around reading other people's stuff! "

"Oh, sorry… I only read the title, I swear!" he stammered.

It wasn't a lie, she read the document out of pure reflex. She hadn't imagined that among the school papers would be something so intimate and personal.

She ignored it, giving in.

"Thank you for your help…" She nodded, taking a deep breath, taking the papers from the blonde's hands without a hint of aggression this time "don't feel obliged to help me, I can look after myself, thank you. "

He silently watched her pick up the last few sheets from the floor as patiently as possible, then turned his back on her and - ironically - headed for the school infirmary.

Without much to do, he continued down the stairs. He was still puzzled and even a little worried about her arm. Or perhaps he was thinking of a way to redeem himself and see if the weight he was carrying would lessen. But he liked to imagine that he was far from it, that kind of intention would make him look like a wronged self-interest, and he hated looking like a victimizer.

He rummaged through the shoe cabinets, looking for the name of the stupidest human being on the face of the earth. Oh, and lo and behold, it was him!

As he put on his shoes, he allowed himself to relax and get away from his problems for a while, taking in the magnificent view of the landscape ahead.

The concrete that stretched to the school gates was the only thing separating the two sides from the low, gray grass, as the humidity took shape in the air and turned to frost. The sky, on the other hand, took on a much colder and drier hue, as if the whole atmosphere had entered into a soft consensus of choosing a melancholy color palette to finish fucking up Chifuyu's week.

He seriously thought that the universe might have taken his empathy and put it in the middle of that place where the sun doesn't shine. Because it wasn't possible! It was almost like having the distinct experience of living through a totally melodramatic and depressing story.

Now, where would the blessed viewers be who take pleasure in entertaining themselves with other people's misfortune? He thought. Rancorous. Deep down he just wanted someone to blame.

And that was discouraging. So, congratulations to the universe, for finishing destroying what was left of perseverance and self-esteem inside that empty shell called "Chifuyu".

Without further ado, he left the school.

Perhaps it would be good to talk to Takemichi. It wasn't as if he was going to put another plan into action, but he felt he needed to talk to someone or his head would explode like a squeezed lemon. And, frankly, Matsuno didn't want his brain to turn into lemonade.

No one would want to drink the citrus juice of a rotten lemon.

"You didn't show me your medical report," the older woman commented, as she quickly went through each sheet with attention, while the younger girl propped her body up on the stretcher, looking lost.

"I told you I'm fine," she lied, controlling the agitation of her restless eyes, with no fixed direction in which to look, "there's no need to worry. It was just a little mistake, I won't be like this for much longer."

"How many weeks have you had that cast on? "

"One month…"

"And those bruises? "

He pointed to the calloused fingers on the girl's hand, which she quickly tried to hide behind her back.

"I've just been practicing a lot."

She swallowed dryly.

"You're still playing? Even with that broken arm? "You can't do that! It's stupid and it'll hinder your recovery! "

"I haven't been taking part in the practical classes," she explained fearfully.

turning to face the nurse.

"I took part in the test, but I only watched," she explained fearfully, while the girl in the white coat just listened attentively, her arms crossed on the table, "and I've only been taking theory classes. So it's okay, I haven't broken any of the doctor's rules! "

"I'll trust you, [Name]" he soothed, seeing how elated the girl had become with just that little accusation "but I don't want to see you practicing, you know that's for your own good."

"I do… I do."

[wubwubnparmaham]

For centuries, my foremothers fought bravely and tirelessly to bring us to where we have gotten, to the mere concept of where we could be, and among the unfeeling and unjust men of this nation, my fellow women were adamant to tear it away, too. That hurts more than anything men could ever do.

I understand the exhaustion with the hyperpartisan debacle of this nation; with the feckless refusal for the Democratic party to live up to a single promise it ever makes. I understand the frustration and the pain that comes with picking the lesser of two evils.

But what I cannot understand is your complicity in the unthinkable. I will not let you look me in my eyes and justify your decision to choose the greater evil instead. May our eyes never meet again.

To these women, I want you to understand that you have voted against your interests, and the interests of your fellow sisters. I want you to understand that you, through the haze of the illusion of security, are not safe. Things can happen to you, assaults, miscarriages, gender discrimination, and so much more, and you will find no solace or support in this administration. When you, in all your jubilation at having secured the perfect Godly America, are the one in need of help, you will find closed doors. Because you handed unchecked power to the ones in the positions to slam them.

There will come a time, as it always does, that you will finally see the tenets of your religion are not represented in the values of the elite. And dare I say, are not represented in your own ideals of morality. The elite and their sweet whispers of properity as they are ever taking from you in the dark.

Now in the light. They are not your friends, they are certainly not your saviors, and you disgrace yourselves to call them your heroes.

Politics and religion do not and cannot blend, as the sin of greed and a lust for power are by no stretch the two most salient pillars that exalt the root of all evil, and they are inseparably embedded within American politics. You have handed the keys to a background organization, the Heritage Foundation, to use every flowery talking point under the sun to enact merciless oppression in the very name of that accurséd greed and power, and you have done it with a smile.

Every shred of this rhetoric has been sold to you through an exterior lens of altruism and holiness, and every part of it overlies the true nature of intent.

Found there in its stead is the underbelly of their crazed desire for ultimate power-acquisition, all for a select few with which you will never be included. You will never sit at their table. You will die beneath the indomitable height of it, and others in minority groups will die much quicker than you. That is the only thing you have ensured.

Let me be perfectly clear. Protecting the children is a farce, protecting the economy is a farce, protecting the sanctity of Christianity is most certainly a farce and protecting "Great American Values", undeniably rooted in white supremacy and male power, can only, in every way possible, be a farce. They know this, and they laugh at your misguided hope in them to uphold it. You, the jesters of their greatest source of entertainment.

And so I curse you. As you watch your marginalized loved ones suffer, know that you caused it. Know that you are eternally at odds with them as human beings regardless of what you tell yourself in your most defensive and sanctimonious moments. Know that you cannot love the sinner if you truly hate the sin in any meaningful way that paves any path for harmony, freedom, goodness or equality. Know that your love or acceptance of anything and anyone you voted to oppress is vapid and worthless, and know that I spit upon in disappointment and exhausted heartbreak.

Know that you have deeply and irrevocably hurt us, and you have hurt yourselves. You have given glory to those who would not share it with you, even for an ephemeral moment of time. You are protecting nothing, you have risked everything, and I am sick of you.

May it be too late for your own redemption when you finally realize what it is that you have done. I curse you with a thousand mirrors, reflecting and echoing your choices back to you for as long as you live, no matter what may come.

[bg-brainrot]

Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 13: Before Facing Cazador

Chapter 13: Before Facing Cazador

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 3, Canon-typical violence, Astarion's coping mechanisms, Astarion's quest, cw: Astarion's trauma

WC: 2.1k words, 13/18 chapters

Summary: Set in Act 3, set prior to facing Cazador (part of the Pale Elf questline). Rogue!Tav and Astarion face some of the his past.

Ao3 | [Hug12][Hug14] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

Your mind is racing, your heart is pounding, and, to be quite honest, you don’t know how to deal with what your lover just said. Name me your new master. We will get our revenge, and you will all live again. The words buzz in your ears, their blatant, painful lie only known to your ears. You’re glad that everyone else remains blissfully asleep, lest they see this farce for themselves. But that does mean this is up to you– you can’t let him do this, not to himself and not to his siblings.

“Have you no heart, Astarion?” you ask, before his siblings can respond to the offer. “You’re asking them to die for you in this ritual.”

Astarion turns to you, a touch of annoyance on his face. “Don’t look at me like that,“ he says, his tone almost accusatory. “With the sweet little ‘disappointed I’m not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout. I can’t take it.”

You try to right your face, but you’re certain the pout is, in fact, present. The disappointment can’t leave your face, especially when you know that he can be better than this. That he’s been better than this. He needn’t feel chained to Cazador in any way, let alone taking his place in this profane ritual. “I don’t need cuddly Astarion right now, I just need you. The real Astarion.”

“I can’t be what you want to see in me,” he says, a desperate, pleading tone to his voice. You’re not sure how to respond to that, as his expression just about tears your heart in two. You want to say that you see him, a man who just wants to pave his own path, a man who has already overcome so much and can overcome so much more– but who are you to say that?

You don’t have the opportunity to respond, because his siblings interject. “‘Die’ in the ritual? Whatsoever are you speaking of? We are going to cheat undeath.” Aurelia says, self assuredly. 

Dropping your eyes from Astarion’s searing crimson gaze, you turn to her. “You’re slaughter-lambs,” you say, refusing to paint the picture any prettier. “Cazador needs your souls for the ritual.”

She doesn’t need to roll her eyes to express her disbelief, but she may as well have. “The master doesn’t need to lie to us,” she says patiently, as if you’re another pretty fool for her master. “He controls us, fully. Why go through the trouble of giving us hope.”

Leon speaks up, understanding dawning on him. “Because it’s more cruel. Shit. We’re doomed.” A moment of silence passes as he processes, but he’s surprisingly business-like as he continues, “Alright, what do you need from us? We’ll help you.”

You don’t get to enjoy the breakthrough though, as they begin to glow red with compulsion, their bodies struggling against some invisible force. It seems like no matter what you’ve managed to say, whatever warning you’ve been able to deliver, a vampire’s bidding will win out.

What follows is an intense few minutes of fighting, but between the two of you, Astarion’s kin don’t stand much of a chance– not even Shadowheart, the lightest sleeper of your party, stirs. It certainly helps that the vampire spawn are not aiming to kill, rather capture and stay alive. You can see clearly how careful Cazador is with his spawn, summoning them back the second they seem to be imperiled. 

Of course, this doesn’t mean your blades don’t find purchase, that blood now litters the floor of the Elfsong Tavern, and that your companions won’t have a plethora of questions in the morning. 

“What a mess,” Astarion says with his usual flippancy, as he shakes off some blood. “Well, at least you’ve met my family now.”

You entertain a brief thought about how this comment might normally be cute. Unfortunately your concern and a building fury take far greater precedence. “I can’t believe you tried lying to them,” you say, unable to hold back your rage any longer. “You would have them die for the Rite to happen?”

“What does it matter? There’s only six of them,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you, as if the equation is basic arithmetic, as if you weren’t just speaking to two of those six a moment ago, witnessing their struggles under Cazador’s thumb firsthand. “And they are vampire spawn.” The comment is added as an offhand comment, but there the answer is– he’s not valuing their lives any higher than his own. He only sees himself as the lucky sod who gets to take advantage of them. 

“You’re a spawn, Astarion,” you say, quietly. “Don’t you have any sympathy for the others in your exact situation?”

His tone changes to something angry, centuries of torment weighing each word. “No one ever looked out for me. No one ever said a kind word to me.” Then, realizing you’re right there with him, he softens, “You’re the only one. Other people don’t have a heart like you. You’re… you.” The shock in his voice tugs at you, as if he’s constantly surprised that you’re still there. He follows it bitterly with, “No one is like that.”

“There are others like me,” you say, a worry creeping in that he may be blind to the love of each and every one of your companions. But you’ve seen him. He talks and jokes with the others, but he never lets this side of him show, not fully. “They will care for you, if you let them.”

Astarion scoffs. “Don’t sell yourself so short.” When you don’t react to his compliment, he continues, “I’m doing this for you too, you know. To make sure that we’re both safe. Forever, for good.”

“I appreciate that,” you begin, treading lightly and aiming to understand his fears. But you can’t help it, sometimes you just want to flick his pointy little ears and jolt some sense into him. “I just want you to know that we can make it through this without completing this ritual, without sacrificing your siblings. We always figure something out, don’t we?”

“Oh, I know we do. Though it’s not always what I envision,” he says, a sigh escaping him. “I just want you to keep an open mind when we reach Cazador, love. That’s all I ask for.”

“Fine, but I only ask the same of you,” you say, pointing a stern finger at him.

He grimaces, but nods, a solemn look on his face. “Very well, as long as we deal with Cazador soon.”

“We can go in the morning,” you assure him. “As long as we finally manage to get some sleep. I swear this inn could do with some better locks.”

“My dear, I don’t think you’re allowed to critique any establishment’s security,” he laughs lightly, cleaning some blood off his hands and preparing to return to bed. “No one is safe from your lockpicks.”

You grin before joining him with soap and sponge. “Quite right. And between the two of us? Cazador can’t hide behind his palace walls for long.”

– 

As it turns out, getting into Cazador’s palace wasn’t the difficult part. Unlocking the inner door was actually quite trivial and his guard dogs fell easily. You don’t truly find yourself facing an impasse until you’ve made it to Cazador’s hideaway, the very depths of Szarr Palace. There, Astarion comes face-to-face with the truth of his last 200 years of life, the meaning behind the endless parade of lovers.

“He’s played us for such fools.” Astartion tilts his head down, an angry and dangerous look in his eyes. Seeing his glare, reading his posture, Karlach and Shadowheart move on ahead, leaving you a moment to yourselves. “Not just seven spawn to placate the devil. Seven spawn and seven thousand souls bound to them in blood. Everyone who ever trusted me to let down their guard… innocents, idiots, and the unlucky.”

“Not that it needs to be said,” you step forward softly, gauging his reaction as you do. “But you didn’t know.”

He doesn’t move, either toward you or away. Instead, he shakes his head, clearing it of the dark cobwebs that have begun to cloud it. “It doesn’t matter. I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual.”

“Or…” you begin, tentatively exploring his mood, probing gently. “You could choose to save them.” You take another step toward him, palms open.

“What’s the point? They’re as good as dead,” he says, frustrated. It feels like you’re losing him, the weight of his sins a suffocating burden he wasn’t accounting for. “I thought they were dead.”

“But they’re not,” you reach for one of his hands, only to find it limp and despondent in your own. You thumb over the back of it, aiming to infuse your own life, warmth into him. “They’re alive, your siblings are still alive, and you can give them all the chance you didn’t receive.”

“If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. They will be ravenous. They must die. Better they serve a purpose.” He sounds like he’s convincing himself more than you at this point, and you sense the barrier around him is cracking. Another few prods and you may break through.

Despite the pounding of your heart, the worries of pushing a broken man to a precipice he may not be ready for– you steel yourself for your next words. “We’ve narrowly missed each other so often. In another life, you’d have led me here,” you say, plaintive. “Not that pretty clearing in the forest.”

“Gods,” he breathes out in anguish. “I can’t say you’re wrong. I can only say I'm so glad we didn’t meet then. I don’t even want to think what would have happened to you…”

You’ve never been above challenging your lover’s sullen moods, facing his avoidances head on. So you stare him down fiercely when you say, “Don’t you avoid this, Astarion. Face it, like you must face them. You would have killed me.”

And just like that, something in him buckles. All of his blustering blown away in the stark reality of his previous life. “I would have killed you.” Astarion’s shoulders bow, his head turns away from you and it’s all you can do to hold back a fierce, rib-shattering embrace. 

Not yet, you think. You’re not done yet. “And?” you ask. “Would you kill me now?”

“Gods no,” he hisses. “I… I can’t even bring myself to think it.”

“Good, let that be a reminder to you: you’re not under Cazador’s control.” You release his hand to grab both of his shoulders, pinning him down with an intense look. “You choose for yourself, remember?”

Astarion nods at you wordlessly, and you know now’s the right moment. You pull him toward you by the shoulders, avoiding his armor as best you can to wrap him in a smothering hug. He reciprocates slowly, but firmly, his own arms wrapping around you, his hands coming to rest on your shoulder blades.

You hold the position for as long as you can, deeply breathing in the familiar scent of his hair and drowning out the stench of decay, blood, and mildew. It’s clear that neither of you want to let go this time– as though by holding each other you can keep in one piece. 

After some amount of time, you hear whispered in your ear, “Whatever might happen, I just want to say: Thank you.”

Finally drawing away from him, you take a moment to look at him somberly. His words sound so final, it scares you. Placing a single gloved hand on his cheek, you say, “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just here to remind you that you have choices.”

“I know.” He turns his nose toward your hand, placing a single kiss on it before continuing, “But does this real Astarion of yours know that?” You think back to your conversation with his siblings, just last night. It feels like a lifetime ago now.

However long ago it was, you need to make sure he understands what you meant. “Spawn, elf, whoever you think you are. You’re Astarion before any of that, and I just need you to know that.”

As he takes in your words, his face hardens, he turns away from your hand in a gentle rebuke. You’ve tried your best, but know his mind won't be swayed by you, not now. “Maybe I don’t know who that is. Maybe that man doesn’t exist, never existed outside these palace walls.” He steps away, and a part of you leaves with him. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

You nod tersely– the only way out is through now– and you follow him deeper into the bowels of Cazador's lair.

[hismercytomyjustice]

!IWTV 2.07 Spoilers Below!

TW for racism, racial violence, and everything already in the episode.

These are mostly just my thoughts on Claudia and Louis and the role of age/gender/race in the trial.

The writers and actors and everyone went for the THROAT with this episode and I am HERE FOR IT.

First and foremost, this is a public lynching. Played out for an almost completely white audience. The CLOSE UPS on the mostly white audience as Claudia’s charges are read…

The farce of a trial. They didn't need to go to all this trouble to kill Claudia, Louis, and Madeline. They CHOSE to. They made it a SPECTACLE, as was often done during lynchings.

Louis referring to himself and Claudia as props instead of characters. Because the audience and the vampire "court" would have to see them as PEOPLE to consider them characters.

Lestat warping the narrative to make himself out to be the victim for a good chunk of the trial and immediately being believed and sympathized with because this poor white man has a sad.

The only defendant shown any sympathy or empathy during the trial being the sole white person, and a white woman no less. Madeleine is treated like a poor naive soul who could never have known what “horrible monsters” she was in league with. BUT SHE KNEW. She heard all about Lestat and why Claudia didn't want her to have his blood. She watched Claudia kill three people in front of her without breaking a sweat. To SAVE her.

Moreover, Madeleine is the only one they offer absolution to. Yes, she hasn’t committed any “vampire crimes,” but she’s once again given the benefit of the doubt as a white woman. She’s perceived as inherently innocent and worthy of salvation. The implication being she’s just one more person that’s been swept up in the schemes of these “villains”. While Claudia and Louis are treated as irredeemable and inherently evil. Lestat confessed to breaking the same laws they’re on trial for, but he also receives a white “get out of jail free” card.

The way Claudia, for all intents and purposes, a 14 year old Black CHILD is portrayed as a monster in addition to a “child seductress” of sorts. The implication being she bent two fully grown men to her will. WE know Claudia is technically an adult inside (and that's how she sees herself), but the projection of maturity on a non-white child to justify violence and victimization against said child is excellently and devastatingly done.

The further “justification” of Lestat’s actions because he has his maker’s/father’s temper. Yet another excuse often bandied about by abusers. Like they "can’t help themselves". Obviously the cycle of abuse is a very real thing, I don’t mean to diminish that. But seeing him actually take a moment to be like “oh, no wait, I chose to do those things, that was actually all me” was a nice touch. Doesn’t absolve him of ANYTHING he did, but at least he finally acknowledges the role he played.

Claudia, the “youngest” of the group being the only one who fights against the compulsion to defend herself. We’re told over and over again through the series she’s unstable, too emotional, etc because she was turned as a teenage girl. And yet she is the only person there with an OUNCE of maturity. AND SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO BE. 

She’s only that way because she became parentified while trying to save Louis from himself and from Lestat. Even now, knowing they’re all about to die in a horrific fashion, she can’t turn off the part of her that cares about Louis. That doesn’t want to see him reenter the cycle of abuse, even in his last moments. She was his protector then and now while Louis is trapped in his own head.

Louis should be the one protecting HER. She is his daughter/little sister. He is older than her. He's been a vampire longer than her. He’s the one who got her turned in the first place. Not to diminish everything he’s going through as an abuse victim among other things, but she desperately needed him and once again he couldn’t/wouldn't/didn't step up for her.

Claudia saying “Can I cry and say that I’m sorry too?” Directly calling out the weaponization of white tears. The audience is willing to sympathize with a grown white man but not with his CHILD victim. Once again a Black child (in the physical sense) being held to higher standards than a grown white man who “just couldn’t help himself.” The audience laughs at Claudia’s pain while simultaneously sympathizing with her abuser.

Despite Claudia taking Paris by storm as Baby Lulu, not a single fan of hers steps forward in her defense. Santiago even acknowledges there are fans of her show in the audience! Because she’s not their beloved Baby Lulu anymore. She’s no longer performing for the entertainment and comfort of a white audience. Because she isn’t a person to them. Great post here about how the Baby Lulu play is a minstrel performance too btw.

We’re told again and again throughout the show that Claudia was too young to be changed, too volatile and therefore doomed to go mad and perish. But she’s the sanest and strongest of the three on trial. She fights back against an entire coven trying to break her mind. She walks of her own volition even with her ruined Achilles tendons. If everything they claimed was true, we sure as hell aren’t seeing any indication of that now. Claudia has proven her mental fortitude time and time again despite misery after misery inflicted on her in her undead life.

But no one in the audience and none of the vampire “justices” will ever acknowledge this truth. Because she’s a child when it’s convenient to their narrative (playing Baby Lulu and her standing in the coven), but she’s suddenly an adult the instant she advocates for herself and is now fully accountable for her “crimes.” They refuse to admit the Claudia before them now is the one and only real Claudia.

Even at the very end, Claudia tries to protect Madeleine from the sun. She holds her. She shields her with her body. She does what NO ONE has ever done for her. What Louis SHOULD HAVE DONE FOR HER. We know the pain she suffers is agonizing. We’ve seen Louis and Madeleine’s go through it. Yet she stands there head high, holding her love, and singing the song she hated so much to the lynch mob. Because no one there is ever going to think of that song in its original context again. Instead, it’s her final act of defiance, her last chance to declare her autonomy and insist she will never be what they tried to make her.

The death scene is such a stark contrast to her first death when Louis is pleading with Lestat to save her. She was catatonic then, but here she is so devastatingly vibrant and ALIVE. And it makes it hurt so much more to see that taken from her along with her life.

Claudia is such an amazing character in this show. Bailey Bass and Delainey Hayles are such phenomenal actors. I am DEVASTATED we have reached the end of Claudia's story and this is her legacy, but at the same time I will NEVER forget this episode or their extremely nuanced performances. Do I hope they'll find a way to reincorporate Claudia into the story? Absolutely. I'd love to see more. But at the same time, if this is how she had to go, I'm glad they centered the narrative so strongly around her.